While everyone was talking about Pi Day this past March 14th, and the passing of Stephen Hawking, I woke up to the sad news that my friend and fellow art major, Kirk Saunders, had left this earth after a long fight with cancer. I hadn't been in touch with Kirk since we graduated, but I have many fond memories of his kind company from my time at Saint Mary's College of Maryland. His keen eye and thoughtful words always opened up surprising paths of discovery in art critiques. His graceful charm swept me off my feet in many a swing dance. His firm rule against self-criticism before sharing at open mic poetry nights that "All disclaimers must be in rhymed iambic pentameter," inspired me to go back to my dorm and write such a disclaimer, just in case.
(I never ended up using it, but here it is:
I'm not quite sure about these words I wrote
My works I'm not inclined to self-promote
Yet if you like them, I'll be sure to gloat
So now I'll try to shove them down your throat)
Some other thought-provoking words from Kirk came to my mind in a vivid flash while teaching this week. We were wrapping up a unit with the topic of innovation and reviewing some grammar. I had shared some amusing images from a blog post about the Alphabet of the Obsolete (take a quick look--it's fun!). Adapting a great lesson plan, I had the students discuss which ones they believed were truly obsolete, and which ones they disagreed with. I was trying to get them to use some previously-learned language in their discussions--expressions for speculation ("The likelihood is that people won't continue to use..."), past modals ("people must have used it a lot") as well as gradable and non-gradable adverbs and adjectives ("incredibly old" vs. "absolutely obsolete"). Mostly, the consensus from the discussion was that the encyclopedia and the rolodex are things of the past, but cursive writing and grammar should be kept. And Jar Jar...well, he might not be obsolete, but perhaps he just "shouldn't have happened."
In one class, a student argued that ink isn't completely obsolete, still useful for some purposes, and, as an artist who loves traditional materials, I affirmed my agreement (and acknowledged my bias). Another artist in the class added the observation that traditional film may not be useful to most people, but perhaps to a photographer it is not obsolete.
And that's when I thought of Kirk. I remember him telling me that most photographers do their main art-making before and at the time of shooting--setting things up just so, getting the exact light and angles that they want. He, however, explained that his process was different. He didn't take a lot of time and consideration setting up his photo shoots. Instead, his art-making happened in the darkroom as he developed and manipulated the images, making magic with the physical material of the film and chemicals and paper. Kirk's artwork, though often made with traditional materials, challenged the conventional way of doing things and looking at the world. His work, his words, and his powerful presence always invited me on unexpected journeys of thought.
Kirk followed many different paths in life--having passions ranging from art to physics to eco-dwelling to community organizing, and likely many other fascinating endeavors that I don't know about. I regret falling out of touch with him; he was a huge source of inspiration and encouragement during a formative season of my life.
Kirk leaves behind a wife and two girls, ages one and nine. He was the main breadwinner for the family, so I imagine his passing must be particularly overwhelming for these dear ones. For anyone who feels led, there is a campaign, originally set up for his medical expenses, now continuing to support his family.
I'll share a poem I wrote for Kirk during my sophomore year of college. He had shaved his head, beard, and eyebrows completely--likely for self-expression and not related to cancer. I remember laughing together with him in the painting studio as he told me that he kept reaching for his beard, and it wasn't there, and how he felt so unlike himself with his change of appearance. He kept making funny faces and inviting people to touch his "tactile" head, where the hair was just starting to grow back. It didn't take long before I got inspired to write some poetry. I had started a short and goofy series of poems about boys' hair, and this one was the third. May it lovingly proclaim Kirk's legacy, declaring that traditional photography, rhyme and meter, creativity, and love for others and for the earth are never obsolete.
Kirk's Tactile Head
by Danielle Hersey da Silva
Peach fuzz...velcro...
Kiwi-moon.
Kirk is hairless
Way too soon.
No beard to tug,
No brows to raise,
No crown upon his head to praise.
He's quite un-Kirk!
He's bald and bare!
Can Kirk be Kirk
Without his hair?
He hides his grin,
Removes his glasses;
Both artist and artwork
His idea surpasses.
The night wind whispered poetry,
Seduced his hair away,
A sacrifice for artistry
He couldn't disobey.
Ideas collect inside his mind;
They flock to fuzzy skin.
The hairy velcro draws them close;
His hat helps hold them in.
So hug him now,
And rub his head.
A tactile scalp's
No thing to dread.
With hat on top
and heart inside,
Our Kirk is art--
A maker's pride.
Comments