I made one of the most wonderful and gratifying short trips in my life this afternoon, I drove over to George Forss’s gallery, found him in his darkroom/bathroom preparing to iron a gorgeous photograph that had been soaking in a tank and drying on a clothesline hanging from his ancient bathroom ceiling (I always think of the laboratory in Young Frankenstein when I visit George.) I came with good and exciting news.
The purpose of my trip to see George was to bring him a certified check for $8,200 that a donor who wishes to be anonymous decided to send him to match the goal he had set for his Kickstarter Project “The Way We Were,” which has become something of a sensation in its three days of existence, raising more than $11,500 dollars. To this he can now add another $8,200, his funding goal. And there are 27 more days to go for his project. George asked for the lowest amount possible to publish his book, he can use every other penny he gets. Last year, he struggled with a chronic heart ailment, he has no health insurance or pension of any kind. And he never rests.
The donor wished to remain a secret until George had met his funding goal – she didn’t want to deter anyone else from contributing – and wishes to remain anonymous because she wants no thanks, attaches no strings and always tries to help worthy people when the she can.
The donor e-mailed me on Friday and I knew right away she was genuine and sincere, it was clear from her message. She is thoughtful and sensitive, she attached a beautiful two-page letter to George to her check: “I asked Jon to be the middleman in this situation because I felt he would be able to explain it to you rather than a check showing up unexpectedly in your mailbox. He knows I am sincere. I hope you know that now too.” I am here to support you, George, she added, she said he was free to use the money in any way he saw fit.
The donor wrote that George’s work and his life touches her heart. “It is historically important as art and as documentation of a time that we won’t be able to recapture except through your photographs.” She wrote that she was also touched by George’s qualities as a man. “Your dedication to your family and your partner gives me hope for humanity. Your commitment to your faith gives me hope.”
It was an overwhelming thing for me to see that my writing about George captured his genius and good heart so well, that others could see in my photographs and writing what I saw from the first moment I met George. His generous spirit and brilliant soul emerges despite the greatest odds and the darkness and suffering that has sometimes cast shadows his life. He accepts life with grace and love, I have never heard him complain about it or speak poorly of his life, the creative spark shines brightly in him.
The check arrived today, I told George a check was coming from an anonymous donor but I didn’t tell him the amount or, of course, the identity of the donor. He always tries to figure things out, he called me several times this morning throwing names at me – George is an intuitive, he will eventually figure it out – but he won’t hear the name from me or Maria. I drove over to George’s gallery, found him in his darkroom where he has been busy all day getting to work on “The Way We Were.”
“It’s the candyman!,” I shouted, through the darkroom door, “get out here, crazy man, and face your destiny!”
He came out into the light, blinking. I handed him the check and the letter, I took out my camera, I promised the donor I would get a photograph of George receiving this check. George’s mouth opened, his jaw dropped. “This is for the whole amount,” he said softly, disbelieving. George processes things differently than most people, he is so articulate about photography and his work, he struggles sometimes to articulate how he feels, but I could see it in his moist eyes and the gleam that surfaced so brightly. He said he couldn’t make sense of this week, impossible dreams coming true each day. “I would pinch myself,” he said, “but I’m afraid I’ll wake up.”
Time to think about buying a computer, I said, so you can communicate with all of the people sending you money and buying your work this week. No need to rummage in trash cans and build another one.
“Why would someone do that?,” he asked quietly, then he said “wow, wow, wow, wow,” as the implications of this began to dawn on him. George’s hard life had just changed, his work would be seen, shared. For many years, people have told George he wasn’t famous anymore, his time had passed, his kind of photography was no longer in vogue, he needed to let other people try to figure out how to sell his work.
I have never scolded George or told him what to do, but I did give him a short lecture today. “Don’t let anybody tell you that you can’t sell your work again,” I told him in his darkroom this morning. “You learned this week that people see the beauty of your work, they want to own it, buy it, it doesn’t matter if you are famous or not, it matters what you pull out of that tank and hang on your clothesline to dry.” Look at this letter, I said this afternoon, look what somebody thinks of you. George looked at me as he often does when I say something he doesn’t quite know how to respond, he changed the subject and talked about a photo he took here or there, the lessons he learned. Often when George is anxious, he brings up the aiiens, talks about their messages to him. He was quieter today. So far, and to my surprise, he hasn’t credited the aliens with the success of his Kickstarter project.
He did launch one of his old stories, about a crazy man who taught him archival printing in the basement of his Brooklyn house.
“Oh,” he said. “oh,” as I finished my brief lecture. But he heard me, I could tell, he was going over it.
“Go in peace, George, with a smile,” the donor wrote at the end of her letter, “and just be you. Its time for your photos to be seen by a world that is now willing to open its eyes to what you have captured and continue to capture. Your eyes see for the rest of us.”
I am going to talk to this angel tonight or tomorrow – she is shy and quiet, sounds like a writer to me – and thank her for her generosity and sensitivity. I want to thank her for her contribution to George’s work and also for giving one of the happiest and most joyful trips of my life, one that reaffirmed once more that life is good, people are good, that genius and creativity will triumph against the greatest odds.