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To Live and Die in West Oakland: Mark Zaffron by Doniphan Blair
NOTE: This was written in March, 2014
UP TO 30 PEOPLE ARE MURDERED
in West Oakland in any given year and dozens more die of more natural causes like old age and disease. But one recent passing of the latter category hit me extra hard. It was my neighbor, right across the hall, Mark Zaffron—only 53 years old.
While street shootings in West Oakland are often commemorated with shrines of candles, balloons and other memorabilia, Mark's death went unmarked, as it were.
A print maker who taught etching and related arts, Mark had a massive hand press in his studio and ran a small distribution company for green printing supplies called CRATE.
After getting back from the holidays in January, I noticed I hadn't seen Mark for a while. Admittedly, he was a bit of an introvert and sometimes our paths didn't cross a lot but when I saw strange people going in and out of the studio, I called the landlord.
"He died," the landlord stated, "at the end of November." When I expressed astonishment and asked if he was going to put up a death notice or information about a funeral, he gave me his response to many of my queries over the last twenty years: disdainful rejection. When I inquired if there was an address for a family to which I might send condolences, he agreed to check but never got back to me.
The landlord did help Mark in his last moments, since he happened to be walking by his door that day in November, heard Mark moaning and facilitated the arrival of the ambulance, albeit not quite quick enough to save Mark from the aneurysm he suffered. But attending to his non-mortal remains appeared to be too much to ask.
Human consciousness, which is better understood as self-consciousness, is often dated to around 40,000 years ago when, instead of leaving their dead for the wolves and vultures, our homo Sapiens forbears began burying them and adding artifacts and other indicators of their life.
The landlord did inform Mark's family, and some relatives came to collect his valuables and make arrangements, but only a few neighbors found out.
Admittedly our building is a live-work, composed largely of singles, artists and craftspeople, who often keep odd hours and have a lot on their mind.
One neighbor, the activist and graphic designer Sandy Sanders, who only met Mark twice in the hall—they both lived there for ten years but he lived on the second floor while Mark lived on the third—happened to notice Mark's diploma from the Art Institute of Chicago in the trash. He fished it out thinking, "No one throws away their diploma, something must be wrong."
When I asked around, quite a few people knew Mark and were shocked to hear he died.
Even though it was two months after his passing, we decided to hold a memorial and I put up notices around the building. About ten people came and, after a brief "Om" chant and lighting of candles and other benedictions, we remembered Mark.
"He always had a big smile for you, when you met him in the hall," another neighbor, Barney Haynes, a video and installation artist, recalled, "Even though as you approached, you could see the weight he was carrying."
I recounted getting to know Mark better over the last year, even though he had been there for ten years, and finally coming into his space for a visit. Although we often borrowed cooking implements or asked each other for little favors, that was a first.
Mark showed me a series of etchings he was working on. They combined images of dilapidated houses, suggestive of West Oakland, overlayed with scientific theories, scratches and other embellishments, which imbued them with a mature style and complexity.
In fact, the series was about to be shipped off to a show in China and Mark had the great fortune to fly over for that event in the fall of 2013.
But even more incredible were the stories of Favianna Rodriguez, the well-known Oakland artist, print maker and social activist who moved into Mark's space. When the family was selling the big hand press in January, she bought it and found out the space was also available.
After doing some renovations, she moved in just before our memorial. Favianna was able to amplify what little we knew about Mark's Southern upbringing and family.
Tragically, Mark's father had died a week after Mark, really burdening the family.
As it happens, Favianna is also an advocate of green printmaking and purchased from the family all of Mark's remaining supplies, paper and ancillary equipment. In fact, she may continue to run his small distribution company.
A greater legacy and memorial for Mark Zaffron could not be found unless it would be the formation of the OAMS—the Oakland Artists Memorial Group—or something like it.
Art was as important as burial practices to the origins of civilization. Alas, little known or solitary artists like Mark Zaffron often die in obscurity unmemorialized by the culture or community to which they committed themselves.
In addition to periodically checking on each other while alive—listening for moans coming from behind doors like our landlord did, OAMS could provide a proper funeral or memorial when we pass, thereby maintaining the level of civilization started by our ancestors 40,000 years ago.
Although Mark Zaffron's spirit and legacy was remembered by us that Thursday in February and will be carried on by Favianna Rodriguez, can we afford to loose other artists and their memories and work in our sometimes lonely and throwaway culture?Posted on Jun 18, 2020 - 01:49 AM