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In which there is sorrow and hurt
Feb. 16th, 2012 09:17 pmCurrently I am off on an artistic pilgrimage, which is including a trip to a renowned museum with a lauded textiles collection and round-robin discussions on manie diuerse & erudite topics. It has, however, taken a turn for the anguish. As we were gathered in the hotel bar (which has some decent cocktails, and half price for happy hour), raising glasses in good cheer and joy, We Got A Call; in which it was learned that our dear friend and fellow artist, Shaun, had taken his own life today.
Let me tell you about Shaun. Here is a man who by day is a sysadmin (and of the body to the point that his personal address is "bofh@[his-domain]"), who likes the sci-fi and the jokes and all the geekly delights; and who in the SCA takes anything that comes to hand, however random, and becomes a master at it, even if it was an art he had absolutely no angle on beforehand. There was an ancient & venerable tartan pattern that his clan used, but the original textile was long since used up and no one could find more of it. What did he do? Teach himself to weave and make more of it. He learned pewter casting, carving models into all kinds of exquisite shapes, whatever was needed for the current project, and then casting a couple hundred of 'em--on Beth's porch, on one memorable occasion. Not enough good beer and not enough shade at events? He built a rolling wooden widget to hold an iced keg (with spigot)...with a folding porch umbrella fit into the side. (And was then, at the Pennsic I was sitting and roasting in the sun all afternoon for the gorram Arts & Sciences display, the kind of thoughtful person who would to trundle it up all the way from camp so I could have a spot of shade and some refreshing cold beverage for the rest of the afternoon.) For every friend inducted into the Order of the Laurel, he'd make a metal wreath with tiny clips for holding actual laurel leaves so that the honoree could have an actual wreath of laurel, rather than whatever frob their other friends could come up with. Recently, he had been working on recreating the Aldrevandini beaker, though with his own spin on it (like, his own arms in the center). And his works were exquisite--as beautiful as the originals.
And beyond that he was brilliant and funny and level-headed and practical and amazing great fun to hang out with. I would go to events just because I knew that Shaun and Cas were going. I didn't get to hang a fraction as much as I would have liked, but I had a little thought deep inside that some day I'd be living in the 'burbs again, and then I would get to chum with them all the time, and how awesome that would be.
He had a loving wife and many, many loving friends--for real, I mean, and he knew it, there was no question there. No one seems to know anything about depression, no hints were given, nothing to tell. Yet, somehow, he thought that the world and his loved ones would be better without him. I am completely incapable of understanding how he could have reached that conclusion. Whatever trouble he may have had, any of us would have given from the heart to take care of it...a thousand thousand times more if the alternative was to not have him with us ever again.
Let me tell you about Shaun. Here is a man who by day is a sysadmin (and of the body to the point that his personal address is "bofh@[his-domain]"), who likes the sci-fi and the jokes and all the geekly delights; and who in the SCA takes anything that comes to hand, however random, and becomes a master at it, even if it was an art he had absolutely no angle on beforehand. There was an ancient & venerable tartan pattern that his clan used, but the original textile was long since used up and no one could find more of it. What did he do? Teach himself to weave and make more of it. He learned pewter casting, carving models into all kinds of exquisite shapes, whatever was needed for the current project, and then casting a couple hundred of 'em--on Beth's porch, on one memorable occasion. Not enough good beer and not enough shade at events? He built a rolling wooden widget to hold an iced keg (with spigot)...with a folding porch umbrella fit into the side. (And was then, at the Pennsic I was sitting and roasting in the sun all afternoon for the gorram Arts & Sciences display, the kind of thoughtful person who would to trundle it up all the way from camp so I could have a spot of shade and some refreshing cold beverage for the rest of the afternoon.) For every friend inducted into the Order of the Laurel, he'd make a metal wreath with tiny clips for holding actual laurel leaves so that the honoree could have an actual wreath of laurel, rather than whatever frob their other friends could come up with. Recently, he had been working on recreating the Aldrevandini beaker, though with his own spin on it (like, his own arms in the center). And his works were exquisite--as beautiful as the originals.
And beyond that he was brilliant and funny and level-headed and practical and amazing great fun to hang out with. I would go to events just because I knew that Shaun and Cas were going. I didn't get to hang a fraction as much as I would have liked, but I had a little thought deep inside that some day I'd be living in the 'burbs again, and then I would get to chum with them all the time, and how awesome that would be.
He had a loving wife and many, many loving friends--for real, I mean, and he knew it, there was no question there. No one seems to know anything about depression, no hints were given, nothing to tell. Yet, somehow, he thought that the world and his loved ones would be better without him. I am completely incapable of understanding how he could have reached that conclusion. Whatever trouble he may have had, any of us would have given from the heart to take care of it...a thousand thousand times more if the alternative was to not have him with us ever again.
