hellwoman
02-21-2007, 05:45 AM
Jack Meyer, A Universe Reflected.
By David Pu’u
There were two messages on my home answering machine. I rarely check the darned thing, or answer the line, as most people calling the number these days are telemarketers. The blinking orange light finally got my attention sufficiently though. Two new messages. Both were from Doug Meyer, one telling me that his brother, a long time pal of mine had died, the other to inform me of the time and location of a memorial paddle out.
As human beings we generally dread the eventual call informing us of a death of a friend or family member. The call regarding the death of Jack Meyer had a somewhat different affect on me after the initial shock wore off: it made me smile. The shock was caused due to the fact that Jack at the age of 53 was likely one of the most fit people I know. The smile was inspired at the flood of memories of the artist and friend who I met in the early 70’s when he was a denizen of a surf house in Isla Vista, which housed a motley collection of incredibly talented surfers. I was the grom who looked up to them all.
Jack befriended me and coaxed me along in surfing and art for a number of years, and in many ways inspired and directed me in my pubescent surf pursuits and even in my development as a Christian. Yep, Jack was one of THOSE. It makes me laugh still, that in the middle of all the depravity that was IV and surf culture, was Jack Meyer, working away on his own, developing himself as an artist and human being. It is my earliest memory of him, how he was always so focused on those facets, that for someone who was around 18 years old, were sort of atypical. Jack seemed to always have an instinct for the road ahead. So it was a surprise to see him felled by a congenitial heart defect.
He also had an eye for beauty and the ability to communicate emotion that embraced us all for a lifetime and provided his living. Making a living as an artist, is not common or easy. It requires a vision and confidence that not many are privy to. Jack had this all. I do not recall ever meeting someone who did NOT like the man. I never saw him exhibit the “tortured artist” persona that is prevalent within the art community. Jack always seemed to be a continual source of light, and encouragement, coupled with an infectious and easy smile. His work and his circle of friends are a reflection of who Jack was. The collection of both is wide, diverse and a living testimony to him that will go on for a long long time.
Speaking with his brother Doug, along with long time comrades and surf industry veterans, Joe Lopez, and Kim Robinson, I found a commonality of experience among us all, in sharing the memory of his passing: he left us with a smile and the memory of how it feels to be lifted up when times in your own life are maybe not so rosy.
The traditional paddle out and memorial celebration recently at Leadbetter Beach in Santa Barbara was one of a remarkable number which occurred globally for Jack. It was his wish that some of his ashes be scattered in Santa Barbara, which he considered to be his spiritual home.
By David Pu’u
There were two messages on my home answering machine. I rarely check the darned thing, or answer the line, as most people calling the number these days are telemarketers. The blinking orange light finally got my attention sufficiently though. Two new messages. Both were from Doug Meyer, one telling me that his brother, a long time pal of mine had died, the other to inform me of the time and location of a memorial paddle out.
As human beings we generally dread the eventual call informing us of a death of a friend or family member. The call regarding the death of Jack Meyer had a somewhat different affect on me after the initial shock wore off: it made me smile. The shock was caused due to the fact that Jack at the age of 53 was likely one of the most fit people I know. The smile was inspired at the flood of memories of the artist and friend who I met in the early 70’s when he was a denizen of a surf house in Isla Vista, which housed a motley collection of incredibly talented surfers. I was the grom who looked up to them all.
Jack befriended me and coaxed me along in surfing and art for a number of years, and in many ways inspired and directed me in my pubescent surf pursuits and even in my development as a Christian. Yep, Jack was one of THOSE. It makes me laugh still, that in the middle of all the depravity that was IV and surf culture, was Jack Meyer, working away on his own, developing himself as an artist and human being. It is my earliest memory of him, how he was always so focused on those facets, that for someone who was around 18 years old, were sort of atypical. Jack seemed to always have an instinct for the road ahead. So it was a surprise to see him felled by a congenitial heart defect.
He also had an eye for beauty and the ability to communicate emotion that embraced us all for a lifetime and provided his living. Making a living as an artist, is not common or easy. It requires a vision and confidence that not many are privy to. Jack had this all. I do not recall ever meeting someone who did NOT like the man. I never saw him exhibit the “tortured artist” persona that is prevalent within the art community. Jack always seemed to be a continual source of light, and encouragement, coupled with an infectious and easy smile. His work and his circle of friends are a reflection of who Jack was. The collection of both is wide, diverse and a living testimony to him that will go on for a long long time.
Speaking with his brother Doug, along with long time comrades and surf industry veterans, Joe Lopez, and Kim Robinson, I found a commonality of experience among us all, in sharing the memory of his passing: he left us with a smile and the memory of how it feels to be lifted up when times in your own life are maybe not so rosy.
The traditional paddle out and memorial celebration recently at Leadbetter Beach in Santa Barbara was one of a remarkable number which occurred globally for Jack. It was his wish that some of his ashes be scattered in Santa Barbara, which he considered to be his spiritual home.