See You Soon

Thursday, November 21, 2024. Art by Wallace Berman

It’s strange to have one’s past exposed in such things as a public auction. My father, Wallace Berman, made a series of artworks mailed to the dancer and actor Teri Garr around 1964 or 1965. They are unique works, and my dad made a lot of specific mail art that was sent to individuals who were important to him - either due to friendship or people he admired. Teri was obviously admired and to a friendship, but it seems to me something more than that. As a child, and even as a teenager, I wasn’t aware of their relationship, which I think is proper, considering that I’m the son and both parents lived at home. Only when my mother got older, and way after my father was killed in a car accident, did she bring up the possibility of Wallace having relationships outside of their marriage. It has always been in the back of my mind, but ever since Teri’s daughter put parts of her (living, at the time) estate for auction, and even one person is selling the above work on eBay, the reality of such an affair that took place decades ago, is still very much part of my consciousness.

The images by my dad here are all from online auctions or commercial sites. I’m pretty sure Wallace never thought these works would be exhibited in a show, and some were by Teri giving permission for an early retrospective exhibition and a show at our gallery - the Kohn Gallery. Still, they end up in an auction, where it is more likely these works will disappear into the mist of time. Unless I know the person purchasing the works, I will most likely not know, making it difficult to track down for future exhibitions or publications.

I have some documentation of my dad’s art and who the current owners are, but there is a lot of work floating around the world where I have no information on what happened to specific artwork. Still, I’m thankful that auction houses and even eBay put up their images online so that I can download them onto my computer and at least have some representation of that work.

Wallace loved sending something unique he made and being touched and handled by the Post Office world. He also loved it when the Post Office stamped the date and name of the town on the work itself. In a way, it’s a collaboration between the artist and the Post Office. But again, it was never meant to be shown in an exhibition or part of a museum collection. For Wallace, it was a private letter to another individual.

I have been observing the Teri Garr works made by Wallace online for at least a few weeks, and I find them fascinating on many levels. One is that they are incredible works, but of course, there is also the expression of love and desire for someone else besides my Mom. It’s unthinkable that my father would ever leave the family unit that is my Mom and me. I’m grateful that I’m starting to acknowledge that there was a life beyond the unit and put everything back into a human frame of mind. A family is very much like an island surrounded by bodies of water. The moat around the castle is meant to keep away enemies and annoying people, but whoever owns the island or castle can explore other avenues of pleasure or pain.

Private and public life sometimes intersect as one enters or leaves the room. The images in my father’s photographs of my Mom and me are accurate. They show a love among us three and a sense that we are apart from the world. Over the years, I have noticed that many people with bad childhoods or shaky relationships with their parents tend to love those images because everything is what it should be —a loving family. My memory of my childhood and teenage years is the feeling of security and being well-loved by my parents. I, of course, witnessed arguments between my dad and Mom, and they were disturbing to me as a child, but usually, by the next day, it was all forgotten. What I wasn’t aware of is the possibility of the parents having a life outside of yours truly. It didn’t seem possible because it seemed to me that during my hours awake, they were always there, but alas, things happened while I slept.

When I close my eyes, the dreams take over, and another layer of reality is removed, transforming into a state of being that seems more accurate or factual. Most of the artwork (the cards) was made and sent out in 1965, our last year in Beverly Glen, Los Angeles. Our home there collapsed from a mudslide in December 1965, so changes took place that year. I lost all my possessions, including clothes, but thankfully, my Mom dragged me out of the house before it got smashed and became splinters. The only thing I had was the clothes I was wearing. Wallace was at the Post Office getting himself a passport because he had this mad plan to go to NYC/London/Paris for the weekend. It may have been a wild weekend with another person, but nature and destruction became the decider of our fate, and the struggle continued.

When Wallace died and people came over to the house, I recalled someone asking if Teri heard or knew of his passing. At the time, it struck me as being a tad strange for anyone to think this after such a horrifying experience. However, the way the guest mentioned this and the stated method had a meaning behind them, and it was the first time I had thought of such a possibility. Over the years, my Mom had commented to me about their relationship, and she seemed to have been aware of it, but neither (both of them, I guess) kept that subject away from me. As a child or teenager, I didn’t need to know the inner details of feelings between people, and I never felt strongly about it. I still don’t have a strong feeling, but more of the idea that things were happening under my nose, and I must have been sleepwalking through a landscape of my choice and not seeing the world as it existed. The postcards are great art, but they are also a series of messages told in daylight while I dream somewhere off the map.

All art by Wallace Berman. Copyright by the Wallace Berman Estate