Yo, Death - Take a Holiday!

Got Paxton's ashes back the other day. The same day that my 'Gilbert O'Sullivan's Greatest Hits' arrived in the mail courtesy of the good people at Amazon. There are certain CDs you feel toooo embarrassed to purchase in public.

So after being completely devastated a week earlier, I was now in the mood to just sit down, put on 'Alone Again (Naturally)' and feel sorry for myself. And man, I just wallowed in it. There's a lot to be said for the healing power of self-pity.

But a couple of days of constant Gilbert O'Sullivan will either make you better or do you in. I chose Life. As in, time to get on with it. I miss my dog all the time, I keep looking over where his ashes sit in his chair but it's time to move on. So I hit the FWD button on the CD player to the song after 'Clair' and try to get funky with 'Get Down.'

... and speaking of moving on, I went to a funeral yesterday. Mavis' Uncle Bruce died. 89 years old. I met the guy maybe three times in my life. Never had a conversation with him but I liked his kids. If a man can be judged by the quality of the children he and his wife raise, then I guess Bruce was probably a good guy.

But the day before was a real punch in the gut when I pick up my morning paper to find out that former London artist Brian Jones died two days before at the age of 57. That's not much older than myself. Pancreatic cancer. And it sounds like he was diagnosed with it only a month before.

You know, I believe in God and Jesus and all that stuff but there are certain things in life that are SO F_%$#!?!@#$!!!_ing unfair, that well, let's just say that if I ever get up there, God's going to have a LOT to answer for. And I think we'll start with mental retardation. And then maybe an explanation for why you would put a small heart in the body of a big dog like a Great Dane. And why bestow acne on teenagers at the most self-conscious time of their lives. And why bother to bless guys like me with really big feet and yet not equip us with comparable sized brains?

But I don't want to turn this into a Rant. So let's instead pay tribute to this Brian Jones fellow. I kinda knew the guy in the 1980s. We didn't keep in touch after he moved to Toronto about 15 years ago but for a while during his London years, I can actually claim that he was a friend of mine.

My introduction to the man with with his first one-man show at the old art gallery when it was overtop the old library downtown. "Neighbours," the painting at the top of this post sums up that exhibition. I walked in, out of the blue - and as someone who doesn't know anything about Art, but know what I hate - I fell in love. After close to five years of living in this town - and hating it - I looked at those walls and at some of the paintings you will see below and thought to myself - "WOW!
Someone else in this town actually GETS it!"

And that's when I finally started to actually LIKE this town. A couple years later I read a book set in London and Vancouver by a young lad named Herman Goodden and I had the same feeling. Deja vu. Lord knows, I can't stand the idiots that are in charge and the professional glad-handers who put out the daily news and if I really did want to live in a town that honestly does give a shit about its heritage I'd be living in Stratford or St. Marys (or fukkin' Toronto, for that matter,) but that Brian Jones show back in 1978 was the first time I felt I belonged here.

I tell ya, personally speaking - that show was f'in' mindblowing. I stood in the middle of that room and felt like I was stoned. The next day, I got stoned and went back. The day after that I took Mavis and showed her.

Eventually, our paths crossed. In the sort of way that can only happen when you happen to be a young writer and that's as good a business card as any to get to know people you are interested in but wouldn't necessarily run into in your own social circle.

I was a bit of a fan-boy. And still am. To this day, although Alberto Vargas is my all-time favorite artist, Brian Jones is my second favorite. I'll put Christopher Pratt and Jack Chambers as tied for number 3 until someone better comes along. I wouldn't go as far as to say that I had a 'Man-crush' on him - but the photo from that one-man gig showed a mop-topped young lad who could have been one of the Beatles. And a combination of the 'cute' one and the 'serious' one. Certainly, he WAS undeniably attractive. But then, all of my male companions are. Even Butch. Or Pops, for that matter.

And we struck up a friendship of sorts. Because I try not to be TOO much of a fan-boy in the person's presence. "Wow, and you REALLY know Charles Nelson Reilly?!?" ... I mean, I don't act the way Sammy Davis does around Frank Sinatra or like Kid Dork when he's hanging out with Dick Sprang. Besides we had certain things in common - like growing up on Detroit television. And 'Leave It to Beaver.'

As far as artists go, I've never come across a less pretentious fellow. Before he came here to take the special two-year Art course at Beal Secondary - he spent his high-school years in Chatham as a 'tech' student - taking 'Shop' - which back in those days meant, woodworking, drafting and auto-mechanics. And gym.

But after Beal, he became quite successful very fast at a rate that seldom happens in this town - only a matter of years as opposed to decades - and he took it all in stride. I don't know how seriously he was taken by the Forest City Gallery crowd - after all, he had committed the cardinal sin - he was not only able to make a full-time living as a 'young' artist, (meaning WITHOUT a Canada Council grant,) but even worse, he was popular. With EVERYONE! Respected 'Art' critics and the great-unwashed all responded positively to the man's imagination.

Anyway, he's gone and it's very sad and especially heartbreaking for his wife and family. But in the few posts below, you will find a tribute to the man. Feel free to look, click on and enlarge and then say 'Wow.'