Love Hard, Fight Beautifully

I read that the other day in the lobby close to the elevators of the office where I work. It's part of an art exhibit–I'm not exactly sure for what–but it's a phrase to which I find myself returning daily. But mostly I think of it because this last week has been hard as hell for me and for a lot of my close friends.

Cayce lost the fight last week and we miss him horribly. He left behind a wife of some twenty years, two boys young enough that they still take baths together, and siblings as close as they make 'em.

You think you know grief. You think you know loss. And then along comes something that is as impossible to understand as Einstein's theory of relativity. And that's the thing. What one day seemed impossible to understand eventually grows to become something you just accept as true. And I guess, that's where I am with it all right now. Things are in the process of becoming true. And it's not an easy place to be.

I first met Cayce at film school many years ago. I was a graduate TA for a class that was small on a good day, and more like an intimate yet uncomfortable job interview on a bad one. I don't think I ever prepared harder for a class, and I don't think I ever ended up flailing more. Cayce was the only student who actually tried to respond to my questions. The only one who attempted to engage with the readings–even if he hadn't read them. And the student for whom I ended up teaching the entire course. Cayce encouraged me, as best as one of your students can, by, at least, acting like he was getting something out of the class. Years later, Cayce himself would become a teacher: a much more relaxed, genuine and knowledgeable one than I ever was. And from that first encounter, Cayce turned me on to more films, music and obscure Internet sites than seems possible for one person to be aware of. If you asked any of his friends, students or colleagues you'd hear the exact same thing. Anything Cayce championed was something worth investigating.

Cayce, his wife Chela and their boys, Django and Taj, made a home not far from mine. There's was a home I would visit, not just for the free meals and lively conversation but for the open door policy, the unlimited sustenance and playtime with two of the silliest boys I've known. I loved nothing more than to visit Cayce when his wife was out of town and watch him, overwhelmed with the boys, trying to give them a bath and put them to bed, and they, in turn, knowing just how to work the crowd to their own benefit. Trying to act the role of the father, you could see Cayce was clearly no match for them. And at the same time, you could see just how much he loved it all.

I could go on and on about Cayce. About how he was the best Sasha Baron Cohen impersonator I knew, about how when he left you a phone message it was so shit-your-pants funny you collected them all, or about how when he loved something, be it a song or a film or a strange new drink from Whole Foods, he proselytized to such effect, you soon found yourself praising their merits as well. But it breaks my heart too much to think about. To realize the memories I have are the only ones I get.

Cayce was rock and roll. He was unbridled affection. He was for real when nothing else was.

And he was loved. And he was beautiful.

kristy

Swait

Here's a few minutes of Cayce in concert. This is from the only Swait performance ever captured on tape. 12/29/97 at the Garage in LA. The songs in this clip are Pinewood and Gibraltar May Fall. It's a little heavy but that's the way it was. I don't really know what else to say.

Patrick

CAYCE’s 2nd YEAR MFA CLASS AT SFSU, 1998

Front row: Ron Toole, Michael Massing, Jan Millsapps, Jamie Meltzer, Iseya
Back row: Jennifer Hammett, Kristin Cato, CAYCE LINDNER, Luci Kwak, Angie Leonino, Baptiste

I will remember Cayce as a daring and enthusiastic filmmaker whose energy and enthusiasm for creative thought and activity never waned. In our 2nd year MFA class, participants were encouraged to challenge their knowledge of cinema and to take their work in a new direction. In the photo above, we are all pretending (or not) to be bored by conventional films.

Early in the semester, Cayce and his pal Jamie Meltzer set out to make a feature film in two weeks using only a Fisher-Price toy video camera – and did it (actually, I think it came in at just under an hour, but impressive nonetheless).

For his final project, Cayce created “History of the Anderson Transfer,” an installation featuring a room housing the invented video archive of an invented 16-year-old boy who has his own invented historian.

This is how Cayce (writing as the Anderson historian) described the project:

"… an exploration of the personal videotape collection of a 16-year-old boy. By using the video format as the centerpiece of this installation, which allows the participant to look around the boy's room and sift through his tape collection and other possessions, Lindner has attempted to refocus cinema narratives, forms and gazes to reflect a life that mystically inhabits a media format. David Anderson's videotape collection is not only an archive of family texts, narrative films and personal events, but a book of dreams, an archive of fantasy. This videotaped world has bled into David's actual surroundings, blurring the boundaries between fantasy and reality.”

Still from “History of the Anderson Transfer”

Brilliantly conceived and deeply engaging, Cayce’s 2nd year project was presented at SFSU and also at the Mill Valley Film Festival.

I also found the bio Cayce wrote for himself during the class:

“Cayce Lindner studied film and literary theory at the University of Oregon. He is currently writing screenplays and country/western music and has recently started a small record company. His first year MFA film, "Somewhere in a Sad Song," explored his central concerns of obsession, desire and American popular culture. He would like a rural life with his wife and children somewhere along the United Shuttle west coast corridor. His kids will go to college on Hollywood money.”

Cayce’s thesis film was one of the best to ever come out of the SFSU’s MFA program. I loved the expansive way his brain worked and the unconventional methods he used to translate his ideas into pictures and sounds.

He kept in touch. I last heard from him in a January 25 email whose subject was, “Saying hello, from Cayce Lindner.” And now I have to say goodbye to Cayce Lindner, but his incredible filmography will endure as a powerful indicator of the person he was. I am comforted by the memories of Cayce I retain and I am honored to have been a small part of his artistic life.

Jan Millsapps
Professor of Cinema, SFSU

I was never able to pick a favorite angel

video courtesy of Neighborhood Films
filmmaker: Daniel Robin














thought you might want to pass this on to some folks, some awesome cayce footage

andee

Cayce

Cayce Michael Lindner
Originally uploaded by brockton.

I found this photo on flickr and am borrowing it for my post (courtesy of flickr user brockton) since I don't have any images of my own.

I didn't know Cayce all that well -- not as well as most, and certainly not as well as I had hoped to -- but I knew him well enough to know how great it was to hear him laugh. He was one of the first people to make me feel like the Bay Area was a good place to be. Cayce was the guy you saved weird films, weirder records, and funny/odd stories for because it was a rare thrill to see his face light up in appreciation. A walking encylopedia of life's best kept secrets and pop culture gems, he turned me on to The Beaver Trilogy, Jandek, and the cheeseburgers at Joe's Cable Car and, for these things and far more, I am forever grateful.

Cayce, I'll miss you. I'm terribly sad at not getting the chance to know you better.

Your friend,
Omar

A Little Flame For Cayce

A little flame, it keeps going for a while.

I don't have Cayce footage, but I made a little thing with my favorite Flying Canyon song and a pic of Cayce in the clouds. Just click on the pic. It's a simple place to go to listen and gaze and think.

Thanks to all that have helped bring such sweetness from disaster.

Love, Jonah