We Die. Then We’re Forgotten.
We all know life ends. That’s not the surprise. The harder part is this: not only do we die, but we’re eventually forgotten. Completely. That fact sits at the edge of consciousness—rarely invited in, but always looming.
A year ago, I saw this video about Danish photographer Balder Olrik. It just resurfaced in my YouTube feed. An artist, going through a health crisis, came face-to-face with his mortality. It shook him. He realized, maybe for the first time, that he’s going to die. And not just die, but vanish from memory. No legacy. No monument. Just absence.
It hit me because I see this all the time: artists wrestling with death anxiety without having the language to name it. They circle around it, feeling it, expressing it, but never quite framing it. This is exactly the moment where Ernest Becker’s work becomes powerful. If I could talk to this guy, I’d walk him through Becker’s ideas—the tension between our symbolic hunger and our fragile biology. I think it would land. I think it would help.
What’s most interesting is this: in the midst of his anxiety, he’s creating. That’s the paradox. He’s using the very thing that can help him confront death—artmaking—without realizing it. Creativity isn’t a cure, but it is a confrontation. It’s a way to say: I know I’m going to die… but here’s what I made while I was here.
Spend 16 minutes and watch it. You won’t regret it.