How often it is that small gestures bear the seeds of great trends in our lives. It would have been easy, back in August of ’17, to decline the invitation to the Sawdust Festival, but something nudged me to accept, and go along. At the Sawdust Festival I encountered artist Dion Wright, whom I’d met forty seven years earlier. I met Dion Wright when I drove my friend Pete Hampton out to Dion’s Laguna Beach home back in 1970 or ’71.
Dion asked me about Pete, and that set this whole chain of events in motion. In searching for Pete, I re-connected with a group of friends I hadn’t seen for many years. Jeff joined my wife and me for Thanksgiving that year.
As I mentioned in the last post, I took sick with influenza around the middle of December, 2017 and was ill for over a month. After the flu passed, I couldn’t get in touch with Pete. His case worker told me he had been hospitalized; Rick told me that he was at a convalescent facility down in Orange County. On top of the infections, and overall poor health, Pete had a problem managing his meds.
Arc2P073, paper, 8 1/2 X 11"
The visit in the convalescent hospital was the best time that I spent with Pete that year. They had his pain medication, antibiotics, and benzo’s all in balance. Pete was lucid, and cheerful. He introduced me to one of the attractive young nurses at the hospital. He could still turn on his impish sort of charm. Pete had her enchanted with his stories about his shows, and the hills, and the insulators. Especially the insulators. Pete told her all about how beautiful cool they were. She told me about how she had looked them up on ebay, and ended up starting her own collection.
Arc2P067, paper, 9 X 12"
“I “flipped” when I saw lichens even on an old
guy-wire cover
Hidden through time 1936—1958 in a Lost EraThe visit in the convalescent hospital was the best time that I spent with Pete that year. They had his pain medication, antibiotics, and benzo’s all in balance. Pete was lucid, and cheerful. He introduced me to one of the attractive young nurses at the hospital. He could still turn on his impish sort of charm. Pete had her enchanted with his stories about his shows, and the hills, and the insulators. Especially the insulators. Pete told her all about how beautiful cool they were. She told me about how she had looked them up on ebay, and ended up starting her own collection.
Shortly afterwards, Pete was released from the hospital, and for a while he was doing OK. That Spring we had some good talks, even to the point of discussing the possibility of trying to get some of his work put on display. But Pete couldn’t manage his meds, especially the painkillers and the benzo’s. He faded back into semi-coherence soon after.
That Summer, I hosted all of the old gang from back in high school for a re-union party over the Fourth of July weekend.
But I hadn’t seen Pete in a few weeks. There was no answer at the door, no call from his home assistant. One afternoon, later in July, I got a call from Geri, followed by an email from Jeff. Pete was at St. Jude’s, and not doing well. Something told me not to wait. I dropped what I was doing and drove over there. He was in bad shape. I had to don gown, gloves, and mask to go in. I saw Pete for a short time that afternoon—he was lucid, but very ill.
He died that night. I ended up being the last of his friends or family to see him.
Arc2P069 matboard, 6 X 13"
Richard and Geri came out in August, and Jeff and Bob Diaz, drove up from Hemet to help clear out Pete’s apartment, and storage space. We had all of us been part of a circle of friends that had long ago dissolved in time and distance. Now after decades we were all called to work together to complete this last sad task for Pete. The idea for this project just seemed to sprout in me and grow over the course of that weekend. Actually, that’s a poetic, but inaccurate way of putting it. I looked at all Pete’s work and somehow, I just knew it was my job to do this.
Sometimes you just get “The Voice”, and you know. That’s the only way I can put it. It seemed like the natural progression in the great scheme of things, a task that needed done, and my place to complete it. Presumptuous? Maybe. Hard to tell.
And that brings us up to the present. This week's pictures are the last of the collection of sketches from the second archive of Pete's work.
Apr17, 1959 behind Turnbul Canyon Rd. Hacienda
heights. For Horror Story 1960, “You made marks in my driveway.”
Just think, John, your willingness to go to the festival and your courage to connect with Dion brought you into this work. Facebook isn't as bad as all that, is it, as long as the politics are removed. I guess we need to look at Facebook as a giant friendly digital photo album of friends and absolute strangers, eh? It does seem a good way to rediscover people, Glen says. You have been like an angel in Pete's life. You did it for art and childhood innocence. I wonder if these are the eternal aspects of our lives we will always return to.
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