Wandering in the alleys of the cities of the dead

[TIL #31] One you may feel free to skip

Now, this issue of the Tales might not be to everyone’s taste or might not be comfortable to read. It is a story of making photographs in cemeteries and touches on themes of death and human finitude. When i’ve mentioned this project, the reactions have usually been as spontaneous as firmly anchored on one of the opposite ends of a scale that ranges from alarmed incomprehension to unreserved approval. To me, this has been a significant exploration of how working with a camera could help me on my path as a human being. But it may not be for you or it may simply not be the right moment to hear of such topics. I would like you to feel free to move to something else if you would prefer to.

One of the origins may have been a visit of Highgate cemetery in London, a stroll through the graves of famous people such as Karl Marx or the writer Douglas Adams (to name but two). Some of the monuments were intricate or playful evocations of the person’s profession, others elegantly minimalist, but what struck me most was that we were walking through a beautiful forest. On that sunny day, the trees appeared luxuriant, the greens often shining too brightly for the camera.

Another entry point into the project was a stay in Paris. I had rented a small flat opposite the cimetière du Père Lachaise (”the neighbours are not noisy at all”, the landlady had said the line i suspected was her very usual joke when welcoming guests). I decided that i would see the wall where the last rebels of the 1871 Commune had been mercilessly executed, because i wanted to pay my respects to the rebellion that, in my personal mythology, is a glorious and dramatic story of a fight for social justice. I knew i would come across tombstones of stars and historical figures (i paused on Gerda Taro’s simple tombstone) but i had not expected to see tombs falling into ruins.

Highgate is only one of the ‘magnificent seven’, as the Victorian cemeteries that were opened in 19th-century London have come to be known. I found myself visiting them on a regular basis, either on my own or with a small group. The curiosity had turned into something continuous, something that went beyond the anecdotal. I kept returning to the trees growing around ancient tombstones, the words on the stones eaten away by erosion, the statues of angels, young men and women in ecstatic desolation, and the magnificence of forest.

When i moved to Lisbon, i heard about the cemetery of Prazeres, which translates as the cemetery of pleasures. What an interesting name, i thought — is it a particularly pleasant place to spend the afterlife, or would it be the dreadful desolate land where pleasures go to die? On my first visit to this 19th-century cemetery, i saw a sign on a tomb that read: abandoned. I wondered, could you actually get out of the grave and move to a better place if you got tired of the neighbourhood? On another walk through the alleys, i noticed a branch coming out of a tomb through the broken door window: it was heavy with early spring burgeons.

On other days, i saw ladders and beams being used to hold a tomb’s door closed, like a response to the fear that somebody or something might come out. Yeah, too many movies.

I spent some time with lazy cats, most of them shying away from the lens.

I was making pictures all along but the project really took shape when i went to the cemetery of Prazeres with a film camera. At the moment of scanning the negatives, i ended up inserting a sheet of cristal paper between the iPad that served as light table and the negative (i needed to avoid the imprint of the pattern of the device’s monitor). And there was dust on the piece of glass i used to flatten the film. Unexpected and unplanned as it was, i found the resulting effect to be convincing. I had the images that enabled me to shape the series in the form of a small book.

The words could then come, as i now saw what i had been looking for, what i had been doing — what the work was doing for me. These wanderings in cemeteries and the making of photographs in the alleys of the cities of the dead, that was all part of an unfinished process of coming to terms with human finitude. It was not a historical or sociological study, it was not an exhaustive account of the places — what i had been doing with the camera was a simple meditation on the uncomfortable truth that our time on Earth is limited.

It may be a very naive choice, but i’ve used images of a cat to insert myself in the book: it opens with a young cat full of curiosity, it closes with an older feline sitting in the sun in an apparent meditation — what was learned along the way, is what the story tells. I returned from the cities of the dead hungry for a beautiful life.

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A few suggestions:

• Recently, i learned that the director of the Père Lachaise enchants the Internet with pictures of the wildlife in the territory under his watch, from birds to urban foxes — his book now awaits its turn on the pile on the coffee table.

• In Lisbon, i’m looking forward to visiting the new exhibition of Daniel Blaufuks, os dias estão numerados (days are numbered) at the MAAT.

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Remember that you’re going to live

The choice of the cover was a straightforward decision. As soon as i saw the photograph on the monitor, i felt that it would do the work for this project.

In order to avoid the burden of logistics, i wanted to use an on-demand print service. I’ve chosen amazon: it may not have the sumptuous quality of high-end photo books, but the printing is good enough for the pictures to deploy their effect, the book remains very affordable and the distribution is wide.

More on the book at https://www.pierrefdocquir.com/remember-that

Links to Amazon

• Remember that you’re going to live: https://a.co/d/5oXDsB5

• Souviens-toi que tu vas vivre: https://amzn.eu/d/08nxMrIP

When you get a copy, please write a review: it is really super helpful, especially at the launch of a new book.

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That’s all for this time, folks. Thank you for being on board.