jess pinkham

February 16, 2024: Surely at least one language has a word for realizing someone you'd thought was dead is, in fact, alive. This happened to me with Wim Wenders on Ash Wednesday, which i accepted as one last Mardi Gras miracle. I consider Wenders a top contender for the most romantic artist in the world. It was my dad who introduced me to "Wings of Desire" - in the era of the release of "City of Angels," which I watched on the plane home from France after dad died and, both obviously and surprisingly, decimated me - and during my last visit in New York with him we re-watched "Paris, Texas," one of our shared favorites. I remember vividly the day Harry Dean Stanton died and how badly I wished I'd written to him. I don't have a word for that feeling, either, but I'm glad I won't have to apply it to Wenders. (Photo by Getty Images)