On Día de los Muertos the Mission ‘remembers with beauty’

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Surrounded by altars, marigolds, and candlelight, Marco Ruiz stood out from the crowd. In lieu of an elaborate memorial, Ruiz simply hugged a large framed photo of his brother Martin, who had died two days after his 19th birthday.

Ruiz was stoic, taking in the scene. When asked about his brother, however, he smiled.

“He thought he was the best dancer,” Marco grinned. In reality, “he was so bad — but he didn’t care.” After Martin was killed in a car accident years ago, 1,000 people attended the funeral, Marco added. Now, only the oldest kids remember him.

On Día de los Muertos on Saturday, the Mission, like the Ruizes, was focused on celebrating the past.

Potrero del Sol park filled with altars honoring pets, friends, teachers, children, grandparents, great-grandparents, and even strangers who have passed. Their loved ones reminisced, telling stories long past sundown to anyone who stopped by.

Notes written for communal altars will be taken to burning man. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

Martin Ruiz, according to his brothers, was the goofy, sporty middle child. He never said no to babysitting his nieces and nephews — as long as there was pizza involved. They had their own language of inside jokes.

The Ruizes once lived in the Mission. The siblings are graduates of Saint James Catholic school and, in the ’90s, their mom owned a taqueria and produce market near 22nd and Valencia streets. They moved away when the neighborhood began to gentrify, Marco said, but they returned on Saturday to celebrate Martin.

A man wearing a 49ers cap holds a framed photograph of another man in a park setting. — Marco Ruiz holds a portrait of his brother, Martin, who died in a car accident years ago. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

“Sitting with grief and not being sad is a beautiful thing,” said Cindy Predock from the center of a communal altar organized by The Marigold Project.

Above, notes handwritten by passersby fluttered in the breeze, clipped to string tied between three trees. The notes will later be burned in a Burning Man temple, Predock added.

Cindy Predock at the center of a communal altar by the Marigold Project. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

For many, setting up an altar at Potrero del Sol has become an annual ritual. Artist Adrian Arias, for one, attends every year “to remember with beauty.” This year, Arias said, that means not just remembering ancestors and friends, but every Palestinian affected by war.

Adrian Arias looks at his painting inspired by his grandmother. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

Others were new. Even though 24-year-old Erick Farias was raised on 24th and Mission, Saturday marked his first among the altars. It was a chance to connect to his Mexican heritage, Farias said, still giddy from dancing in the park’s marigold-strewn placita.

Erick Farias dances in Potrero del Sol in a skeleton hoodie. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

While most in the park traveled with family and friends, some arrived alone.

At the end of the night, one woman in an oversized black parka collected framed photographs from a communal altar. She wrapped them in plastic and slipped them into her rolling backpack, steeling herself for the trip back to Ocean Beach.

One woman traveled alone to place photographs of her family on a communal altar. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

The elderly woman asked to remain anonymous, explaining that she had nearly been scammed out of her life savings over the summer and was now worried about identity theft. But she agreed to share images of her mother.

Many of her picture frames are dedicated to the family matriarch, who “worked so hard” she became skinny to the point of no longer looking “like a human being.”

This condition, the woman said, was the result of years on a factory assembly line in tropical Hong Kong. A framed scrap of paper — less than one inch wide and inscribed with Chinese characters written in soft pencil — is the last preservation of her mother’s handwriting.

An elderly woman shows a photo of her at 18, besides her now deceased mother. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

Her father, she continued, had been the mayor of a small town in mainland China before escaping the communist party. There was more family memorabilia at home that did not make the trip to Potrero del Sol — this was her first time and she’d been concerned there wouldn’t be enough space for her.

On the bus ride home, the woman marveled at how receptive everyone at the festival of altars had been to questions about their loved ones. Mourning the dead, for her, had always been a private activity.

It was nice, she reflected, to share their memories.

Tréy Henderson’s altar is an ode to her family’s mix of cultures — her husband grew up in the Mission and she comes from an Irish community that celebrates All Saints’ Day. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

Ruth Tedder, a percussionist visiting from Australia to learn about Afro-Latin music, wore a photograph of her mother, who died at 89-years-old, on a chain of marigolds. The traveler needed her altar to be portable. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

Handwritten notes flutter around a communal altar. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

Children walk amongst the marigolds. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

Many pets were remembered. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

Jordan Santana, a local high school ethics and American history teacher, dressed as a “moving altar” adorned with monarchs, which are thought to be returning spirits of deceased relatives. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

Lisa Rodriguez grew up in the Mission, and has been setting up an altar for the last decade. It can be hard when people ask how her young relatives died, she said. Still, she displays their school pictures proudly. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

The legacy of Annetta Black, co-founder of Odd Salon, is an “extended family of weirdos who like talking about history to odd people,” her friend Laura Rubin said. Fittingly, her altar consists of a “cool orchid,” a “cool rock,” Darwin quotes, and a book of German fairy tales. “It’s going to be weird without her.” Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

One person in costume stood, statuesque, all night. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

Marigolds hang from altars in Potrero del Sol. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

Ancestors remembered. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

Erick Farias and Rita Wolper dance in Potrero del Sol on Nov. 2, 2024. Photo by Abigail Van Neely.

Cate Kellison, 53, and her mother Susann Kellison, 81, remembered Susann’s sister Nancy, who died three weeks ago, as “the good aunt.” “So many people have come and asked her story and offered condolences and hugs,” Susann said. “So many hugs — from strangers!” Cate added. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

Mario is honored by his father, mother, and half-sister. His mother says the Dia de Muertos is a “chance to be a mom again.” His half-sister, even though she never met Mario, remembers that he loved baby corn. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.

Charissa Gering, with her dog Cora, honored “101 years” and four generations of grandmothers with an overflowing suitcase she brought from San Jose. The eggplants in the grass, she said, were a nod to an art piece depicting a “goddess of eggplants” her stepmother had adored. Photo on Nov. 2, 2024 by Abigail Van Neely.