The large living room of my great love's apartment sits in silence. Our discolored mattress rests with no life. An old audio-recorder becomes a sort of diary. I begin to narrate the story, how I got here
and the details of my return. I had always suspected that love, in its genuine intensity could only ever be momentary. Then I met her. I wanted life with her, but I was too late. Observing outside while remaining inside calms me. The purpose I find in observing the existence of others outside begins to reveal the beauty in my loss, and after many months: liberation. It remains unclear if it was the making of this film that provoked my transformation or if I was simply
documenting this process. With no formal film education, filmmaking is a tool with which I experience life. I donʼt perceive any film I have made to be finished, simply visual interruptions of an ongoing process of discovery. I never grab a camera to prove a point, but rather hoping that the process will reinvent me. In my last films I explored and exposed the intimacy of others. I've come to understand that by doing this I as well expose a part of myself. With Death in
Arizona it's the first time that I expose myself directly, and by doing this I think I can more profoundly reveal a fragment of the human condition.
Death in Arizona is a simple film that observes life going by in the distance. It gives relevance to waiting patiently and the importance of solitude. It reveals that epic battles donʼt need to be fought in
a vast crowded landscape, but that rather significant battles can be fought inside 4 walls against ones own demons. It questions our perception and understanding of love and how our desire for it to be permanent may lead to our
demise. This film suggests the capacity we all have to envision ourselves differently and be able to transform into different people.