OGWiseman Eulogizes!
My brother Lars was an amazing person who passed away suddenly and deserved to live. Cherish your loved ones and be thankful for every day with them.
No story this week, as I am too wrung out and amotivated to finish the one I was almost through writing. Instead I’d like to write about my brother Lars.
Lars was an artist; not just someone who made art but someone who lived art; the Salvador Dali of body-painting, a milieu in which he competed internationally and was ranked among the very best in the world. He wanted to go live in Barcelona and continue expanding the circle of magical and gifted artists and dreamers who were lucky enough to call him a friend. Now he has passed away, after a brief and wrenching battle with cancer, just shy of his fiftieth birthday. He will be dearly missed by all who knew him, which is a rarer thing in the world than eulogies would lead one to believe—in Lars’ case it just happens to be the truth.
He grew up restless and rebellious, much as he would be throughout his adult life. In school, he was smart enough to learn anything except when to stop going for the joke so as to avoid trouble. In pictures, he was flipping the bird at least half the time. In games, he always went for the big move, the bold strategy, the greatest glory. He didn’t need to win, at least not according to someone else’s rules, but he loved to play things to the bone just for the sheer joy of it.
In his art, he cultivated a deliberate haphazardness, a cynical humor that belied his immense compassion, and a love for bodies in all their disgusting splendor. He had enough skill to draw anything and so little self-seriousness that he used his monumental talent to draw dicks quite a bit of the time. He photographed and painted models in a way that empowered them and made them feel like their best selves. He understood cameras and computers and a plethora of other artistic tools, and he never stopped learning new things in the service of his work, which is an underrated trait and something I deeply admired about him.
What I will miss most about Lars, though, by far, is his good humor. He could speak an unkind word when somebody really deserved it, but he never lived in judgment, never stayed angry for long, didn’t hold grudges and didn’t hurt people to make himself feel better. He always had a smile on his face and a joke in his heart, always a fun idea in mind for tomorrow, always a new hope and a new dream just beyond his current grasp. He was infectious and hilarious and irreverent, iconoclastic yet fiercely loyal, deeply principled with a classically Chaotic Good alignment, a walking one-man riotous good time wrapped around a sensitive, caring soul.
Yesterday, we went to Lars’ local bar, Pazzo’s in Eastlake, Seattle, near the home he owned and occupied for almost twenty years. At least, that’s how I thought of the place before we went there yesterday and saw the loving, caring, grieving community assembled to show Lars their love. Now the words “local bar” seem inadequate. For many years, Pazzo’s was his living room, and now I realize it was an extension of his family, a pure vessel for the love in his heart, a place where he belonged and helped others to find themselves at home. A mural hangs on the wall there that Lars painted, depicting the bar’s interior, with Lars himself painted into the crowd, now a permanent fixture, as he should be.
Treasure the ones you love, the good ones who deserve it and give back all they get and more. There was nothing unsaid between me and Lars—we said we loved each other many times and never once had a cross word—but I would give a great deal for one more day to hang out, playing games and cracking jokes. RIP Lars. You will be missed and never forgotten.
Today, we will go to a funeral home and say more nice things about Lars, and then we will lay him to rest. After that, I will gather myself, regroup, and be back next Sunday with another original story. Thanks for reading, and have a great week.
This is a lovely tribute to Lars. It warms my heart.
Lorie
beautiful