Brother, Best Friend, Master Artist
By Klaartje Quirijns
, London
Boris Gerrets is dead: my brother, my best friend, my mentor.
I need to write this to make sure I understand you passed away. I feel you are still here, I hear your voice, I hear your questions, I hear our conversations. I hear what was on your mind: your dream to be with Alex and Basil in your new apartment in Marseille. You told me there was an excellent school for Basil.
Samuel Beckett, when asked if one beautiful spring morning made him glad to be alive, responded, “I wouldn’t go as far as that. Life is a predicament, death the elephant at the horizon that looms larger as the years pass.”
If I think of you Boris, I think of life. And work. You sent me your idea for your new film. And your memoir. There was no time to lose. Death looming in the background made you even more curious, more determined, wiser. It seemed like you knew something and you needed time, you needed life so badly.
Your life was a journey. Trying out what was working and what wasn’t for you. Like a scientist you would eliminate the elements that weren’t part of you or your work. And then you told me that life finally culminated in who you are, finally arriving at a place where you knew what you wanted, with love as the most important force. And that was Alex.
Our film, Your Mum and Dad was as much my psychoanalyses as it was yours. Our stories are in the subconscious of the film. I could visualise your upbringing. Always surrounded by women: your grandmother, mother and aunt. I was very happy to be in your female entourage, together with Alex and your daughters. We understood each other so well, like a brother and sister. When we discovered your father could have met mine somewhere in a nightclub on the Leidseplein, we weren’t surprised. And then there was the fact that we would always miss flights, or we would arrive unexpectedly at the same airport. Nothing was strange because we knew we came from the same place, wherever that is…
We are family. When I was so lucky to rest in your arms, just before the world would close down, me comforting you and you comforting me, I flew back from Berlin to London and a deep warm feeling came over me: I have this beautiful experience and this friendship is part of me. I know you will be with me. And I still love hearing your voice, your incredible original mind.
Boris, you are a great soul; you absorbed the human soul, looking into the contradictions and complexities. You dissolved all boundaries of art, and crossed their borders with a fearless freedom. And right in the heart of this you showed us what it means to be human. What you gave back was art in every form. And kindness, decency, taste and humour. That is a master artist.
Boris, I will miss you so very much….