I first met Gary and his wife Pamela as my not-yet-husband and I were walking up to look at the house we were purchasing. I remember that encounter vividly as the two already knew so much about us. And I, on the other hand, knew very little about them.

But it turns out that I did.

Just a year before in 2001, the Smithsonian had sent out a traveling show called “Scenes of American Life” on tour across the country. The show included painters such as Edward Hopper, Jacob Lawrence, and John Sloan. My not-yet-husband and I planned a day to visit the Frye Art Museum in Seattle to visit the show. As we walked into the museum towards the show we were there to see I was sucked into the show upfront that I didn’t even know about. There was a Gary Faigin retrospective that I couldn’t tear myself away from.

I don’t know how many paintings there were, but I was overwhelmed. There were paintings of pears falling into a sky. There were self portrait billboards and acidic, contrasting color schemes. There was the realism of all the artists and illustrators I’d come to love and admire. This guy drew me in and I was hooked.

Turns out we moved next door to this guy and his family. And once I knew who he was I was very intimidated. One of the main reasons we bought the old butcher shop/house was so I could have a real studio and start learning about oil paints. I hadn’t been an oil painter before. I was a painter, but never had more room than a kitchen table to spread out.

Years passed I grew to know them as neighbors do—Halloween pumpkin carving, neighborhood block parties and just regular life. But Gary was a walking art history book. I would get the amazing and accidental stories about artists as Gary and I met at the sidewalk to pull our recycling bins in. “Van Eyke”, he would say, “was dropped into art history like an alien”. And that’s just one awesome Gary factoid. I looked forward to these curbside conversations and his critiques when he would visit my studio. One day I was trying to plot shadows on a sign that didn’t exist and he said “ Kellie, your viewers will forgive your shadows, but they won’t forgive your ovals. Pay attention to them. “

For the last many years we have been splitting time between Seattle and New Orleans. This last August Gary and his wife Pamela graciously hosted all our neighbors In for drinks and nibbles in their courtyard. It was as if it was 20 year ago when the block opened their arms to us the new kids on the block.

This day, however, would prove to be more significant than we knew. At this wonderful gathering of neighbors with plenty of side conversations about art and people talking over each other— Gary said to me, ”Promise me you’ll come to my funeral.'“ “Sure”, I said. “No, Kellie, promise me.” And I did.

There’s no way any of us could have seen that a month later Gary would pass. Our world has lost a great painter and historian. We’ve also lost a great neighbor. I am forever grateful for all his words of wisdom , his inspiration of painting techniques and his generosity to the neighborhood.

Godspeed Gary Faigin, and may you be painting beautiful portraits in heaven.

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Gary Faigin