Goodbye, Sweet Fantastical You, Sean Meyers

I hate grief, but I know as I age it becomes unavoidable. I write a lot about memories and the ways photographs trigger them. People seem to notice how intensely I work while photographing. It’s because I am so completely immersed in the moment. Sometimes that can net an intense feeling, and on the occasion a deep interaction with the artist I’m photographing. It happened at Stuart Dempster’s 80th birthday performance. Stuart walked around the Chapel hall standing in front of a person, looking directly into their eyes, and then letting out a powerful scream and encouraging the person to respond in turn. I remember this moment because it was a cathartic release. I was going through some emotional shit.

I tell this story because I felt that same emotion the one and only time I ever photographed Spine Readers. Mr. D’s band Super Z Attack Team got a gig up in Bellingham at the Make.Shift, an all ages artist space. I didn’t know if I was going to shoot after Super Z’s set, but then the most crazy thing happened. The lead singer of the Spine Readers appeared in an intriguing costume of a dress, black mask, red heart glasses, black tights and a hat. I immediately flashed back to thinking about Peter Gabriel with Genesis. The band was really tight and then I heard his voice. Wow! What’s going on? What was I hearing? Wait! Did he just break into an operatic note? I started clicking away, hoping for something in not the best lighting circumstances.

Danette Davis (Kermit hat) & Sean Meyers

I kept trying to photograph the singer but never felt the light was right. He was toying with me. I was the mouse, he was the cat. At one point while the singer was interacting with the audience. I moved towards the front of the stage to photograph the other members. At some point I felt this presence behind me, so close, I turned around and there was Sean Meyer looking so intensely at me. Any other photographer would start clicking, but for me this is the moment when one should just be present and absorb. Everyone but Sean vanished around me. I stopped photographing. I’m looking at him and he’s looking at me. I put my head on my hand and I started smiling at him. Luckily, in not the best cell phone pic, Mr. D captured that moment. I recall all the way home in the car with Mr. D discussing the Spine Readers show. I kept telling Mr. D you’ve got to book them for Seaprog. This was April 2019 and we all know what happened.

So this morning when Mr. D told me Sean recently passed away, I started quietly crying, my mind returning to that brief strange and magical connection.