cats of mirikitani

A few weeks ago I saw the documentary film The Cats of Mirikitani on PBS' Independent Lens. The story, of an octogenarian Japanese-American artist living on the streets of New York, was touching and inspiring and heartwarming. There is a 20-minute longer director's cut which has won several film festival awards and will be available for sale in December of this year. I think I will buy it as a Christmas present to myself.

The film is remarkable for the man whose life was altered by internment at U.S. camps during (and after) World War II, the bombing of Hiroshima, the attack on 9/11 and his friendship with the film's maker.

It is remarkable for the artist, who used crayons, pens and markers to barely support himself, but also to be a witness to life around him and because the art is in him and must come out.

It is remarkable because of the humanity behind the camera which changed his life and brings a wonderful blossoming and healing to an old man's twilight years, making them dance and celebrate.

And it is remarkable and good to learn that Mirikitani -- several years after the filming of the movie -- is still going strong and living so well.