Dust to Dust

early portraitOn Saturday morning, over 800 artists met under the live oaks in Forsyth Park to draw.  Each artist was given one square of sidewalk, one box of chalk and three hours–the rest was up to them.  The Sidewalk Chalk Festival is hosted by the Savannah College of Art and Design, so the quality is astounding.  Undergrads, grad students, high school hopefuls, alumni, faculty all drawing their hearts out as we stroll by or picnic on the grass.  In the mid-afternoon, judges judge, prizes are awarded, thousands and thousands of pictures are snapped.  Then as the sun sets, it’s all washed away.  It’s just chalk, after all.

Jose Luis Silva spent the day drawing a portrait of our friend, Spencer Cox, who died in December.  He was an hour into the portrait when we showed up.  The grinning mug that Luis had brought to life there on the sidewalk was already stopping traffic as people paused silently to watch him work with just black chalk, white chalk, his fingers and a watery brush.  Luis halted long enough to share hugs with me, with Brantley, with Jill.  We three had loved Spencer when he was a bold boy and again as a wizened man.  At his memorial in January, many of Spencer’s dearest friends had commented on his chimeric habit of disappearing, of slipping away then reappearing years later.  Hell, Spencer was supposed to have been dying for twenty years but he never did.  Then he did.  But it was hard to believe.  in progress

Thanks to the work that Spencer did to get protease inhibitors approved by the FDA, eight million people around the world are living with AIDS today.  Living.  Today.  I’ve been trying to write this next section for days and I can’t, so I’ll quote from Peter Staley’s eulogy, “Grief Is a Sword”:

Eight million people on standardized regimens. Eight million lives saved.
It’s a stunning legacy, and so bittersweet. How could that young gay man, confronted with his own demise, respond with a level of genius that impacted millions of lives but failed to save his own?
This death hit us hard. We have grappled to make sense of it. Why did he stop his meds? What role did his struggle with crystal meth play? Was this a failure of community? Are there lessons we can learn?

The first lesson for me has been about impermanence–Spencer is gone.  Yes, it was complicated.  Yes, he did great things with his genius.  Yes, he did horrible things to his health.  Yes, we can learn things from his life.  Yes, there are things we will never know.  No.  He is gone.

adding the ribbonLuis drew the figure first.  Then he added texture to the shirt and the hands.  The patch of white in Spencer’s beard brought me to tears.  Just a couple of strokes from a stick of chalk and there was my friend.  My friend who had dared to dream of living to 30, miraculously making it to 44.  Miraculous for a man with AIDS to die at 44; tragic for a man in this day to die of AIDS at 44.  Luis gave his portrait a vibrant pink and purple background.  But colors are never that simple.  It took yellow and brown and gray to make it all work.  He added Spencer’s name and the years of his birth and death in the top left corner.  That’s when the passersby started asking each other, “Who is he?”   In the top right corner, Luis added a red ribbon for compostional balance.  Fewer people asked who Spencer was once they saw the red ribbon.  Oh, AIDS.  Another one bites the dust.

reference portrait

The dust.  Saturday was a perfect weather day–warm spring sun, dappled shade, light breeze.  Even in that halcyon climate, every motion–from the breeze to the sighs of careful crowds–took its toll on Luis’ creation.  Near the end of his three hours, he turned to me and said, “That’s the thing about chalk.  I use the water to make it stick better, but the face is already changed from when I drew it.  Just in a few hours.”  His hand fluttered between the photocopied picture of Spencer that ran in the New York Times obituary and the chalk portrait there on the ground before us.  Chalk art changes as you make it.  It can’t be anything but impermanent.

When Luis declared that he was done, we sat under the oaks and we didn’t talk about Spencer.  We played with the tired baby.  We drank beer and iced coffees.  We sent the big kids on errands.  We packed up.  I wonder what it would have felt like to stay there until the park emptied out and the cleaning crew came through with their hoses.  I wonder what it would have meant to me to watch that patch of white in Spencer’s beard wash away into nothing as it joined with everything around it.

An artist creates a portrait that changes as he draws.  A musician plays a note that fades at the same instant it is born.  Eight million people breathe in; eight million people breathe out.  Before we can know a thing, it has moved on.

66 thoughts on “Dust to Dust

  1. Debra Helwig

    Often, you make me think. Today, you made me think AND cry. The kind of cry that makes you cleaner, somehow, than before. I miss Spencer and everything he was and is and always will be, in my mind and in my heart. That is what makes the impermanent permanent – when we carry it with us, inside us, as part of us.

  2. likemymamasays

    Wow. Same place, seeing the same thing but such different experiences. As usual your eloquent words honor both the experience and your old friends (and humble some new ones).

    1. Brantley

      What a day. That chalk portrait summed up so much–nothing to touch, nothing to hold on to–wonderful, amazing, and gone. The day was such a whirlwind. I’m stuck–I’ve got so much more to feel but not the words to express any of it. There is nothing like abiding love, a friendship of weathered years and nothing worse than being left behind. I cannot imagine my life untouched by yours.

  3. Mary Ann Dudley

    Jill’s Friend’s Mom (from Wesleyan Reunion)…………..I can’t read this post without thinking of Emily Dickinson’s beautiful line, “that it will never come again is what makes life sweet…..”. Loving your blog

  4. Jo C. Harrison

    What Luis captured in chalk, you capture in prose: the beauty of a determined, yet tortured, soul…and the depth of real, true friendship. I never met Spencer…and even I feel like I knew him. Thank you…to you and Luis for the gift of your artistry.

  5. Heather Bradley

    I always love what you write. Sometimes I *really* love what you write. This one goes into the really, really love column. You are such a gifted writer. Moving, touching, well thought out, and each story is like a snippet of an interconnected story.

    1. Baddest Mother Ever

      Thanks! Luis and I had an interesting conversation about portraiture–he sees it as just replication and isn’t all that impressed by his own skill. That makes me jaw hang open. But writing is like that too. It’s just telling what happened but the links a writer makes are what brings the story alive.

  6. Pingback: Eight Million to One | Baddest Mother Ever

  7. Pingback: What It All Boils Down To…. | I Might Need A Nap

  8. segmation

    I know when it is done at this wonderful art events, it does get washed away. But it gives so much to the community and is so colorful and fun which to me is so much worth it. Thanks for sharing. Will you go to another chalk festival soon?

  9. alifetraveled

    I’ll have to put Savannah’s festival on my list for next year. Been to the one down in Lake Worth, FL, but since I’ve move back north, Savannah is closer. Great tribute to losing a friend

    1. Baddest Mother Ever

      The SCAD festival is free and in a beautiful location. I highly recommend it! If you’ve never been to Savannah, it’s a great time of year to plan a longer visit around the art.

  10. mirrorgirl

    This was emotional. I did not know about Spencer, or his story. I did not know that out there, a man did what Jesus did with his bread and wine: He shared it with thousands, and suffered for it himself. It`s always hard to handle when love one dies, and even harder when loved ones who really gave everything for others, leave us. I hope in some way, he felt warmed by the many lives he enlightend.

  11. Allan G. Smorra

    A beautiful tribute to your friend and a gentle reminder to us, the living: life is brief, make the most of each passing day.

    Thank you for sharing this with us and congratulations on being FP’d.


  12. Dale

    Baddest Mother Ever, (late) Spencer Cox, Jose Luis Silva, Darren, Pat

    I salute you… Hopefully we can all learn from you!

  13. Leslie Jo

    That post was magnificent. I think everything I wanted to say has already been said, but I want to tell you, even though so many others already have, that you painted a beautiful story; as beautiful as Luis’s chalk drawing. I can picture it because of the way you wrote it, and because we have friends who live in Savannah and we have walked those sidewalks together many times. Great post.

  14. gnovember

    I didnt know Spencer Cox before reading this, but it was so evocative, I feel like I knew him and quite sad at his death. Very well written …

  15. nmbpro

    Beautiful, and such a moving testament of a fallen friend.
    RIP Spencer Cox. AIDS may have caused your death, but it didn’t rule your life.

  16. Pingback: Oh What a Gift! | Baddest Mother Ever

  17. Pingback: A Year, In Numbers | Baddest Mother Ever

Want to Leave a Comment? Please Do!