Gary Wagner GALLERY
"On pain of death"
A day or two after Gary died, I began to sort through his things. In the bottom drawer of his dark old wood dresser, I found a sketch pad with a similarly faded appearance. On the cover, in unmistakeable bold black Sharpie, was written "DO NOT OPEN — on pain of DEATH!." I knew I was exempt – this was his prophecied pain of death.
So I opened the sketch pad and began a long tearful journey through his amazing creations. The drawer yeilded one suprise after another. As well as I thought I knew him, his tracks in ink and watercolor revealed new ways his imagination worked. I had moments of anger that he had not felt safe to share this with me. Exhiliaration-slash-hollow feelings tugging at me, punctuated by tears and laughter.
This particular water-color seems to illustrate his poem "All Aboard" and has come to sybolize for me the wealth of vision and talent Gary had never shared while alive. Under these I found designs and projects of all kinds. Later, in his personal journals, I found their black hard covers revealed 'doodles' and cartoons reflecting the quirky humor and many moods I so loved him for, as well as the heart-breaking tale of his relationship with his "ex" - Thom, who shot himself rather than face AIDS.
Gary's long time friend Jerry Baker and I made a project of sorting the art and copying the line art from his journals. We created a 22 page booklet to give his friends who, like us, had no idea how prolific and how good an artist Gary had been.
Gary's second memorial was arranged in San Francisco by his great friend, Lori Dovi and was held in the potter's studio in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park, near the carousel. I laid out many of the originals on the work benches, along with photo albums with quips and poems Gary had written. I gave all his friends copies of the booklet. It was a perfect space for Gary's first and final art show. The image and poem below were the center spread of the booklet.
Gary was barely able to hold the color pens, but he forced his shakey hands work for him to draw this, four months before his terminal bout with pneumacistis took his breath away. I found the poem later and knew it belonged with the drawing.
ALL ABOARD
At night as i lie in bed waiting for sleep's feverish release, i can hear my laboring lungs creaking, creaking like an old sea weary ship that has been thru many a storm.
I've not yet boarded that ship but know many that have. I've only sat near the dock as they chose to go - or to stay - for another day.
And those who answered the call "all aboard" i miss very deeply. They've gone one by one out to the sea of eternity. The welcoming water so deep and so wide, so somehow familiar in their fall and their rise. When the final time comes and they slip from the "bow" their suffering ended in the Eternal Now.
The ship turns back, no farewell, no 'remorse'
laboring - lumbering back to the shore,
where she'll wait for the next "all aboard"
and begin the same journey forever more...
I miss you Steffie, Mother, Thom, Mark, Tandy, and John...
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