For Deborah
Deborah Wolfe, formerly Deborah Safaie, born Deborah Sue Sims, was a study in duality, much like the light and shadow that she manipulated to create stunning imagery.
She was boyish and maternal.
She was audacious and insecure.
She was joyful and depressive.
She often described herself as Tinkerbell.
In the famous words of J. M. Barrie, author of Peter Pan:
“Tink was not all bad: or, rather, she was all bad just now but, on the other hand, sometimes she was all good. Fairies have to be one thing or the other, because being so small they unfortunately have room for one feeling only at a time. They are, however, allowed to change, only it must be a complete change.”
Deborah understood herself better than anyone else I knew. Understanding, and overcoming, however, are two different things.
She was the Calvin to my Hobbes, the Peter to my Wendy. She was my best friend for a quarter century, and my spouse and business partner for 16 years. When I met her, much like Hobbes, I became animated—alive. And oh, what adventures we had.
After we transitioned our partnership back to friendship, in a way that onlookers found confusing to categorize, she struggled to convey to others the complexity of our relationship. She said, “I never know what to call you…anything I try seems diminishing and incorrect.” Anyone who knew us felt the same – what we were was never going to fit into a box. For eight years, even though we no longer shared a home, I heard from her at least twice a day. Morning, and night.
I still reach for the phone sometimes. Still feel the instinct to call when I’m stuck, when I need her orthogonal perspective—the one angle no one else would ever see. The same unique eye she had for photography worked for thorny dilemmas also.
She was my first call when things didn’t make sense. And when I see something funny, or poignant, or so unbearably beautiful it hurts, she’s still the one I want to tell.
“Set your vibration and undulation to the highest it can go” – Everything is Sound, Jason Mraz
We met in June of 2000 at the Raiford Gallery in Roswell, Georgia, introduced by our mutual friend Cathryn Cooper. Cathy called me upstairs from the basement one day because Deborah just HAD to see my new tattoo. That was our first interaction – brief, yet significant.
Later, she came back to photograph the gallery staff for the cover of Niche magazine. The building had a second-floor gallery that ran around the edges of the two-story open space, and she directed us all to lie down on the floor while she ascended the stairs to shoot from above. I’ll never forget the way she recklessly threw her leg over the railing just to get the perfect shot.
That was Deborah – no hesitation, always looking for the right angle, the better perspective.
She tried to live at the highest vibration, to reach for light and joy, even when her own mind worked against her. She didn’t always succeed, but she never stopped reaching.
“If I never met you, oh, what would I be like…every time I miss you…you’re my best friend for the rest of my life. I wish I could turn back time.” – For Youth, BTS
From the moment we met, it was like a conversation that had been interrupted only seconds before had resumed.
Deborah saw me – REALLY saw me – in a way no one else ever had. She pushed me, challenged me, made me more myself. I built a life around that, for us. When I founded Rowboat Media, I named it thus because she always said, “Girl, it’s just you and me in the rowboat.” Through many a storm, we kept that rowboat afloat.
She used to lament that she stole my youth, wasted my best adult years. She was wrong. She wasn’t a thief – she was the springtime of my life. If anything, I wish I had more time to give her.
“I’ll tell you again / We’ll never ever give up, forever / I’ll say it again / We’ll always be alive to move us.” — Neuron, j-hope
When I think of Deborah, we’re in the car, going fast.
Maybe it’s a high desert highway near Ghost Ranch, the sun blazing on that stunning landscape. Maybe it’s the interstate through Lower Alabama, chasing the humid air all the way to Pensacola, driving 80 miles the wrong way because we were too busy jamming out to Devil Without a Cause to catch our exit. Maybe it’s that time we drove our kittens, Elliott and Luna, across the country to Santa Fe, our whole life reduced to 30 framed pieces of artwork and a trailer full of lighting gear.
We were always moving, always looking around corners, never standing still. Always chasing whatever she said might finally bring her peace.
“Since you left, I feel the change in the air.” – Late September Dogs, Melissa Etheridge
Deborah changed the air in a room just by entering it. And now that she’s gone, the air is different, and it’s harder to breathe. She was always a presence, nested inside my heart and my head, even from 2,000 miles away. She would say, “did I not text you? I’ve been talking to you inside my head all day and I guess I thought I had.”
The point of this eulogy is not to tell her entire story – it spanned 65 years, four states, three relationships, and two cultures. Others have their own version of Deborah – as wife, mother, partner, friend, to share at will. The best I can do, which is woefully inadequate, is to share these vignettes, anchored by music. It seemed like half our communication was song lyrics and movie quotes.
“Well, ain’t this place just a geographical oddity – two weeks from everywhere.” – O Brother, Where Art Thou
“And if we ever leave a legacy, it’s that we loved each other well.” – The Power of Two, Indigo Girls
She always said she wanted the song Jessica by the Allman Brothers played at her funeral. So if you want to honor her, listen to Jessica. Feel the movement, the energy, the wind rushing past.
That’s her. That’s who she was. And that’s how she’ll always be remembered.
Deborah, I always knew that somehow, it would be left to me to do this.
Here you go, little bird. Here’s your song.
– Cynthia
