Keeping Souls

some of whom I represented in the gallery. They were all legendary
for their wit, unpretentious sophistication, and longstanding
friendships. Now that they are dead, I can see how fortunate I was.
I walked alongside them as they went through old age, and I was
present for their deaths.
Their work was their lifeblood. It was their calling. I learned about
commitment to one’s calling and the sacrifices required. I learned
about deep friendship and loyalty. They lived to work. I think of
Allen Ginsberg’s small walk-up apartment on East Thirteenth
Street. He had a poster of Rimbaud on the back of his kitchen door,
and he had turned a small room off his living room into a bookfilled
library. I remember his tiny bedroom, which contained a
lonely twin bed. I remember visiting him when he was recovering
from a pulmonary embolism, lying in that twin bed with a sheet
over him, looking small and frail. He wrote his final poem just days
before he died.
The two pillars of my life were painter Jane Freilicher and poet John
Ashbery. They were the closest of friends for over sixty years. Both
died in the last four years. John died just over a year ago. Jane and
I once attended a funeral of a painter friend. He lived a fascinating
life. Jane turned to me during the burial and whispered, “I was
just thinking that when a person dies a whole world is buried with
them.” That aside stayed with me. I came to realize that she had succinctly
put into words why I did what I did. I want to keep people
among the living after their death. I want to keep their worlds from
being buried with them.