Christoph Zerr

The Closest Thing To Sacred

"It might sound sentimental to say it in so many words, but we’re blessed by the dead, and we know that we are, in spite of our protestations to the contrary. They leave spaces in our lives that, for some of us, are the closest things to sacred we ever know. They are there and then they are gone and, after a time, we come to see a certain elegance in that — the elegance of a magic trick, say, where the conjuror rehearses the vanishing act that we must all accomplish sooner or later."


— John Burnside

In 2020, over 55 million people worldwide were living with dementia — one of them was my grandmother. Like for her own mother, the disease came in the form of treacherous currents, invisible at first but slowly and steadily reaching for her, only to violently gain momentum before abruptly sweeping her away. My own grief was quickly replaced by guilt. The months before her death had revealed the cultural dogma and harmful prejudices that I had given in to without much resistance. I had made her vanish long before she was gone.

The author Lynn Casteel Harper describes dementia not only as a neurological problem but a malfunctioning of the public mind. People do not disappear on their own but as a result of perceptions and behavior that categorically undermine the needs of those who have become deeply forgetful. Infantilization and objectification from one side cause withdrawal and retreat on the other. By then, those living with dementia are seen as doomed and predominantly labeled suffering patients — a dehumanizing stigma that ignores the multitude of roles that have defined their identity for a lifetime.

But what if the slipperiness of dementia was comparable to the ambiguity we often experience in states between sleep and wakefulness? A world that's filled with warm lights, dark shapes, and genuine feelings. While we might be confused in such moments, we are not emotionally unreceptive, inevitably unhappy, or less human.

If we are mindful that not every dream is necessarily a nightmare, dementia might lose some of its horror and make way for a more dignified approach that rejects the one-sided view of the disease as a purely darkening force. This series is as much about learning as it is about forgetting — a call to celebrate our relationships and connect with those we hold dear through all stages of life.

The Closest Thing To Sacred (2020)


"It might sound sentimental to say it in so many words, but we’re blessed by the dead, and we know that we are, in spite of our protestations to the contrary. They leave spaces in our lives that, for some of us, are the closest things to sacred we ever know. They are there and then they are gone and, after a time, we come to see a certain elegance in that — the elegance of a magic trick, say, where the conjuror rehearses the vanishing act that we must all accomplish sooner or later."


— John Burnside

In 2020, over 55 million people worldwide were living with dementia — one of them was my grandmother. Like for her own mother, the disease came in the form of treacherous currents, invisible at first but slowly and steadily reaching for her, only to violently gain momentum before abruptly sweeping her away. My own grief was quickly replaced by guilt. The months before her death had revealed the cultural dogma and harmful prejudices that I had given in to without much resistance. I had made her vanish long before she was gone.

The author Lynn Casteel Harper describes dementia not only as a neurological problem but a malfunctioning of the public mind. People do not disappear on their own but as a result of perceptions and behavior that categorically undermine the needs of those who have become deeply forgetful. Infantilization and objectification from one side cause withdrawal and retreat on the other. By then, those living with dementia are seen as doomed and predominantly labeled suffering patients — a dehumanizing stigma that ignores the multitude of roles that have defined their identity for a lifetime.

But what if the slipperiness of dementia was comparable to the ambiguity we often experience in states between sleep and wakefulness? A world that's filled with warm lights, dark shapes, and genuine feelings. While we might be confused in such moments, we are not emotionally unreceptive, inevitably unhappy, or less human.

If we are mindful that not every dream is necessarily a nightmare, dementia might lose some of its horror and make way for a more dignified approach that rejects the one-sided view of the disease as a purely darkening force. This series is as much about learning as it is about forgetting — a call to celebrate our relationships and connect with those we hold dear through all stages of life.

Go Back

Using Format