My sister has a ‘thing’ regarding guys named ‘Bob’. Her ex-husband, step-son, green grocer, 27 guys at the office, you get the idea. My thing about names seems to be ‘Dave’. The mechanical wizard, philosopher, artist, bunches o’Daves. Today, we post about childhood friend, artist Dave.
My dad married my step-mom, and we moved to Tempe, from Phoenix. At the new school, starting the 3rd Grade, I met David. Even that young, he was artist-extrordinaire! You probably remember these guys. Always free-hand drawing everything: Cars, copying comic books, art on their binder covers. This guy was, and is amazingly talented. Then, he moved and we attended different high schools, and that was that. Years later, I was working as a graveyard shift security guard, and walked into a 7-11. Dave! He was the night clerk! We quickly re-established our friendship. Soon, he told me he and his brother shared a house, and they were looking for a roommate. Would I be interested? HELLO? I soon moved in. It was the best and weirdest two years of my life, college and roommates.
So, one day, I walk into the bathroom (the door was open) and there’s Dave, sitting, pants down—and drawing on a large poster board in pencil. Eventually, the drawing was finished. It was half self-portrait (the lower part, he had been facing a full length mirror to make the drawing-yikes!). The head and shoulders part was a marble bust of Beethoven. The ‘portrait’ in total was fascinating, and anatomically correct. Beethoven on the throne.
He told me he couldn’t come up with a name for it. I thought about it and offered two ideas: Bowl with Fruit, or, Beethoven’s Fifth Movement. I don’t remember if he chose either of those, but it hung on the back of the bathroom door for some time. I wish I had the drawing, now.