Foraging for Sean

 

Still no sign of that painting of Sean Vigle. It was him, standing in his black leather car coat, looking like such a hard man, on a brilliant cadmium yellow background.

 

Amazingly, in this very small house, there are still more places to hunt.

 

Nonetheless, I’m fixin’ to start a new painting or three of him. First though, I need to run into Utrecht’s for more canvas and large sheets of nubbly, rough watercolor paper.

 

I was trying to recall if there was any particular reason, beyond life’s simple, crazy chaos, that we lost touch.

 

Maybe.

 

His girlfriend at the time, while smart,  pleasant and stunningly beautiful, was the jealous sort. She had no worries from me -- Sean and I were platonic friends and, HELLO, THE Amazing Bob! But I understood. I was wickedly, irrationally jealous back then too. I became a snarling and stupendously neurotic, whirling dervish of lunacy if any girl strayed too close to MY Amazing Bob.

 

So, I stepped back -- stopped calling and writing.

 

Mostly though, our out-of-touchness was a by-product of la vida loca.

 

While foraging yesterday I found more letters and postcards from him. Sean used to send these 3”x5” cards with Xerox copies of funny, interesting bits pasted to the front. When picking up the mail, after a long day of press room toil, I felt like I was finding hip, witty, little exclamation point bouquets.

 

He sent the one, at right, during his LA years.

 

The pics on the contact print were taken during his Brooklyn span.

 

Today, I am so very glad to be a pack rat.