I live in cinema. I feel I’ve lived here forever.

~Agnès Varda

I don’t write obituaries. I’ve never been able to lament the death of public figures enough to put pen to paper and actually write something as if I had known the person or had anything to offer about their life that others did not. It just didn’t feel like my place to muse on the contributions of these people in a way that would suggest I was anything more than an admirer, even if their death did sadden me considerably. It is never easy to hear about the death of someone you admire. Yet, the news of Agnès Varda passing away felt different – this was not like the death of any other artist in my lifetime. I have been around for the sad deaths of countless influential and important figures, many of them poignant losses for the artistic world. None of them had quite the impact as the death of Agnès Varda, a loss that hit much harder than I had ever thought possible. I spent hours thinking, trying to determine what was the best way to pay tribute to Varda because I certainly needed to. I considered watching one of her films and writing a review on it, as a way of paying tribute to her and her exceptional talents as an artist. I considered revisiting one of her documentaries and writing some thoughts on them, especially her more personal and profound works. I even thought of deconstructing some of her shorts for their socio-political and cultural significance. None of these options seemed appropriate for an individual I consider to be the most significant artistic influence in my life. All I could do was to be honest – Agnès taught the world the value of honesty and the importance of truthfulness. I wanted to talk about her, explain what she meant to me and how through both her work and her life, she imparted wisdom that I hold with me dearly. I didn’t know Agnès, but I felt like I did, and judging from the widespread adoration and endless tributes she has been receiving as a response to her sad passing, the same can be said for many people.

One of my close friends and mentors is a painter. A few years ago, I was asking him how he chose to become a painter. His response was “I saw the paintings of Vincent Van Gogh and decided that was what I wanted to do with my life”. A few years ago, I watched The Gleaners and I for the first time, and it was as if I had had a cinematic rebirth – I have always adored cinema, but this was a very different experience. After watching this film, what many consider to be Varda’s opus, I started to feel the same way my friend had felt, entirely blown away by the artistry of what I had just witnessed – and I can say with full confidence that Varda is the reason I want to make movies. I have never had any film replicate the same feelings that small, intimate documentary did. It took me on a metaphysical journey, breaking the boundaries between the subject and the artist, showing us that it is perfectly possible for an artist to insert herself into their work without it becoming a self-praising exercise. This isn’t even mentioning the innovative nature of the film, and how it approaches storytelling in its beautiful representation of ordinary people. This continued with The Beaches of Agnès and Faces Places, the three films forming an unofficial trilogy that stands as the most poignant, emotional set of artistic works I have ever experienced, and constant sources of inspiration. I cannot express what these films mean to me – they’re so deeply personal, and their beauty is found in the way that Varda was an artist who was never intent on portraying herself as an authority on anything other than herself and her experiences, turning them into visual poetry that transcends any preconceived limits of filmmaking. She was always an explicitly honest person, allowing the viewer into her life and her experiences and giving us access to her own personal hopes and dreams, insecurities and anxieties. There are very few, if any, filmmakers who present us with such honesty – and perhaps this is why Varda’s death has hit us all so hard. She was a friend above a filmmaker, a mentor above an artist, and a teacher above a creator.

Writing about Varda and her legacy is a challenge – not that these words don’t come easily, because they certainly do. Paying tribute to someone who has impacted me as much as Varda is easy, and there is so much that can be said about her. Its what one says that becomes difficult – in a career that spans over half a century, pre-dating and outliving the French New Wave, creating new genres and defying the boundaries of both narrative and non-fiction filmmaking, there is an abundance that can be said about Varda and her extraordinary creative output. An iconoclast, a feministic icon and an artistic inspiration in many ways, everyone knows about the legacy of Varda, and the indelible impression she left on cinema. However, notice how very few tributes to her, whether from critics, those in the industry, or general admirers, actually thoroughly mention her legacy in isolation. They certainly do make a point to note all she contributed artistically, but the emphasis is not on who she was or what she did, but what she meant to each individual. Each one of us has had a special relationship with Varda and her work, and this is why the response to her passing has been so bittersweet – everyone is sharing personal anecdotes, stories and experiences, which extend beyond simple admiration for a great artist, but show her profound ability to touch anyone who experienced her work. I could offer an insightful overview of Varda’s contributions to cinema, but it is only reiterating what everyone knows. In writing this piece, I decided the approach I want to take is something I have alluded to previously – looking at Varda not as an artist, but as a friend and a teacher. She impacted me in ways that defy explanation, and the best way to express what she means to me is to look at the lessons she taught me. I call this piece “The Lessons Agnès Taught Me”, and whether it is in artistic endeavours, or in personal matters, they have helped shaped me and allowed me to see the world and those around me in different ways.

The first lesson is that cinema is active, complex and beautiful. Unlike many of her peers, Varda was not someone who was particularly enamoured with films that came before her, and even professes that prior to making her incredible La Pointe Courte, she had been to the cinema very few times. Yet, no one seems to love cinema more than Varda, who approached the medium in a way that exposed its inner beauty and showed it as being something far more than just a way to tell stories. She famously conceived of the “cinécriture” method, whereby the camera was used as a pen, a way of writing a visual story. Whether it be in her short films, her narrative features or her documentaries, Varda’s approach to filmmaking was unprecedented and unique – and she viewed cinema as something more than what it appears. The stories are not enough – it requires active engagement from both the artist and the viewer to make a successful film – escapism isn’t an option, and Varda’s steadfast dedication to challenging both herself, her peers and her audiences made her an extraordinary filmmaker – and while so much of her later career was defined by her status as the adorable elder-stateswoman of arthouse cinema, we can’t neglect that her methods of filmmaking were unorthodox and thoroughly brilliant. Cinema was more than just a popular means to an extravagant life, but the facilitator of powerful stories, the kind Varda relished in making, whether entirely fictional or rooted in reality.

Yet, as much as we can talk about her legacy as a filmmaker and her unconventional approach to storytelling, there was something deeper about Varda that is profoundly striking – and leads onto the next lessons she imparted: we must find the beauty in humanity. Varda was the most humanitarian of filmmakers, and throughout her works, she conveyed her deep fascination with her fellow living beings. In her trio of documentaries mentioned before, the primary purpose was to give attention to those who hardly receive any publicity – the downtrodden, the ignored and the invisible, with Varda’s generosity being the primary reason these films manage to be so captivating. Ordinary people without anything overtly special about them are the focus of most of Varda’s work, and through her deep love of humanity, she found true beauty in the most mundane and banal of situations, and limitless pulchritude in her adoration of others. Varda could evoke something truly moving from testimonies of nearly anyone, and it almost seemed that she was naturally drawn to those who were dismissed by society, truly believing that absolutely everyone has a story to tell. In The Gleaners and I, Varda’s focus is on paying tribute to those hardworking men, women and children that used their resourcefulness and skills to survive, with Varda shedding light on individuals who are normally seen as scavengers and parasitic when in actuality they do what they do for their own relevant reasons. Through the lens of her camera, Varda could tell any story, and her attention to the small intricacies of the human spirit made her stories all the more compelling. We could see ourselves in Varda’s films, and anyone who has ever seen their own experiences reflected in something as poetic as these works will understand the emotional gravitas attached to it and the sheer power of representation. Varda’s films, both those in the realm of fiction and non-fiction, portray an artist who is profoundly inspired not by grand ideas or metanarratives, but rather by those occupying the world around her.

Unlike many filmmakers, Varda was never averse to placing herself within her films. She is not making films borne from nothing, but rather using her own experiences and thoughts to create works that will speak to others. Varda was as much a part of her film’s stories as the subjects, particularly in terms of her non-fiction filmmaking. This is the third lesson – always be curious and fill your life with joy. Varda’s films are often not conventional, and many of them are constructed out of what can only be described as the director’s own curiosities and quandaries, as well as her intention to celebrate life in all its idiosyncrasies. Her fascination with certain ideas often was spun into entire films, and through her naturally inquisitive nature, and her willingness to place herself at the centre of these stories, made for enthralling viewing, as did her clear love for life. An artist without curiosity about the world around them can hardly be expected to make anything that will be emotionally-resonant or impactful in any way, and whether they see the world for all its beauties or in all its faults, the responsibility of any great artist is to represent it in their own way – and Varda’s inquisitiveness was truly spellbinding, and allowed her to explore what interested her, as well as portraying what truly made her happy. Agnès Varda wasn’t one for rules, and her entire career was defined by her rebellious spirit, which extended from her early days as a young filmmaker, right until the end, where she was still an artistic renegade well into her eighties. Breaking boundaries and shattering expectations seemed to be Varda’s greatest talent, and not only did she break the rules, she forged a new set of guidelines for art that many have been meticulously following for decades, hoping to emulate her rambunctious spirit and unique energy – all based on her natural curiosity for people and places, hence the title of her penultimate (and perhaps most personal) film, Faces Places. Who can forget the image of her and JR, driving through the French countryside, passionately singing Anita Ward’s iconic “Ring My Bell”? Varda was a woman who loved life, and every moment seemed to be filled with unrestrained joy because she had found her purpose through her artistic endeavours.

Ultimately, what does a film mean if it isn’t personal and derived from a place of genuine curiosity from the artist? The defining quality of Varda, not merely as a filmmaker but as an individual, is how unapologetically herself she was. She was never someone who intended to fit into any preconceived box of what someone should be. Perhaps the most important lesson I learned from Varda is the value of being yourself. There is a moment in The Gleaners and I, which stands as one of the most perfect scenes in cinema history, where the director herself appears on camera, picking fruits (or “nature’s wonders” as she boldly asserts) off a tree in the rural countryside and gleefully exclaiming “that’s fruit from heaven!” – and perhaps so much of Varda’s appeal was based on her ability to be who she was without any hesitation, throughout the years, never wavering in portraying herself as someone who is a bundle of questions, a lifelong explorer, looking for answers in the most unexpected of places. Her films are so deeply personal, not because she was narcissistic (she was the complete antithesis of self-serving or pretentious), but because her works blended the personal and the public, placing the director in situations that required her to investigate, to prod and to provoke. It was a quality bound in the fabric of who she was, as a filmmaker and as a person – she told the stories she wanted to tell, and the fact that she utilized her own unique perspective in a way that felt less like a documentary filmmaker presenting us with a story, but as a friend and mentor taking us on a metaphysical journey into the ambigious space between reality and fiction was a testament to her brilliance as a filmmaker, and her remarkable empathy as an individual. She was herself until the end, and for that alone, Varda should be celebrated. Too much emphasis is placed on fashioning an ideal image of the artist and their work, whereas Varda made it clear any of us are artists, capable of telling stories and showing a new side of the world in our own way – all we need is the motivation and the tools to portray what we see, in any way we desire.

The final lesson is perhaps the hardest to accept, and the reason why writing this tribute to Varda is so difficult. Varda was a profoundly honest individual, and her work always spoke to a deeper set of quandaries residing within the director – and the subject of mortality was never too far behind, especially in her later works. Varda knew something that we struggle to come to terms with – everything and everyone must come to an end. Towards the beginning of The Gleaners and I, Varda talks about how her hair and her hands show her that “the end is near”. The Beaches of Agnès was the director looking backwards at her life and experience, reminiscing on the past and paying tribute to those that influenced her, whether directly or indirectly, as well as coming to terms with the fact that she is no longer a young woman. The coda to Faces Places sees Varda lamenting about her failing eyesight, and how she knew she was in the last stages of her life – but not that she is being limited by her impending demise. We cannot ever know if Varda was afraid of dying, but it was clear that she came to accept it long before it happened, working through the big issues in her own way. All too often, acceptance of death seems to just entail the realization that we are not immortal, which is very true, but also not everything. We are primarily flawed individuals, and realization of mortality requires us to accept these imperfections and embrace them – and whether they have always been with us, or are the result of ageing, in order to make peace with our eventual fate, we need to be content with who we are. Varda’s films always operated on two levels – the first was that which found the beauty within humanity. The second was finding the beauty hidden within ourselves. In essence, every lesson Varda taught us converge into this single point – we are who we are, and nothing should change that. Her films made bold statements, and she was a fierce, fearless activist for numerous causes – yet nothing Varda said or did will ever resonate as much as her admiration of the human spirit, and how she advocated for both social change and personal acceptance. She saw beauty when there was nothing but emptiness, happiness when there was suffering, art when there was a blank canvas. This is why Varda means so much to me – she made extraordinary art, compelling and beautiful – but it was her effortless ability to connect with the audience, creating a special relationship, that touched me the most.

Agnès Varda was very important to me. She was someone I never met, yet I always felt I knew her – perhaps this was the result of the fact that everything she made was so deeply personal, and she was always so open throughout her career, we couldn’t help but feel connected to her. She was more than a film director – she was an artist, someone who intended to portray the world on her own terms, and through her own eyes. She defied every convention, broke every boundary and made a career for herself out of rebellion. She inspired generations to follow their ambitions and to pursue the impossible, regardless of where these aspirations lay. She stood firmly as a representation of the importance of being oneself and the liberating nature of being independent of any preconceived notions. We all know the joy that comes with proving someone wrong – Varda did this on the regular, shifting perceptions, not only of herself but of her subjects, placing emphasis on those who she felt deserved the spotlight, giving the voice to the voiceless, and give a platform to those that needed it the most. Agnès Varda had the purest and most beautiful soul out of any artist of the past few decades, and her determination to share her vision with the world, as humble as it may be, is truly admirable. Writing about Varda in the past tense is a heartwrenching exercise. She seemed immortal – despite her age, she remained so young at heart, brimming with exuberance and a certain joie de vivre that is hardly seen even within those a quarter of her age. She always seemed like someone who would always be here – and now we have to come to terms with the fact that she isn’t. Yet, her legacy will remain, and her beautiful love for the world has left an indelible impression on any of the countless people she touched with her work. It is always so difficult to say goodbye to a hero, especially one as impactful as Varda. I’m going to miss her, but I will never forget her.

Au revoir, Agnès. Merci pour tout ❤