The cover of photographer Ann Murday’s photobook of Dia de los Muertos photography On the Path of Marigolds: Living Traditions of Mexican Day of the Dead
Hauntology Now! is the Substack of interdisciplinary artist, designer, musician, academic writer, and cultural critic J. Simpson, where he writes about all things hauntological, atemporal, philosophical, as well as sharing thoughts, reflections, and musings on music, movies, books, and life.
As the years tick on, i find myself more and more drawn to the Day of the Dead celebrations, most specifically Mexican Dia de los Muertos festivities. To be clear, i couldn’t be further from an expert on Dia de los Muertos, as i’ve been to maybe three Dia de los Muertos celebrations in my life. Still, each time i’ve attended have been some of the most moving, inspiring events i’ve ever experienced. I’m deeply touched by the celebration of life even though it’s so short and fragile. As the poet and artist Melissa Sullivan, who was kind and generous enough to take me to the Dia de los Muertos celebration at Los Angeles’ Olvera Street reminds me over and over and over again, “live life to its fullest, because we never know how long we have.”
Day of the Dead Offering for Dolores Olmedo Patino, Museum of Fine Mexican Art, Mexico//Russell Gordon
I’m also endlessly inspired and intrigued by Dia de los Muertos’ resistance to market forces. While i’m sure it’s been commodified and corporatized as anything else in 2024, it still seems more homespun and heartfelt than other holidays rooted in tradition and folklore, most of which seem increasingly plastic with each passing year. Dia de los Muertos feels like a genuine celebration by and for real people and those they love. It’s incredibly beautiful and it’s impossible not to be moved in its presence.
A cemetery in Oaxaca, Mexico decorated for Dia de los Muertos.
This is in part because the beauty is not merely invisible. Dia de los Muertos celebrations are often seas of flaming orange marigolds lit by butter yellow candelight, looming shadowy and magical and mysterious beneath indigo skies. Everywhere you look, there are photos of the departed, covering and layering every surface like Kodachrome lichen and tree bark, rubbing faded snapshot shoulders with sugar skulls, knotted with intricate ink black vines and knowing smiles. And everywhere you look there are bones, bones everywhere!, with skeletons playing poker, drinking liquor, dancing, spending time with loved ones; it’s an absolute dream for lovers of “dark” and Gothic art.
Olvera Street//Carol M. Highsmith Archive Library of Congress
I was fortunate enough to visit a Dia de los Muertos celebration at Olvera Street in Los Angeles in 2019, just before the pandemic. Olvera Street is not only one of the oldest neigborhoods in Los Angeles, but in the United States, having been built when the Spanish settled California. It’s got a huge and vibrant Hispanic community, like so much of Los Angeles, and their Dia de los Muertos celebration is not to be missed. After wending and winding our way through Griffith Park, when Google Maps attempted to end our lives by directing us to a haunted amusement park by way of some train tracks, we arrived just in time for the Aztec dancers, who proceeded to leap and twirl like candleflames while young women in Catrina makeup and butterfly wings swayed earthward beneath torchlight, a poignant and gorgeous embodiment of transformation - a reminder that the only thing constant is change. For that moment, eating honey-sweet churros on haunted cobblestones, peering in the windows of centuries-old Mexican restaurants and browsing skull-laden tea towels, life was very sweet indeed.
So let this post serve as a reminder to live life to its fullest. You never know what’s coming! And life, although often painful, lonesome, and sad, can be very, very sweet indeed.
Dia De Los Muertos, 2017//Agave Print
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