I don’t do well with disappointments. If fact I really don’t do disappointments. When I’ve got something in my head about whats happening or going down, its concrete.
Now obviously they happen. That moment you get the message that something is not happening the way you planned or perceived and that is not a good moment.
This morning I heard the Poet Laureates cancelled their tour through Fort Davis. This is not a place of cultural events, so those that are planned are treasured. The best cultural event most days is Jimmy at the grocery store who hangs out greeting, making delightful talk and wishes for your life.
I just couldn’t wrap my head around the idea the poets were not going to show for tomorrow’s 2pm talk. We have spent months talking about this and researching even the title of Poet Laureate, so it had become like royalty in my mind. The talk of visits to all National Parks, poems written of such and tales of the making all down the crapper to me today.
I found I just couldn’t do it. First I just stomped around and Bruce got the brunt of my discourse. Then I looked up the poet and wrote them an email to hopefully get an explanation of something to soothe me, when they owe me nothing.
Then I thought about why my panties were in a wad and I realized it is because I was looking forward to getting poetry. I don’t feel like I really GET poetry. I’ve dabbled in it and love to think in pros and rhymes, but really most of it I have read, I don’t get. I am pragmatic and it doesn’t fall in line with my pragmatism.
So between my disappointment and my wish to see no one else disappointed, I decided this was an opportunity to start some sort of poetry forum and see where this goes. Maybe only one reading for the poor souls who show up tomorrow thinking they will be seeing REAL Poet Laureates and only get this Poet Laurie with her Edna St. Vincent Millay book.
Surealville is a word I learned from Buz Blurr. He was smart enough to realize that IS our existence here in Surrealville. When the world seems crazy and you just can’t believe how thoughts are recorded and how people move, it is surrealville, much like our visit to a burrito place out here in the Trans Pecos region and seeing the display of chicharones, salsa, and pedialyte.
Buz was a third generation railroad man with an insight into the world which was expressed through words, but he surely felt dropped in Gurdon, Arkansas with a lifetime of knowing there was more to life and another lifetime of finding it through artwork, writing, and people. People who knew Buz, knew he held the secrets although the secret holder struggled with his art identity through self portraits. Each year he documented another year with wisdom gained and steps made in self consciousness.
We first met Buz through Bill Daniel and included him our 1994 exhibit - MONIKER. We were smitten and spent many of the next years continuing to exhibit Buz’s work and visits to he and his dear wife Emmi when we were driving east on 30, where there were afternoons of art talk, heading to the farm to see his newest accomplishments on the holy trinity of rust, and just gathering around the table sharing coffee, cheesecake and sweetness.
Buz touched more people than most of us would dream of in a lifetime. The Colossus of Roads & Gypsy Sphinx daily markings on trains will be seen by generations, mail art passed across the world, and his numerous crossovers , exhibits, and visits with art folks are in numbers beyond what I can imagine.
Buz told us the story several times of renting a gallery space in New York and driving his work up for an exhibit he put together. I think it was surrealville to him when art folks didn’t realize he was there and flock to see his soulful offerings.
We will miss this complex man who mastered the real meaning of art. Make it and they will come or not…..Surrealville, but you did it for yourself and to survive in conversation with this surreal world.
The Best Couple - John & Barbar Kauffman
Bruce and I met in 1984, married in 1985 nearly two years later, and were soon set to inherit his Grandparents house in Waxahachie by 1987. I didn’t know a soul there except the holly roller types I had met through his Assembly of God family, but I recall getting myself lost roaming the streets and coming upon a garage sale that would change my life forever.
It was the coolest of a victorian home owned by John & Barbra Kauffman. We immediately hit it off and Bruce and I shortly thereafter visited their Forreston, Texas old Masonic Lodge Hall transformed into the best fantasy world of cool stuff with Barbra’s unbelievable vintage clothing time warp upstairs.
From there we spent many afternoons in their Forreston paradise where time stood still and evenings at their home talking, laughing, watching old movies, listening to John DJ spinning records for us, eating simple dinners always with a vanilla ice cream finish, chess and more chess. John had initiated Bruce into his world of chess with all of it’s local characters and study of humankind.
The Kauffman’s taught us about art, music, junk business, life, and love. They were no greater mentors for us in learning about the best ways to live, knowing $ would always be there through hard work, the power of positive thought, and LOVE.
These 2 loved each other as much as humanly possible and then some. They met as John was playing drums on the travel circuit and Barbra, was traveling singing, having been discovered by Tennessee Ernie Ford. The 2nd day after meeting they were to go their separate traveling ways, but made the decision to chance it all and stay together. After 62 years of marriage, 3 children, several homes, a music career, then a later career of building and maintaining the Forreston Vintage Market, Barbra & John were only apart for 2 days within all of those years.
The memories we have of these two would fill a warehouse and hardly a day goes by that we don’t think of them .
John passed then Barbra lived yet mourned every day until she too left the planet a few years later to join Johnnie for the next dance.
I have been remiss in keeping up with my beloved writing, but today is our 38th anniversary and I found this photo of John & Barbra.
We have made it through all kinds of good, bad, challenges, adventure, and achievements, but the greatest achievement every day is loving each other and sharing life with all that it brings.
John and Barbra held the secret to true love. Every day, Bruce and I work to achieve just a smidge of what they shared.
We are so lucky to have known them and have each other to share all of the shit and sparkle of life and LOVE.
This has always been one of my favorite photos of Lee Godie. I believe she was much like Mr. Johnson.
We used to have welcoming benches out in front of the gallery here in Waxahachie. They served a great purpose, but at some point had to be removed for a couple of reasons.
One we installed a window displayed that needed the full view without the visual distraction of the bench. The second reason was Mr. Johnson.
Mr. Johnson has lived on the streets of Waxahachie for many years. I believe he is schizophrenic and lives on the streets at his own terms and without medication by his own choice. He is a lovely man of character, kind, respects folks, walks slower than I have ever seen anyone standing upright, and has the conversation skills of the best beat poet. William Burroughs cut-up method has nothing on natural Mr. Johnson.
We have always loved talking with Mr. Johnson. He is interesting and confident to the core. So at some point, he began to live on one of our outdoor benches. We were happy to shelter Mr. Johnson and enjoyed bringing him food, drink, conversation, new toothbrush, etc. Until we realized the wooden bench he lived on was also where he smoked late unto the night listening to the BBC and some obscure soul pop radio station. There were signs that Mr. Johnson was letting the cigarette burn on the wooden bench. We had visions of the whole thing lighting up and taking Mr. Johnson and our building with it.
So, we had our benches removed and a new bench brought in to across the street in front of the vacant building where he could still be near and comfortable and not bring any great change to his environment.
One day we saw local police talking to Mr. Johnson. That seem to be the start of him resting other places but returning from time to time.
I talked to Mr. Johnson and he told of the police visit. He said they wanted him to leave and he said,” shit I own this town”.
I have no doubt about that. He would be a great local politician in my world. He knows this town better than most making it’s decisions and he has the character and confidence that shows of course he owns this town.
I saw him tonight in the rain and I asked him if I could give him a ride. “No, I’m close. I just got to go in the store and see if they want me to do anything about the chocolate I spilled.” Always thoughtful and ever independent Mr. Johnson who probably was walking slower than just about humanly possible to his next stop. He should be the Mayor, but I guess he already holds that position.
One of my favorite pieces by Xmeah ShaElaReEl of Beaumont Texas
I have a deep love and appreciation for combo businesses. Donuts and Wings, Fur and Pecans, the odder combo the better in my eyes.
There is gym here in Waxahachie called “The Lord’s Gym”. Now it is never my intention to offend anyone with my secret laughter about the Lord for I am a woman of faith and hold my own views about the existence of what is the Lord, but you must admit the logo of the pumped up Jesus with the cross on his back with his gym shorts hanging low is pretty damn funny. So Bruce and I have had many a laugh thinking of various businesses the lord could reside over such as our favorite - The Lord’s pawn shop.
I’m not sure any sort of Lord wants to be involved in others businesses, but I realized the attraction it can have, especially in the South for the Lord to bless your business in some form or fashion.
But this past week on the road from our new place in Fort Davis, Texas and our current home of Waxahachie, Texas I saw what I’m still unsure whether it was real or a mirage on the West Texas plain. It was the Mountain Top Church and Steakhouse. It was a big mega size church and it’s signage boasted a number of businesses which I swear one was a steakhouse. So I am now in complete admiration of what may be the smartest combo business out there. Again, I don’t want to offend anyone about the church and business fellowship, but churchs are a business. Where there is a boss and money changing hands, it is a business in my eyes and no judgement involved here from me. All a fair playing field, but my god….a church and a steakhouse, now that is brilliant!! Way to go whatever preacher, deacon, or church administrator who thought of that!
Now this image is by Xmeah ShaElaReEl whom we visited he and his wife Cherry many years in Beaumont, Texas. Xmeah felt a complete Lord driven calling to create art and get out a message. His faith in his relationship to the Lord was beautiful and astonishing to me. His messages in his paintings were strong, beautiful and many common sensible to me. I love his paintings and many messages I agreed with and some not so much, but such is the way of the world and people.
I wonder this morning as I laugh and smile to myself about the Mountain Top Church and Steakhouse just how Xmeah would feel about this. He and Cherry ran a second hand shop out of their home to fund the supplies and needs of supplying the messages in paintings, writings and recordings. I kinda think Xmeah would approve of this combo business.
I feel like this lady. Luckily I love the color and it’s many tones, but I am surrounded by pink all of the sudden. It is a wall color in the gallery.
This fine carving of the lady in pink just came into the gallery.
It is the color of the beautiful stone from the Delores Mountains on our new building in Fort Davis.
It just seems to be at each turn for me and thank goodness it is color that usually always brings me a smile.
Then I go and purchase these beautiful red woven napkins in Mexico in October for the many dinner parties I dream of having at each turn in the kitchen. First time I washed these highly crafted red napkins I threw them in with my towels and everything came out pink except those napkins kept their bold color.
We should all learn from experience and that was confirmed on a recent npr report about crystalized intelligence is the wisdom we gain over the years or at least hopefully gain…..
But now months later every kitchen towel and light tone of cloth napkins for all of my dinner parties is toting a pink tone. It is pink town here and we are just gonna roll around in it and live it.
I got a call this week from a fella out on the West Coast and he was doing his research on a number of artists who interest him. One in particular question was in regard to misogyny and the future value of Royal Robertson’s work. I did not care for the question, but worked hard to answer through my personal experience and hoped to shed a positive light on the complex mind of Royal Robertson.
Misogyny is defined in Webster as, “dislike of, contempt for, or ingrained prejudice against women.”
A word which I can understand might come to mind if you scanned Royal’s work quickly, but this is not a simple judgement to make and one must take time to understand the mind and life of Royal.
Royal suffered with paranoia and schizophrenia, yet was a highly functioning visionary and artist.
He abhorred the side effects of the medication he was given to treat his mental challenges in the 1970’s & 1980’s. The cost he paid to turn away from treatment was the leaving of his wife and children from his life.
He deeply loved his wife, but his mind tortured him with her loss and turned events around in his memories to alleviate his guilt.
I know this from having the privilege of knowing his wife, Adele and the honor of spending lots of time with Royal and his artwork.
We visited Royal often after we met him in 1991. When Hurricane Andrew destroyed his home, we and our friend Andy, went and built him a shed. We have years of correspondence from Royal and many trips to visit him where Bruce left to buy supplies and I spent time alone with Royal. He was always a gentleman and shared with me his respect for women, both by example and display.
Royal was and is misunderstood . He made choices that affected his life and others, but his actions showed only respect and his art a deeper vision of a lonely tortured man who deeply loved those he left behind. He did not make art to be palatable for anyone, yet out of a creative art of survival in his personal world. His work is a compounded beauty and understanding of mental illness.
And what is the definition of value anyway? I value our relationship and the art of Royal, from a man who struggled in life, but did what he had to do and made his own choices to live. I value our mutual respect each other. I value and treasure the time we spent with him and continue to spend with his artwork always furthering our understanding of our creative friend. I value that he welcomed us in his world and hope that any false ideas about Royal will evolve in time to include an understanding of this complex artist. May we not assume we know anyone without really getting to know them.
I value that there will never be anyone like Royal Robertson.
photo by @marsk on instagram
We returned from a two week drive across the country in our outfitted for camping van. The trip was so wonderful in visiting places and sites we had never seen and making new friends who inspire us to do more with greater intent.
So post Covid we noticed gone are the small town cafes. People must have food and fellowship to thrive in their communities, but it was amiss.
I am sure not a Debby Downer, but this was a revelation showing where we are all at this moment and it broke my heart.
No small town cafes. We love a good pass with the locals in a small town. The food can be a crapshoot from the grandma tried and true recipes to the frozen Sysco food examples, but it was dependable that you could get a pulse of a town.
I hope there will be a savior of the towns who will float a new cafe when a clearing can be seen for the locals to gather and give the weary traveler a watering hole.
Meet my new friend Rono and son who I met on my walk this Memorial Day morning. He has it going on doesn’t he; and I have nothing but pure admiration for someone who takes it all of the way.
Just yesterday Tim Kerr and I talked about him being a magnet or sorts to folks like Rono. Those who aren’t inhibited to take it all of the way, don’t stumble over expression or just look at things a bit more colorful than the rest of us.
I too have the attraction. It’s a gift of sorts most of the time for the experiences the attraction can bring are always memorable and many interesting and joyful.
I’ve seen Rono around town sitting on various park benches downtown with his Chihuahua taking in the world. He has a nice friendly wave and lord knows what he sees as the rest of us pass in and out of his world. I think that some of us have the ability to see and experience more than others. Rono looks like just this sort.
The joy he brought me and probably others as they drove or walked by him this morning is a gift. He suited up and held court on the corner remembering and memorializing in his own way and lead me and others to do the same.
Tim and I enrich our worlds and share the appreciation of folks like Rono as we cast have our air of non-judgment out there which beacons all of the Ronos to rub our heads and pass through our worlds with a sparkle.
Bruce is an only child and his Mother passed recently and it has made me reflect on all of the people within my 55 years that have left a mark on my life or our lives together.
Esther Marie Davis Webb was born in India to Missionary parents where she lived until the age of 16 when they returned to the states and Waxahachie, Texas. I can only imagine the shock in change of territory and culture!
Esther was a loving lady with a personal style that bordered on outlandish, but she wore everything well and with dignity. You know that’s the key…wear whatever but you gotta really wear it inside and out.
Her passing has made me reflect on Johnny and Barbara Kauffman, Rev. JL and Ruby Hunter, Royal Robertson, James Harold Jennings, George Williams, Artist Chuckie, Hawkins Bolden, and a few handful of others who were just who they were 100% and gave us a huge slice or even just a glimpse into their worlds, but they shared themselves in some special way.
These people were creatives who molded and made how we think, perceive and act everyday. Each of the folks I think of and recall as leaving a mark on our lives, I can recall thinking when visiting them….”Relish this. There will never be this or anyone like this again.”
I love old photos and this one of Ruth Bader Ginsburg and her Harvard Law graduating class photo is so rich. There are people in our lives whom we don’t personally know but we feel like we do. It’s like they are the ghostly image on your friend roster and if you were to pass them on the street, you’d be like “oh hey there!”. Ruth Bader Ginsburg was the gal ghostly image on my friend roster list. I would have loved to have had her sitting at our dinner table eating surely petite servings and drinking a small pour of fine rye whiskey. Of course, I don’t really know that she drank rye whiskey or drank at all to have made it to 87 and lived a most incredible life. But part of the ghostly placement on my friendship roster, entitles me to fantasize about her selections.
I’m sure many of us have seen the RBG documentary, but what really struck me the most was how in a time when raising her children and her husband very ill and dying, she stuck to the path of dedication to justice for all. FOR ALL. She didn’t cast any votes in the other direction. Her choices for tough. Down right Mother F’ing tough. I honestly don’t known many with that personal strength. Maybe none including myself.
But Ruth Bader Ginsburg was on the planet where she made a difference and defied the odds.
She paved the way for me and all women to be treated with equality. She made decisions on the Supreme Court based upon educated and unbiased wisdom.
RBG receives the Rare Specialness Award and represents true art in her drive and creativity to spend a lifetime to develop and persevere to execute her masterpiece of justice and equality for all.
Damn, she will be missed but how great and valuable to us all that she shared her life.
Recently we have been spending the days going through art, photos, and memories of travel . Last year we visited Lincoln, NM on our way to Pie Town. Bruce painted this shortly afterwards.
One of our favorite travel tales is from years back as we were heading to and from visiting Royal Robertson in Baldwin, Louisiana. We made this trip often and always added in a new dive restaurant, zydeco club, or sausage maker visit. We had heard about the amazing gumbo at the Pig Stand in Villa Platte and sure enough it did not disappoint, but what was even more outstanding was the Ortego Hot Sauce on the table. It was the best of tabasco type vinegar based sauce, but not as salty and had flavor galore.
We quickly asked where we might acquire some of the Ortego hot sauce and we were told “next door”. We went next door and saw it was an auto parts store so surely we got it wrong. We inquired again and it was confirmed that yes the sauce was indeed sold off a back shelf in the auto parts store.
The neighborhood was enamoured with our interest in the sauce and called Mr. Ortego to come up and meet us where we could buy a case of the sauce like a drug deal out of the trunk of his car.
Mr. Ortego was a jolly older fella who valued the secret of his sauce and took it with him to his grave a number of years later after we had many of the same trunk case sales. He said many had tried to buy his secrets.
Mr. Ortego claimed to have grown 2 kinds of peppers and along side with a rusty blender and 2 old uncles, the magic occurred in the Ortego Hot Sauce.
Years back I saw a birthday announcement for a woman living in a Waxahachie nursing home. Her name was Edna Black and she had turned 105. There was little written about Edna, but I was touched that she was lucid and still getting around a bit.
As I was out running errands one Spring day, I recalled the story of Edna and thought about what I would want if I was her. To see Bluebonnets one more time was one I came up with and steered the car to the side of a bluebonnet covered hill and picked a handful. I know I have always heard this was against the law, but I felt certain my limited amount and my story of Edna would soften any flex of the law.
I drove to track Edna down in the Renfro Nursing home and entered her room to present the bluebonnets. Her smile was radiant and small attempt at bringing happiness seemed to work. She recognized the blooms immediately and we installed them in a foam cup at her bedside. Then I began to question her about her life. She was limited in her speech or at least did not feel up to sharing but handed me her hairbrush and asked me to brush her hair.
As I ran the brush through her shoulder length thin gray hair, I realized that her hair had been alive, growing and existing in various stages throughout her lifetime. If her hair could talk I would know more than she herself could probably even remember through her 105 years. I visited her entire lifetime with each stroke of the brush. I could feel all of her love, joy, accomplishments, challenges, sorrows and struggles.
Brushing her hair ended up putting her to sleep and I quietly exited. I never saw Edna again, but always cherished the gift she gave me and I never see bluebonnets without thinking of her and the gift.
photo by William Baker
My friend William Baker sent me this photo and knew just how much I would love it. I love nothing more than good “Make Do” sensibilities. I would give this lady a prize for just how much she got covered with the use of that cart.
You know I’ve always wanted to give out my own prizes. To the people and places I see who have the “make do” mastered or have made strong contributions to happiness. My friend Dottie Love would have gotten a prize or two from me. In addition to her many masterings of “Make Do”, her contributions to happiness are numerous.
Years ago she turned me on to John Prine and his music. I recall evenings with Dottie, her husband Tom, myself and my husband Bruce all sitting under the stars in Dottie’s homemade giant satellite swimming pool while listening to John Prine and his numerous songs, but especially “Illegal Smile”.
Not that John Prine would ever need a prize from me as his prizes were numerous, but I bet his biggest prize was the happiness he received from his own words. He understood the human race and it’s one step forward and two steps backwards way. He found humor in our fumbles and our accomplishments. He was someone who mastered the idea of just not taking it to serious.
It is hard to not take it too serious and stay lightly walking across the iced lake of life. We tend to all easily fall in. But not John Prine.
A young lady I know made a comment about Prine being overlooked and under appreciated. I think that wraps up John Prine. He wasn’t for everyone. Not everyone can laugh at themselves and see the joy in not taking it too serious. He not only mastered attitude, but had the amazing gift of putting it into words and songs.
Thanks for the gifts you left you left behind John Prine. Of course you had a Christmas tree up all year round in your office.
As we begin our day today here at Webbville we are listening to the Staple Singers and working to make sense of it all. Which of course is deep water. Sometimes you tread water and sometimes you glide through with each stroke, always hoping working to stay afloat and remain positive.
This guy came through Waxahachie many years ago. My friend the tombstone maker in town, Rob Montgomery called me to say he had seen someone he knew I would be interested in…a street preacher with a puppet and a megaphone. All three attractive to moi.
I jumped in my car with a bottle of water as bait to talk to the preacher on the steamy day and drove quickly to the intersection where the man was set up.
He had a glow. It may sound cheezy, but truly the man had a glow, a sparkle, an aura, a specialness that I could see and feel as soon as I was in his presence.
He immediately made me feel welcome and there I was to make him feel welcome. I hardly knew how to respond and was every sense of the word dumbfounded. He spoke in short answers to my questions, each seeming more and more unnecessary. He had complete faith that his Lord guided his every move….the creating of the puppet and the identity of the puppet was one of the first steps. The puppet was the conduit to share his feelings, his faith, and the message he felt drawn to share. I bonded with that puppet immediately.
He was so joyful and I relished in his sincere presence. I have spent an adulthood seeking out the sincere presence of people and have always understood what a jewel each minute in that presence can be. It is the moment when you stop to polish that jewel, admire the jewel, and made even touch or wear the jewel.
I believe we have the gift of being sincerely present, but it is the deep water. It is the rich blue beautiful water. And this man did not need my bottle of water. He was already wading in the water.
Our dogs are well aware of their standing here. We never had kids and they dictate so many decisions. Bruce is the complete sucker (don’t tell him I exposed him and he won’t read this). But it’s true. We are tuned in to the animals and they know it. Don’t think it is just our animals either. It’s all of them out there. I can tell the way they look at me after the sniff down.
I recently added James Harold Jennings to our website and have been thinking all week about the love his cats had for him. They adored that man. You could see it and feel it. And he even had a language with them that i could admire but not understand. It was a total other language and it made me love James Harold Jennings even more.
He was someone who let life lead him and didn’t seem to question the paths. He was a projectionist at a drive in movie theatre. It transformed to a porn theatre at some point and he just continued for the work and whatever. The whatever influenced his future artwork hands down.
At some point he quit the projectionist job and stayed at his land with his two school buses and his cats and just made art. Art that was lead by his life and his experiences. There was no fear only adventure, documentation, and research through his art explanations.
Yet another time when I reflect on those in life who have it and I can only learn from it.
Thank you James Harold Jennings.
New post on my birthday of 54 years on the planet seems appropriate today. I use Willie Nelson’s image, for if anyone on this planet can teach us on the positive points of aging it would be him. He has far surpassed me in years, but I can see the things I admire in him are the things I strive for in life and admire in others. Simplicity and love for humanity. Seems simple enough, but life throws us all kinds of curves and stumbling blocks to make the path a bit more difficult. Of course that is living.
This Summer we did some amazing travels and had the opportunity to study 2 seemingly polar opposites in artists, Georgia O’Keefe and Ross Ward. But in reality their biggest differences were just style. Both working and created amazing works of art in New Mexico. Both were inspired by their surroundings and the people within them. Their drive was a simple drive to create what they loved where they loved.
At 54 I realize I am most at ease in a simple gathering of friends and not large masses of people, but I can also enjoy the energy of a crowd without feeling like I need to work to maintain a part of it all, like I would run myself silly doing in my youth. Willie Nelson loves a crowd and that energy and doesn’t need to work to maintain his place in the pack. He is the leader of the pack. It’s all really very simple. Live to find your comfortable place in each day and each minute. Make a difference in what you love and where you love it.
Do you remember that Willie Nelson commercial “Don’t mess with Texas”? It was all about littering and respecting your homeland.
I recently drove past this on my way home from a day out with myself. I had to turn around and switch back a few miles to get the image but I loved it.
We love train car graffiti around here and realize it is the best of immediate art. Goes by in minutes and you most likely will only see it once ever. So this one seemed worth the capture.
If you follow the rail car secret artists, you sometimes recognize the maker, but often not and the mystery is just as wonderful as the images.
"If you throw money out of the window, throw it out with joy. Don't say: 'One shouldn't do that' — that is bourgeois." - Karl Lagerfeld
Obits are out today for Karl. Although not always a fan of his clothing, I loved his weird kinky boot style with those fingerless leather gloves. He was who he was and made no excuses. He hated short mean men. Of course who doesn’t.
Walter Cotton was another important figure in life, history, and culture who was who he was and always strove to be the best he could, much like Karl.
Walter was the principal of the black school in Limestone County, Texas and painted paintings for the school and for his church to illustrate important scenes in which to reflect and learn.
This image from the high school yearbook with his words say everything.
”You must build for yourself a place to stand, and your achievements and contributions will make this a better world in which to live.”
In the big scheme of things and life, powerful thought is collective thought.
We end this year with the passing of our old friend Norbert Kox. Norb was the real deal. We showed his work a couple of times in the past and even exhibited this piece back around early 2000’s, could have even been 2000. Norb was once in a tough motorcycle gang in Wisconsin. He sadly witnessed the killing of his brother. Following this tragedy, Norb retreated to the woods and was transformed through faith and religious thought. Norb saw people, situations, and circumstances through biblical standards, hypocrisy, and wit. His paintings were beautiful and very insightful. He had a strong mind and up until a couple of months ago, he was the only person we knew who had the power of dousing. He did everything through faith and a personal strength like no one else I have ever met.
When Norb came to visit us for the opening of his exhibit, we took him to eat Thai food one night. He asked for his food hot….really hot….like as hot as they make it. He got it and still added additional chilis. We love spicy food, but we were amazed as his enduring the heat.
Norb ate like he lived - honestly and full throttle. Norb passed in Bimini, Florida his favorite place.
We are selfishly saddened because we were not finished with Norb, but Norb was finished and he left behind many admirers and a legacy of art to tell his ongoing story. 2019 will not be the same without Norb.
Rest in Peace Norb. You lived it right.