The last day I spent with my dad was in his studio, painting, listening to the Human League. This was the first-time we’d done this, as adults, and it was amazing. It felt like a new level of our relationship had opened, and we saw each other differently, possibly a more grown up relationship. Whether it was cruel that this was happening now, a taste of what our future could have been, or perfect that I got to see him and talk to him like this before he died, I couldn’t say. But this is a day that I will remember forever.
Dad was very affectionate; he had a lot of love in him, for his kids especially, as I felt first hand, and as people have come to me since his death, to tell me. With me, Vi and Iv he would always make a point of reminding us that he loved us, despite sometimes being a moody git. He also deeply cared about our happiness, both now and in the future, making sure we were doing the things we enjoyed, and following the paths that we wanted to follow, and we weren’t ever forced to do anything that didn’t feel right. So I have followed into what seems to be the family business of the arts, though it was never laid out for me, it’s just what I’ve chosen and he supported throughout, as he would have done no matter what any of us chose to do.
As he was happy in his life, he wanted the same for us, and to see him so often enjoy himself both in and out of his studio has only filled me with optimism for my own future – one I only wish he could be here to witness.
There won’t be a day that goes by that we won’t miss him; his sarcasm, humour, words of wisdom, voice. He had so much more to give not only me, Violet, Ivan, and Sarah, but also to all of you. But in the life he had, he gave more than I ever could hope to give. I will always treasure that day in the studio, as well as many more days with Dad, and I know that we’ll always be together, [however far it seems.]
I had the honour of being Danny’s nephew.
Though I only wish I had seen him more, whenever I did I learnt so much.
He taught me more about art, music and philosophy than anyone else. Introducing me to The Clash, which I can never forgive him for.
He will always be a huge influence of mine.
I ask you to think back to your fondest memories of Danny.
The ones that come to your head when you think of him, And define what it is you love about him.
When I think back, I picture Danny strolling down the streets of Hastings in paint covered trousers. scrap wood in one hand and his kids in the other.
Smiling as he told me tales of Pirates and Punk Rock. While I gaze up wide eyed in amazement.
To me this was what made him so lovable.
His wisdom, his humour and his energetic imagination.
He saw the world differently from most. He was extremely clever and had a fascinating way with words, which I always admired. He had such great names for things, that always made me laugh. One of favourites was when he referred to Brixton Lido as Tattoo Soup.
Danny has left behind three remarkable children, Solomon, Violet and Ivan. Who I know he is extremely proud of.
They have taken with them his loveliness, humour and creativity. And I can be sure they will go on to achieve incredible things.
Behind all of this has been Sarah. Another one of my most favourite people in the world. Such an incredible woman. So strong, so brave and so positive. She will always be such an extraordinary role model to her kids and to all of us.
She remains one of the kindest, most loving and entertaining individuals on the planet. And I know she will continue to be an incredible mother.
Danny was a great teacher, a great listener, an incredible artist and extremely loving father.
He saw art in everything and taught me to be a lover of the small things.
People like Danny don’t come in to life often,
and I will forever miss his wisdom, humour and insight into the strange world we live in.
How do you some up a life in a few short paragraphs?
I had the honour of being Danny’s best man and now I’m standing before you at his funeral, he’s managed to squeeze two speeches out of me, I think he’d quite like that.
I first met Danny in the summer of 78 at an all boys secondary school that placed great emphasis on discipline and sporting prowess. I don’t think I’d be lying if I said Danny did not share the school’s ethos.
We found sanctuary in the art room under the tutelage of Pat Holt and Brian Oxley. Drawing was his comfort from a young age; this was a world that he truly inhabited, free from the tyranny of double maths.
Our relationship blossomed; I was introduced to the marvelous Fred, the wonderful Audrey the vivacious Rachel and gin, tonic and pasta.
A world of bohemian artists who encouraged creativity, freedom of expression, kindness and tolerance. An environment that nurtured a love of life.
In the summer of 79 my dad died, I was 14 years old; Danny was there for me in a way many of the adults weren’t. He kept me laughing, for the next forty years.
Also that summer we amalgamated with the local girls school and Danny blossomed, he invented punk rock, well, the Hythe chapter at least and we established a thriving cottage industry designing and painting leather jackets, sawn off t-shirts and the odd crepe shoe.
We dressed in jumble sale kilts, I favoured drain pipe jeans whilst Danny preferred leopard spot trousers and we wore to much make up: the Artful Dodger meets James Dean, up an alley, in the dark and slightly drunk.
Hanging out at the Centaur Café or Hummingbird records, where Brian indulged Danny’s passion for Crass, Splodgnessabounds and the Cockney Rejects. Danny was neither a cockney, nor a reject.
The Houses of the Holy that Danny so brilliantly captured were our stomping ground, Bottoms on the Leas and Peter Pipers. This was a tremendous time to be young and Danny embraced life to the full. So many of the friends he made then are still friends now. His enthusiasm for life was intoxicating, his passion and his effortless cool anything but effortless. He was by no means perfect, but then hands up if you are.
He would think nothing of hitching to Bristol to see an obscure Goth band, sleeping under a motorway bridge and eating nothing” but pickled eggs and monster munch, “They tasted nothing like monsters” he would say.
Thirty years later I’m in Danny and Sarah’s kitchen, there’s vegetarian lasagne, there’s always vegetarian lasagne. It’s a warm and happy house, the air is filled with laughter, Danny loved to laugh, mostly at his own jokes.
It was a humour forged from the absurd, what could be more absurd than this vile illness. Why would anybody want to destroy something so beautiful?
A righteous fire burned in Danny’s heart, he was outraged that he had cancer. There was so much more to do. He understood that he was going to die but never accepted it, he could be extremely stubborn. Hence no funeral plan, if you wanted a sky burial Danny, we’re sorry- but you neglected to mention it
Danny may be gone but he will live on through his wonderful work and beautiful family and friends.
Sarah, Solomon, Violet, Ivan,
Fred and Audrey,
Rachel, Lewis, Kitty and Flora
He loved you so much it breaks my heart,
But Danny wouldn’t want broken hearts.
Goodbye Danny, we loved you so much…
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
I first met Danny in the summer of 69 he was 4½ and I was 11.
We both lived in Hythe.
He had a mop of corn coloured hair. He wore wire-framed glasses, one lens covered with a plaster to help correct a lazy eye.
I was his young baby sitter – and over the years graduated to the status of “mate”.
He devoured comics. As a small boy, The Beano and Dandy, and then moved on to Spiderman, Captain America and other Marvel heroes.
He had a red chopper bike. And an orange space hopper.
We went on family holidays to the Lake District.
When he was 10, I took him to his first gig. We saw Mud at the Leas Cliff Hall in Folkestone.
I managed a triumphant move that night and got him back stage to meet his idols. He was speechless and wide-eyed in awe! The band all rallied round and signed a photograph for this young silent fan – one signature read:
“To Dan! Ta! Les Grey”.
That photograph was his first ever trophy – he was so thrilled with it!
This story went down in family history – eventually it became the stuff of legend. And the photograph still exists today, sitting proudly on the mantle piece in his music room in Cloudsley Road.
He was mad about Mud – Tiger Feet is surely Danny’s original signature tune.
I rolled him his first ever spliff, while in return, he introduced me to Linda McCartney’s vegetarian sausages – not the best trade off it has to be said!
In the early 80’s he moved to London. He shared a flat close to where I lived on the Holloway Road. One afternoon there was a knock at my front door – when I opened it – there before me stood a vision: Danny with bleach blond spiky hair, gelled to the enth degree; he was wearing a ripped t-shirt, battered leather jacket and skinny jeans. There were chains around his neck, an array of safety pins and chunky silver rings on his fingers and thumbs – he looked every inch the part… the handsome rebel – the bright young turk…
But looks can be deceiving – and this new London life was a bit overwhelming at times – he stood there looking at me, dazed and confused… he shrugged: “ Can I have a cup of tea?”
A few weeks later this same beautiful vision re-appeared on my doorstep. This time clutching a four pack of red stripe. He was finding his feet!
So, what else can I add to this picture of Danny?
He loved seaside amusement arcades – we would go down to Camber Sands or here in Hastings. We would stick all our loose change into the ‘Penny Falls’. We would try, usually without success, to get the “Crane Claw“ to snatch us a cheap prize. Bash-the-Crab brought out the worst in us – we were very loud!
He had a vast repertoire of hair-cuts – some good, some not so good. (many moons ago we used swap pots of brylcream).
Occasionally he would appear with a battered carrier bag – and a delighted grin would spread across his face as he proudly pulled out yet more vinyl to add to his growing collection
He once had an adored white cat, Chav, whom he found one afternoon on Hampstead Heath
I remember how we wept the night we watched Sigourney Weaver in Gorillas in the Mist
He was smart, sharp and funny
He could be demanding too – and occasionally very irritating!
He had a neat line in sarcasm – which you didn’t want to be on the end of!
Then there is the unforgettable sound of his laughing: high, fast, mildly unhinged…
…and the swagger in his stride – as an old friend said the other day: “he was such a cool cat”
He had beautiful hands.
The years moved on. There was Amy and Sol and then Sarah and Violet and Ivan. Danny flourished: he was a brilliant dad, a devoted husband, a beloved son, an adored brother and a fun-loving uncle.
He developed into an accomplished multi-media artist: a painter, musician, wordsmith, sculptor, performer.
He was an inspiring and respected teacher, a curator, a collector, an instigator, a lad and a bit of a geezer…
He was in my opinion, a genius at drawing cartoons. I think this was one of his greatest skills and probably very under-sung. Technically he was a brilliant draftsman and would draw with such deft and precision. I still have a birthday card he made me 30 years ago – doubtless inspired by Desperate Dan and Dennis the Menace – a wild, energetic, manic self-portrait, bursting out of the page.
Soon after he was diagnosed, I drove down here and we met for lunch. And it became obvious then that his approach to this horror was just to throw himself into his work. Even as we walked across the beach – he took a call from a gallery to discuss the logistics of a future show.
His determination to carry on working was really impressive. And he achieved so much in the last tough eighteen months of his life: exhibitions in Venice, London, St Leonards, Roberstbridge. There was a candid TV interview and glowing magazine articles. And in between all this he had to undergo grueling rounds of chemo and a major operation. What a testament of his strength and courage!
The day before his operation I sent him a text to ask if he wanted to “talk” – he replied immediately: “No, in the studio. Got to focus” And it was that focus that drove him for so long.
I last saw him in February at his show at the Atom Gallery in Stoke Newington, and it was clear to all of us then, that he was very ill. But he was there, at the centre of it all – talking to everybody, doing the introductions, making the connections…
He told me that it was almost spring and the catkins were out and I should come down.
Many years ago, when he was a small boy still living in Hythe, we were walking back from the beach one sunny afternoon; he was smacking a privet hedge with a stick and suddenly turned and asked me, “Tess, will you be my friend forever?”
And I replied, “yeah Dan, course we’ll be friends forever”…
The only trouble is I didn’t expect forever to come round so soon.
It breaks my heart to have to say goodbye to you Danny.
We come from star- dust and we go back to star-dust
And you will shine bright my lovely friend.
Lewis & Fred
I’m Lewis, Danny’s brother in law and I’m saying a few words written with Fred last weekend.
Danny was born into an artistic community and spent the first happy few years of his life in Egerton House, Kent in the 1960’s, he was a blond, chubby boy who enjoyed being doted on by all the interesting visitors and older children of family friends such as the Bruce’s and the Titchel’s who were always close by at that time.
It was an idyllic start in a rural Kentish setting, a large mansion house with a walled garden where Danny would play and explore in this space amongst the vegetable plots, intrigued by various cats from the local area that would come to visit him.
Egerton House was reasonably quiet during the week but at the weekends the atmosphere would often transform into lively social occasions, there were always plenty of visitors, music and chatter so Danny benefited from exposure to a culture of literature, music and art from an early age and Audrey, his mum, got him reading and writing well before he started primary school.
As a toddler at Egerton, Danny would often sit with Fred in his studio and would happily dab away the hours painting next to his dad….
Fred recalls that many times this would happen without his supervision and so on these occasions he would return to his studio to find that much of his work had been adjusted to suit Danny’s taste, with great vibrant splashes of colour being applied with obvious gusto. Fred had to admit that there were times when these early forays into painting by Danny sparked new ideas for him and sometimes the direction of a painting would take a completely different course as a result.
The family moved to a lovely house in Earlsfield Road by the sea in Hythe in 1967 with Rachel arriving soon after in 1971, by that time Danny was well into primary school and showing a great deal of interest in all things creative, it did not stop him though doting on his little sister and it was not uncommon in later years for the pair of them, under the care of their nanna Marie, to take off to exotic far-flung places such as Dreamland in Margate and the Rotunda Amusements in Folkestone to while away the balmy school holidays with their cousins Emma and Alison.
By the time Danny got to secondary school he was starting to display a rebellious nature; clearly forming his own views about politics, he soon became aware that art was a powerful tool for communicating one’s views. Danny was to be his own person, with his own original ideas that could not be contained by anyone in authority.
With the arrival of punk in the late 1970’s, Danny suddenly found something that resonated with him, embodying the social and political views he had been beginning to form. It was not long after this that Fred remembers standing in a Hythe green grocers with a group of customers when the grocer remarked ‘what on earth is that?!’ – Fred followed the grocer’s gaze to see his son, Danny, aged 14, walking nonchalantly down the sleepy Hythe high street, with a red Mohican, wearing Fred’s royal academy dinner tail coat, tartan bondage trousers and Dr Martin’s boots with a number of other colourfully dressed friends. Fred considered the spectacle for a moment, as it was not something you saw in Hythe High Street every day, before turned to the group and proudly beaming; ‘That’s my son!’. Fred left the shop with his purchase and the sound of the grocer’s laughter ringing in his ears.
During this time Danny was infamously responsible for modifying the Lord Kitchener First World War recruitment poster (‘Your Country Needs You’) with the words: ‘Tories Out! You Can Do It!’ during the 1979 general elections. He and his accomplices then went to work pasting and hanging the posters all over the Conservative party stronghold of Folkestone and Hythe. For this defiant act, he was threatened with expulsion, but when his enraged headmaster found he could not expel Danny merely for his opinions alone; unjustifiably he made sure Danny did not receive the Duke of Edinburgh Award, even though he worked hard and had qualified for it. This early incident did nothing to deter Danny from continuing to produce work that honestly and often starkly communicated his views on the state of the world and humanity’s impact on it, regardless of what people thought.
The family moved to Wittersham and then onto the Gables in Iden, which is still the family home to this day. It’s fair to say that wherever Danny went the local community took to him, he was appealing because he was different, interesting, had presence, a wicked sense of humour and a contagious shrieking laugh.
His Max Headroom impersonations in the Bell pub in Iden won him much admiration and were apparently second only to the character himself.
Iden, with it’s lush bowling green and cricket ground is a quaint quintessentially English village steeped in tradition, one of which being the annual summer fete.
One particular year, on account of his artist skill, Danny was asked to help decorate the bins fashioned from old oil drums. Danny could never resist an opportunity for some humour and although most of these bins are still being used by Iden fete to this day, the ones with ‘A Fete Worse Than Death’ painted on have sadly disappeared.
Danny as we all know had a beautiful wicked dark sense of humour, he liked to cause discomfort, push boundaries, question authority and challenge the status quo – we see this quality in much of the work he has produced.
Just a few words to close….
Danny left a beautiful legacy in his work for us all to enjoy,
in his children Solomon, Violet and Ivan who we’re sure we will go on to do great things and make him proud
and in the fond memories we all have of him when he was at his best.
Finally, thank you for coming here today to celebrate Danny’s life, as a family we are all very proud of him, love him without measure and will miss him very much.
This is a poem, written by Danny, found in his last sketch book
If you’re going to be somewhere
Then be love now
Then be love now
Love be here
All the bruises on my arms
Are from yesterday
So be here now
Love be here
And I called you
And you heard me
And you came
So if you’re going to be somewhere
Love be here
Danny meant many things to a lot of different people. And I know we all have our own, memories, yarns and tails to tell about him.
It was a pleasure and a privileged to have known him for the past forty years or more.
My memories of him begin at St. Leonard’s junior School in Hythe playing in the play ground where all our imagination came to life. We often met up after school and at weekends to ride our bikes, go and see movies, draw comic strips, listen to music in the front room at the house in Earlsfield Road, and also chuckle over Derek and Clive…which we probably really shouldn’t have been listening too.
Sometimes we would stay over at his Nan’s in Folkestone and go and see movies like The Medusa Touch, Damnation Alley, and of course front row to see Star Wars.
Grease was also a big influence which he saw more than once. In fact I remember us going into Folkestone one Saturday. Danny was definitely pretending to be John Travolta as Danny Zuko, and I Jeff Conway as Kenickie because Danny had already taken the lead role, and there’s no way I was going to dress up as Olivia Newton John…well not back then. Anyway we thought we were really cool when we chatted up a couple of ‘chicks’ at the bus Station. We were feeling pretty proud of ourselves Monday at school, bragging as you can imagine, only to find out that the ‘chicks’ boy friends weren’t so happy about it and threatened us with violence. Danny being a diplomat even then, got us out of it.
I think he was returning the favour, as a few years earlier when we were playing bike jumps with a ramp we had set up on the Canal Bank a notorious school bully with the initials G J and his gang happened along, took Danny’s bike and decided that they were going to take turns in using the ramp instead. Then they began the usual name calling about somebody wearing glasses. Well that was that. I was in acting mode. Long before I even thought of being an actor. I went to the shed, picked up a hammer, took it out onto the canal bank and basically inferred that if they didn’t F off I was going to lump them with it. Thankfully they didn’t call my bluff and I followed behind them for several meatres just to make sure they thought I was serious. All the time they were looking over their sholders at me.
Before then another incident I do remember is that one day whilst walking in Hythe High Street Danny decided to kick me in the nuts. It was quite a shock as they had only just recently dropped and to feel them going back up whence they came was a little confusing. I doubled up and Danny was mortified. Thankfully he never did it again from that day, and maybe that’s why he became a pacifist.
From the age of 14 until about 21 we didn’t see much of each other. Danny became a Punk and then followed his heart into the art and music scene. I never saw somebody with so many different hair stiles. I became a Clint Eastwood fan and followed my path into the theatre as an assistant set designer at folkestone’s Leas Pavilion, and then into acting.
We met up again in around 1987 at a party on the marsh and became friends again. So began more adventures with him and his many friends up in London, and down in Kent and Sussex.
Got to mention Danny’s amazing vinal record collection. Everything from Sigue Sigue Sputnik, Benny Hill’s Ernie The Fastest Milkman, The Sex Pistols, Ian Dury, Elvis and everything in between.
One final quick story. I was doing a couple of plays in Highgate in the 90’s. Danny came to see them. We all went back to some posh house afterwards for a quiet dinner party. Danny however had other ideas. It was pretty stuffy, and he decided to liven things up by miming machine gunning the hosts at the dinner table. Not only once but several times. He thought it was hilarious but the hosts of course didn’t. Which I think was the point. Danny was only doing what we were all just thinking. We eventually got asked to leave.
Although Danny has gone he lives on in his children, his parents, his sister, the mothers of his children, his friends, family, and of course his work.
Artist, writer, singer, poet, you name it. A Rebel WITH A Cause. Danny was an inspiration to us all and always will be. Quite simply he was a walking, talking work of art.
And one thing I’m sure we can all agree on is that when ever we see an iconic building (or those that are still left) or a plastic bag in a tree or a pallet on a truck or laying in the street, we will remember Danny the Duke Pockets.
Hi I’m Lucy, one of Danny’s (rather more mature) Heatherley students – and there’s a good gathering from Heatherleys here today. I just wanted to say a few words about Danny in teaching mode, as maybe some of you aren’t so familiar with that part of his life.
Obviously I’m a major Danny fan, and – sorry for being a bit personal, and maybe over the top on this one – but he really did, quite literally, change my life hugely for the better, and certainly saved my sanity. (Although sanity and art……?? hmmm) However, I do have to say that I was a bit freaked out when I first met him in the beginner’s class at school. You know he kind of had a swagger and a bounce in his walk – very distinctive – and in his ‘Man in Black’ get up, really looked every bit of a cool geezer. Quite daunting for me, who barely knew one end of a paintbrush from the other, and came from Kensington to boot!
It really didn’t take too long at all though, to find out what a great tutor, and what a lovely man he was. He was empathetic, he knew when to push, when to stand back, and when to take you out of class for a consoling pep talk, and he always made you want to do better, try that much harder. We’ve all of us picked up many nuggets from him over the years. Everything from studio etiquette, to always making people feel welcome in the class, and not being cliquey, to being very careful with Prussian blue. Rarely did we ever see him rattled in class, he had infinite patience – at least – he did with us students. Herding us around London on our ‘school’ outings, with his encyclopaedic knowledge of the galleries and museums, picnics in the park, and the occasional pub lunch. Taking us off to Tilbury Docks –waaay out of our comfort zone, and probably a bit of a shock for Tilbury too – where we had an excellent greasy spoon brekky. That was a very memorable trip!! Good stuff. Good memories.
I’m not only speaking for myself because I do also know that many Heatherley students have had the same Danny Experience over the years. And he did have his groupie contingent. After a year or two, he kept saying that as we weren’t beginners any more, we needed to push off to another class, but he couldn’t get rid of us – poor bloke. We stuck to him like the glue he used. In the end they had to put on another class just to get us out!
He was extraordinarily encouraging, particularly to the beginners, but certainly not one for putting his style on your work. He was very definite that it was YOUR work, your style (bit risky that) and you needed to think your own way through it. When there was a wail of ‘Danneee I’m stuck’, he’d come along and say ‘you aren’t looking properly’, or ‘go and get a coffee and come back’, or ‘if you’ve asked the question then you know the answer’. A bit gnomic that – but mostly we did. The most damming thing he would say was ‘hmm, maybe a bit O level…. Or, hmm, a bit shit innit? Mortifying.
I’m quite sure that the – umm – challenges?? of trying to impart arty knowledge must be huge and frustrating – pearls before swine and all that – but he loved seeing us get hooked on it.
When he was ill he said more than once how much he missed everyone, the school, and the teaching. All I can say is – Danny, not half a millionth as much as we are going to miss you.
Thank you all for coming today. Danny would have loved this! – always the irony of funerals and memorials.
When we finally found out what was wrong with Danny in the Autumn of 2016, just a few days before his 52nd birthday our world was lacerated. I remember walking on the firehills with Lucy and the kids and a ridiculous dog dressed in a lions mane. I felt utterly at sea…. helpless. lost, confused, and terrified.
Since that day a circle of friends formed around us like a life-buoy.. materialising into something tangible we could hold onto. It was still going to be a terrifying journey, but we weren’t going to be making it alone.
Food appeared on our doorstep. (& still does)..Logs piled up outside. Our children were picked up and returned from sports centres and schools. Rubbish was taken away. The garden got tidied. Curtain rails put up. Websites got created… and so on. Thank you to every single one of you.
Last week huge & very successful exhibition got staged in the Royal Albert Hall. For this I have to credit Jemima. It would simply NOT have happened without her & the dream -team. Danny’s last & typically ambitious project, scooped up, and made real. Knowing it was going ahead, in safe hands, was important to him at the end.
Thank you to my, and Danny’s family. Rachel, Mitford.. Lewis & Mark : our Mums & Dads .. Our nieces & nephew .. Kitty, Flora, Max , Savanna & Izzy…. For sticking to us like glue, for bringing all the love. He adored you.
Danny was rarely noted for his physical bravery. (The children will remember the treetop adventure in France, when a dreadlocked French teenager had to talk him down, very, very gently from a rope ladder , about 8 feet off the ground ) But when it came to fighting cancer he never flinched. He tried everything the medical profession could throw at him. A nauseating cocktail of chemo drugs, a high-risk 10 hour operation. He accepted these ordeals because he very badly wanted to live. He wanted to see his children grow and flourish. He was full of curiosity, wonder and love for them. He had SO many projects he wanted to realise….. I have to thank him for his fight.. I believe we had many more great months because of this. I also wish to say thank you to those who donated to the medical fund. It wasn’t the cure we hoped for but the hope itself was important, and the extra months it gave us – barbecuing on the beach, the yurt by the river, film-nights by the fire, & countless other perfect domestic moments – were so precious.
Gratitude also to the friends who came and spent those many evenings by the fireside with Danny. I know you all roasted alive because he kept the place at 36 degrees. Your company was all he needed, and it allowed me to work, and to get some fresh (cold) air. Toby, especially, thank you.
Lastly, & most importantly I want to thank Solomon, Violet and Ivan. Thank you for always putting him first, & for your patience… it wasn’t always easy …
15 months ago when we were told of the cancer, Danny asked something of you. He said “If I only have a year or two, I want to be surrounded by happiness.” He then made some joke, probably about Pigs our cat, and turned the tears into laughs. He was good at that.
Well – you brought the Beauty, the Joy, and the Love… and that was all he really wanted.
What a privilege to have been touched by the fierce creativity of such a kind and gentle man. “I love the way you burn”, so bright. Thank you xx