In my home town, a predominantly industrial, predominantly white, predominantly unadorned city in Ohio, cultural events like Día de los Muertos are just plain nonexistent. When I moved to San Francisco, I became very curious about the holiday, and I did some research into the reason for the celebration. The tradition is rooted in indigenous Mexican cultures that had been unknown to much of the world until fairly recently. It is a day to pray for, remember, and celebrate the passing of loved ones when the membrane between two worlds is thinner, to encourage visits from spirits.
The reverence for life passing and respect for those that have come before us touched me in a deeper, and far less creepy way than that shirtless Tarzan dude at Ghost Ship on Friday. I was compelled to explore the holiday with my camera, so I went out to 23rd and Mission last night, made the street my studio, and pulled people from the procession for a quick portrait session.
