Jan Lenica.

From Geezer (2001), by Richard Meltzer

He was. He ain't. It's that simple. Time that once stood between him and a dreamless sleep collapsed into a rubble of ashes. It's not all bad; with the threat of mass extinction once again rearing its head at least Jan Lenica had the benefit to cease in his own individual way. He got out before we were all obliterated en mass, so at least there are a few of us left to go through his luggage. Aside from daughters, wives, family and friends, he also left behind some cartoons, posters and ideas that will enrich, provoke and amuse a few of the few of those with time on their meter.

When writing of those who have laid fresh tracks within the gates of Hades, we construct complimentary sentimental gushes to honour our 'old friend' and remember what a great person they were. I can't do that. I didn't know Jan Lenica. The fragment of Lenica I encountered sporadically through letter and sight over a three-month period in the summer of 2000 (we were honouring him at the Ottawa '00 International Animation Festival) was one of a grumpy old man who appeared unappreciative and uncooperative.

But you know what? That's what makes him so important to me. He was in his early 70s and suffering from diabetes and heart disease. I encountered a man who was tired and scared. I felt his pain, frustration, weakness and fear. He didn't hide it. He couldn't hide it. I saw his humanity in all its humility. He could hear the songs of the angels in the breezes behind him getting stronger and louder with each difficult breath. Each step was selective. Each response contained.

Now it isn't.

If Lenica had shown up with a rose in his lapel and played the role of grateful, polite diplomat, I would have appreciated it, but soon forgotten it. It would mean little. The darkness within Jan Lenica left an impression on me. His sourness led me to try and grasp why he was the way he was. He was a son, father, husband and friend, and worst of all, just a man. Jan Lenica's naked humility shattered my fears for a moment and inadvertently led me to reach farther inside to scour through my own blood and guts.

My STUFF aside, there is a danger in freely throwing roses on the dead and living. One of the most dangerous systems we've created is the myth of the hero. A bar has been set and more often than not it's bogus and unreachable even by those supposedly in possession of these ideals. The heroic system celebrates sameness. Sameness removes what is unique, diverse and contradictory from each of us. Heroism captures a fragment of a life and the tendency in our society is simply to re-write that life without the naughty bits. As such we grow up aspiring to become someone who never existed. We learn more from the shadows and shit holes than from the plastic palaces in which we often make believe.

"Know thyself," said a wise Greek.
To know thyself, one must find oneself.
To find oneself, one must search.
To search is to live.
To live is to know thyself.