These are the pieces I’ve collected by Aaron Martin. He’s that guy!
Clockwise: the large multimedia painting is called Posed (Inhibition Dead), Sept. 1, 2003. The marker on tile piece that says Aarons Paky is earlier, not sure the date. The angry one is Charles, “He loves to sing, and picks on red pandas,” circa 2004.
And check him out this Saturday at the Contemporary Museum Cafe. I can’t wait to meander around the grounds which inspired Shepard Fairey in 2005, so nice!
TCM pr person twittered two days ago:
TCMHonoluluPR: Live art? Come to TCM Thursday, Friday and Saturday this week to see Aaron Martin (aka Angry Woebots) create a mural from11:20-2:30pm/cafe
Photographer, filmmaker, friend. News of Sergio Goes’ accidental death last weekend is still raw. The comfort in knowing he was doing something he loved at the time is not enough, but it will have to do.
Having Sergio assigned as the photog on a handful of my Hana Hou stories was always a thrill for me. Even tho the jobs were small and merely a footnote in his award-winning career, they were a highpoint of mine.
His death has shaken up a lot of people, some of whom have blogged about him with more eloquence than I can muster. Details for Saturday’s memorial can also be found at these links.
Also, tomorrow (Fri 7/18) members of Sergio’s free-diving ‘ohana are offering a free dive safety presentation. You’re never too experienced to remember safety in the ocean. But there are no guarantees. The ocean is our mother. She brought us in and she’ll take us out!
I’m filled with sadness. Don’t even have words. Actually I do, but none of them are the right ones.
How someone with such a lust for life is there one night and gone the next is just…. fucked up. Suddenly reality is too heavy to carry. It’s all I can do to stay distracted. I shift awkwardly under the weight of the emptiness.
Remember partying that one night in some really nice hotel? (yeah I forget which one) I opened the door from the gold-fixtured bathroom after puking my guts out and you looked at me, smiling in that rascal way, gently taking in my sick, pale face and swollen eyes. I can see your shining self and hear your voice (did you touch my shoulder?) you said, “Ohhh, Jeela” and I knew without a doubt, that I was a hot mess. Haha. You know I was.
But I always felt too, how you were looking out. You charismatic fool. That hotel night is like my worst best memory; I don’t even know why I chose it at this moment. It’s just there. Little snippets of our time together stand out right now. None of it is right. Jokes pop into my mind, I’m sorry: they make me laugh, and I hear you laughing! With me, at me, doesn’t matter, just laughing. Party, hike, BBQ, wedding. You made every life event MORE. Is that what got you in the end, my friend? Wanting more?
I regret not coming to see you when you were sick, not because you needed me, but because I love you. You are truly a bright spirit that hasn’t stopped burning. I expect the party to be raging when I get there.
