Jack True

As a hobby and borderline obsession, my dad collects art. He has hiked mountains in Nepal, excavated ruins in Brazil and scavenged the most obscure regions of Indonesia all in search of art(and sometimes rare woods, but that's another story). My dad also spends most weekends at auctions and art galleries, buying interesting (and sometimes not) work or looking for up and coming talent to invest in.

Back in 1984 he met such a talent, a young graduate student of art named Jack True. Jack already had a bachelors in painting and was finishing up his masters when my dad was first introduced to his work. Among the 6 or 7 masters students that year, Jack's work stood out the most, and to this day, I've never seen other work like his.

Jack was a typical artist in some ways as far as he was sort of aloof and very much into the things he was interested in, but he lacked that off-putting ego that you'll find in many. He was a man of the earth, great with people, genuine and a good family man. He loved nature, he loved life and he loved art. That and he loved marijuana.

Jack looked sort of what you'd expect Grizzly Adams might look like if was very slender. He was a painter, a sculptor, a furniture craftsmen and particulary loved to carve wood and would often pair interesting combinations of species and grains. All of his work was very organic and extremely well assembled and executed with an authentic percision, not unlike a 200 year old log cabin or 5000 year old pyramid.

His paintings were snapshots in time as seen through the his eyes, as no one else could. Working with acrylic paints, brushes and airbrush, he achieved surreal depictions of river beds, landscapes and skies. His paintings were often times very large and you'd find yourself floating into them, exploring all the details, seeing only a glimpse of what he must have seen. Later in his career Jack began creating elaborate stretchers over which he painted-in the shapes of eagles and arrow heads, structures so intricately built, that the back of the paintings were art in their own right.

My dad became good friends with Jack after meeting him in '84, and was likely his biggest benefactor over the years. I met Jack then also, myself a young artist no more than 12 years old, I was really captivated with his work and his personality. I began spending time at his studio where he would let me help him make stretchers, make crates for shipping his pieces and offering me tips on his techniques. During the summer of '87 I believe(Jack and I good friends by now), Jack spent more time training and teaching me, imparting wisdom and criticism, both always constructive, drawing together and grooming me to pursue a creative career of some sort.

As I entered the later stages of my teen years, I was driving and becoming more independent, I began to rely less and less on parents and friends and didn't see Jack quite as much. A few years later though, already pursuing an Industrial Design degree at University, I was working on a project to design and construct a chair. Naturally, I called Jack. I went over to his new house, which had a bigger studio and workshop and went over my ideas for the project that I had in mind. My work being a bit more contemporary than his, it was a bit tough for him to get his head around, but he was gracious, offered me his advice and the use of his workshop. I spent the better part of three weeks at his place working on this chair (which I still have in my living room) and even though we hadn't seen eachother much in the 3 years prior, it was like old times, only better. I somehow felt like I was catching up and our age difference wasn't the barrier it once was.

With the chair project completed, presented and awarded, I was well on my way to finishing my degree and pursuing my career path. I invited Jack to my University graduation, as I had for my High School graduation, but surprisingly he didn't make it to either. It bothered me a bit, but I understood. He's an artist and you never know when the moment will strike to be creative. I always hoped that he was lost in some masterpiece during these events and the days just slipped by. He was probably, just sleeping, but that's hardly as romantic. I bumped into Jack at a Celtic festival a few years after that and we spoke for a bit, talked about getting together sometime to catch up, but never did.

Jack died almost 3 years ago today, on the 24th of March, 2004. He passed suddenly of an apparent heart condition at 45 years old. I read it in the newspaper, which made it less personal, yet far more painful. Jack was my mentor, my guide and most of all my friend. He may in fact have played a bigger role in shaping me than my parents ever could.

I have been a design professional now for almost 15 years, while practicing my art on my own time and now, on the eve of my first solo art show next week, I couldn't help but think of Jack and how much I wish he could be there.

I'm guessing that he probably wouldn't have made it. He'd probably be working on some new masterpiece.