It was not the best way to start the day. I read the news over breakfast this morning - that David Omar White had passed away at the age of 82. A full life, but one that came to an end much too soon.
David and I were friends, of a type. One night a couple of years ago I was carrying my portfolio home after a drawing class waiting for the bus in Davis Square and his old guy in a scooter wheeled up to me and asked if I was an artist. I told him that I didn't really consider myself one, but I did enjoy messing around. He said that he was one and he enjoyed messing around too. I asked how long he'd been doing it. He replied, "All my life." And we went on from there. Every time that we saw one another he always had something interesting to say and, of course, he was always deep into his current series of paintings. He had converted his bedroom in in one bedroom elderly housing apartment into a studio (he slept in the dining room) and he spent many happy hours there working on the next project - whatever that was. He was literally surrounded by his work.
David loved art and people and life and he loved to talk about all those things. He was the prototypical old guy with a twinkle in his eye. He'd seen a lot and gone through a lot - not the least of which was ending his life as a disabled person, but he didn't let any of it stop him. He was doing art and he loved it.
Last year, the Decordova Museum in Lincoln had a show of his work and I got to see some of his latest stuff. He was showing a series of fantasy landscapes - long and low. He said that he found landscapes easiest to paint from his chair. The were incredibly rich visually - layers of three dimensional images dancing with one another. They were very much alive. He was quoted as saying that his favorite painting was always the next one that he was going to do. He never stopped exploring the next thing.
David, like most artists, never earned much from his art. One of the last times that I talked with him we got into a conversation about money and he said that he was grateful that he had a roof over his head, food, and enough money for paint. In fact, the disability that he had had given him an upgrade to being poor for abject poverty and he was grateful for that. And he understood the irony of it as well.
The last time that I saw him was in a diner in Porter Square where we as having lunch. He introduced me to his companions as "a painter" and I was and remain deeply honored. I'm no painter, but he certainly was. I'm going to miss those talks about art on the bus.
Bud, too, had an upgrade in lifestyle when he entered the hospice for the last weeks of his life. The only problem was that he couldn't smoke indoors, dying of lung cancer.
Bud and David Omar White knew each other back in the day.
Posted by: gmoke | August 01, 2009 at 06:53 PM
he was as close as Boston & Cambridge had to a hip civic artist, as muralist & logoist, leaving his mark on Casablanca & Stereo Jacks, and his White Rabbit strip which ran longer than you think in the Tab. What a lively spirit!
Posted by: Rob Chalfen | July 09, 2009 at 01:25 PM