Playing chess with Death

Rays of sun piercing through a clouded sky. Filled with existential doubt there’s still some hopeful light struggling to break through. The struggle is between dark and light, doubt and hope. "And when the lamb had opened the seventh seal, there was a silence in heaven about the space of half an hour." The man in this scene is introduced as Antonius Block – a 14th century knight who has just arrived to his home in Sweden after a decade of fighting in the Crusades. He is broken. Disillusioned by war, plague, and superstition. A
black-robed, white-faced man appears before him.

KNIGHT: Who are you?
DEATH: I am Death.
KNIGHT: Have you come for me?
DEATH: I have been walking by your side for a long time.

Unwilling to give up the knight proposes a game of chess. If he wins, he lives. He looses, and Death will take him. The story I’m reciting is the opening scene from Ingmar Bergman's landmark film The Seventh Seal (1957). This melancholic film reflects the moment when a human being can no longer avoid facing the question of what his existence means.

Many who have been facing similar tragedies can most likely relate to the struggle the knight is facing. The Bay Area artist Daniel Dallabrida, a 28-year AIDS survivor, has created a group of work with the subtitle “Memento Mori.” This phrase, dating back to antiquity, translates to “Remember you will die.” That reminder might be needed for someone like me. But for Antonius Block, or Daniel Dallabrida, this is constantly and painfully present. In describing gay men living in San Francisco, Dallabrida writes: "In 1983, 137 men dissolved in ways that were quick, mean and indescribable. The scent of fear rode every bus. Dread flavored every meal. The number of deaths doubled the next year. Then doubled again. And then tripled. By 1986, there were 907 deaths in San Francisco. Each of the following years, until 1997, the mortality count hovered between 1,000 and 2,000."

DEATH: And yet you don't want to die.
KNIGHT: Yes, I do.
DEATH : What are you waiting for?
KNIGHT: I want knowledge, not faith, not suppositions, but knowledge.
The art by Daniel Dallabrida is not told with an angry voice. Like the struggle fought by the knight, it is more likely created as the result of a search for meaning and a dealing with extreme loss and sadness. 

Daniel Dallabrida has been facing death more than many of us. Although subtle, the rage he is feeling toward the circumstances forming his life is an important ingredient to his art. In his latest artwork it is seen through the torn layers of imagery. Partly covering pages from contemporary gay club and party poster are torn photographs from his private life. These are photographs taken years back when many of his friends were still alive. The images are broken.

DEATH: Now I see something interesting.
KNIGHT: What do you see?
DEATH: You are mated on the next move, Antonius Block.
KNIGHT: That's true.
DEATH: Did you enjoy your reprieve?
KNIGHT: Yes, I did.
DEATH: I'm happy to hear that. Now I'll be leaving you. When we meet again, you and your companions' time will be up.
KNIGHT: And you will divulge your secrets.
DEATH: I have no secrets.
KNIGHT: So you know nothing.
DEATH: I have nothing to tell.

 Daniel Dallabrida’s exhibition, “In Now’s waters burn the stars of Then,” will by up until March 28th. The exhibition is hosted at the Magnet, a gay men’s health center in San Francisco’s Castro district.