The photograph is of Wallace Berman (my father) in the center, and the left of him is Dean Stockwell, a family friend, an artist and a well-known, and actually wonderful actor, with a third presence of someone I’m not sure who it is. I found this photograph among my mom’s property when she moved in with us, during her last month on this earth. I returned to her apartment close to our home, took plastic bags, and threw everything I could in them. I wished I had done the same at my late uncle’s house, but I missed a box or two, and a dealer got his hands on some family pictures, and even Wallace as a teenager in front of Tempo Music on Hollywood Blvd. Once a dealer has his hands on one’s family images, forget it. I’m lucky to be the only one in my Mom’s household. Still, it was a sad series of days to go through the past.
Tosh, I too swish through the fog of grief and memories every day and music and books, music and books are the handrail at times when I can hardly see what's around me. I had a health issue recently that had me reaching for missing grown-ups then realising I can manage on my own well enough. Music reaches beyond language and is peculiarly of the now...
Tosh, I too swish through the fog of grief and memories every day and music and books, music and books are the handrail at times when I can hardly see what's around me. I had a health issue recently that had me reaching for missing grown-ups then realising I can manage on my own well enough. Music reaches beyond language and is peculiarly of the now...
Thanks Tosh. No words can fill that space that once was there.
Your comments about parents and esp your mom reminded me of this song from the great Julian Cope called the great dominions do you know it ?
Wistful and wistfully true.
Correction 805-8744620– not 806
I read you when I have time
Bring your wife and let’s have dinner
806-8744620 — I am 20 minutes from Malibu in the factory across from the Point Mugu — get off at the Port Hueneme exit
Those are my buildings