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Husband, father, grandpa, aesthete.
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MAX, COME DANCE WITH ME ON THE MOON!

Found footage project for my editing class at CalArts. Link to the full video is on my story. 🌙
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Last night marked three weeks since I got the call. It was 11:42pm PDT. “Maxwell committed suicide.” My brother, my best friend, my hero and my role model. No words are enough to explain what this person means to me. 

We’ve sat in our tears and tried to make sense of the inexplicable & unbelievable. The only thing I can say for sure is that it’s not fair, and I’m completely heartbroken. I’m mourning Maxwell himself and also mourning our family, which will never feel complete again. I’m mourning the person I used to be and trying to comprehend that I will never be the same. Songs have new meanings. My beliefs are uncharted. My priorities are completely rearranged. Internet doctors tell me my brain is rewiring itself, and I can feel it. My head hurts. I can’t think straight. I feel redundant with everyone I talk to, saying the same things over and over, or not being able to come up with any words. 

We grew up as a pair, Max & Mira. M&M. A dragon and a princess. We lived in both imaginary worlds and many mundane moments together. I have never been interested in a world without him. I’m still not. For now, I float to class like a ghost and try to learn how to live without my other half, my better half, my brother Maxwell.
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Maxwell’s funeral lifted us in ways we thought impossible. So many people helped us put on the event. They set up the memorial tables, ushered, played music, and helped us pay for the funeral costs. And through every part of it, people were practically spoonfeeding us to keep us going. I received hundreds of hugs and there was a palpable healing from this human touch. I felt my pain lesson with each embrace. The thing that meant the most to us was that people would come listen to us talk about our Maxwell. They flew in from many places to honor him and his life—Houston, Dallas, Philadelphia, Chicago, Florida, L.A., Oakland, Madison WI, St. Louis, Seattle, Berlin, New York City, Boise—and we were humbled by the vast love for Maxwell. We have experienced incredible light amidst our heartbreak. We don’t know what the future looks like for us, but we feel like there are thousands of people who have our backs. Here is the link to his funeral if you want to watch it: Link in Bio
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Indya Wilson, DP of “A Love Letter to My Parents.” 💌
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“The Faces Who Made Me,” 2024

One of the most fulfilling parts of making “A Love Letter to My Parents” was finding my family’s archives. 

There were rumors that a VHS tape of my parents’ wedding existed somewhere…and after a summer of searching, we found it in an old storage unit along with Super8 footage of my grandparents’ wedding. 

Digitizing these clips and seeing myself within generations of humor, love, mannerisms, and faces is something I will never forget or take for granted. I even love being able to see Salt Lake City over the years, a place that has become increasingly tender to me lately. 

My grandma passed a few months after we showed her her wedding film, and I’m infinitely grateful she got to see it. 

Take care of your film! Ask your families about their archives! Love your grannies!

If you’d like to see “A Love Letter to My Parents” at the Orem Film Festival, there are still tickets available with the link in my bio. Get a seat at screen 8 if you want to see our Q&A as well. Cheers!
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Baby’s first film festival! Please come see “A Love Letter to My Parents” on Wednesday, September 23rd on screen 8–tickets are linked in my bio!! 💌
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