I learned earlier this week that someone who had a great impact on my life, both personally and artistically, has passed away. We had been out of touch for a little while, yet I thought about him often.
R. was someone very special to me. I can’t quite get my head around the fact that he is dead. He was joyous, he was kind, he was funny. He was a gentle spirit.
R. was a fascinating man. He was a collector of things, like a little magpie. He was the guy you wanted to sit next to at dinner or at a cocktail party. He was a spinner of stories. He often shared the greatest tales: Growing up in Hong Kong, before being sent back to England for boarding school; school holidays spent on the Cornish coast with his aunt and uncle who looked after him; adventures in London through the 70s; and the many artists he worked with and the anecdotes he had of them were incredible.
He was always thinking, always seeing things with new eyes. He was a wonderful flute player. He was an avid reader and a superb gardener. We once traded a cutting from an aloe plant, of mine, for some marigold seeds from his sister’s garden in Denmark. He was a great builder of things. He was a pixie. His stories shall stay with me and it is now my turn to carry on spinning, weaving his tales so they are not forgotten.
I am so grateful for the time that I had with him and honoured that he let me see just a little bit of his world. For, he is someone I will never forget. I was lucky enough to call him my friend and I will dearly miss him.