T.A.Z

a Temporary Autonomous Zone

Built on scraps, driven by instinct. A space for words, sounds, and unfinished ideas.

Still from Japón, a 2002 film by the Mexican director Carlos Reygadas.

My family moved to South Gate in 1984, leaving behind what’s now known as the University Park area—just south of Downtown L.A., and just north of USC.

Back then, South Gate in the late ’80s and early ’90s reminded me of the Manchester I read about or the Pittsburgh I saw in movies. It was a hard-nosed, working-class town surrounded by heavy industry. A city shaped by places that tore things apart—concrete, glass, metal.

Steel foundries, saw mills, and scrapyards littered the landscape. You couldn’t escape the sounds: the constant banging, humming, and mechanical buzzing. It was like living inside an early Einstürzende Neubauten album.

When the sawmills started shutting down, I might’ve been the only one who noticed how quiet the city had become.

From Of Mexican-Descent,
a film I’d like to complete one day.

Allan Sekula, 1951–2013

I found myself thinking of Allan Sekula earlier this week—not as the celebrated filmmaker and artist so many knew, but as the educator and mentor who left a lasting impression on me.

Allan was a professor of mine during my time at CalArts. He was always excited to talk to me, even though I was still extremely introverted and shy. I didn’t always know how to respond, but I appreciated his interest in my work.

Allan was always down to talk about SELA—Southeast Los Angeles—with genuine curiosity and respect. The first time we spoke and he found out I was from South Gate, he lit up and told me a story about taking the bus from San Pedro to visit his new girlfriend who lived in S.G. He was kind and generous with his time—with all of his students.

He connected with a piece I made in one of his classes—a video portrait of the Huntington Park Parade, influenced by the observational approaches of Direct Cinema and Cinéma Vérité. Under his guidance, I was able to complete the project. Even before I fully understood what I was trying to do, he supported me and gently nudged me toward my own insights. After our in-class screening, many voiced their opinions, but Allan had said little. Finally, after some quiet reflection, he asked a few questions and said, “Only you could have made that.” For any young artist, those words carry immense weight. They’ve stayed with me all these years—and now, in an age dominated by social media trends and built in templates, they ring even louder as I strive to make work only I could create. 

I admired his intelligence, his generosity, and his vast knowledge of both film and the city we both loved. It’s been twelve years since his passing, but I wanted to write this before more time slipped away. I regret not keeping in touch with him. Our friendship was brief, but his wisdom and mentorship continue to resonate in my life and work.

Francisco Romero Oct. 10 2025. Los Angeles, California