Market and Van Ness is not the healthiest intersection for Jason

A few weeks ago my best friend called me to catch up on what was going on his life, my godchild's life, etc. I didn't realize Blake, my godson, was right there and that Patrick had put the phone up to his ear. I heard all of this cooing while I rambled on and thought that Patrick was making noises on purpose (He used to call and leave voicemail messages from then yet-to-be-born Blake.) When I heard Patrick in the background saying that Blake was smiling with the cooing overlapping Patrick's voice I stopped, suddenly, in the intersection. (I had never heard Blake before this moment.) It was a watershed moment. I lit up, probably hopped a little and then realized that a car was coming and ran to the sidewalk.

This afternoon I had to return to that area to pick up some spacers for a picture I am framing. This time I was listening to my iPod as I ventured into the intersection. A song by the Flirtations had just finished and the orchestra had started up for the next song on this compilation CD I borrowed from the library on Monday. (This was my first time listening to the CD.) The opening swells were familiar but I couldn't place the song until the first line was sung: "Jonathan Wesley Oliver Jr. Somebody told me you would be here. Finally get to say goodbye." It took about one second to realize when the last time (and first time) I had heard the song. I was riding in Stuart's car to Hampton. It was another watershed moment. My tear ducts betrayed me something horrible and again I was stunned in an intersection with oncoming cars.



That ride in Stuart's car was one of our bi-weekly trips across the Hampton Roads Bridge tunnel for him to buy cigarettes. These trips marked some of my favorite times with him. We would spend over 2 hours in the same car talking about everything. He would tell me stories from his past, we would talk about the chorus and a collaborative project that never was realized (regrettably). I would discuss my frustrations with the art world or my projects and he would advise me with incredibly nuanced perspectives that rivaled some of the best photo people I had studied with in NY.

I have thought a lot about Stuart these past few weeks because he would have been so proud to see the way He Opened Up.. has evolved. I also realized today, after I got off the train, that I haven't really finished grieving. In some ways open studios and the end of the semester was good because I could shelve all that pain. Now, I know where some of that loneliness I felt these past few weeks originated from. Stuart and I didn't talk every day but I thought of him frequently. He was that voice that some people say sits in the back of their head. It's still there. In fact, as loony as it sounds, I was running on the treadmill on Monday and we had a whole conversation. I mean I anticipated his responses, of course. It was actually quite wonderful. Today, on the other hand, was a little bit different. I realized more and more how this project I am involved with is a synthesization of a lot of our conversations in his car. He was the witness for this project.



When I returned to the studio to finish framing Steven in a bed of flowers a friend of mine was there who lost her father at 19. I asked her if those moments ever go away. The ones when you lose it because of a song or smell or memory or picture. She said, "Not really, you just get used to the feeling and can manage it better."


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R.I.P- Stuart Stanley