January 22, 2004

Spalding Gray

John Perry Barlow writes a sort-of eulogy for Spalding Gray - even though Gray has still not turned up. Barlow and Gray were friends.

I'm in New York, where it was zero degrees last night with a wind that seemed to be hauling some large chunk of the Hudson River with it as it clawed its way down Grand Street. Somewhere out there in that grim dark is whatever remains of my old pal Spalding Gray.

Both seriously and humorously, more often both, he's been threatening for years to do himself in. Indeed, his jokes about suicide preserved him and certainly entertained me. But now that it's starting to look like he's actually gone and done it, suicide is not so amusing.

I try to imagine him actually attempting a swim to Cambodia. I see him swan-diving from the rail of the Staten Island Ferry late Saturday night when he disappeared, rounding Sandy Hook by dawn, and turning south for Cape Horn. He'd be well past the mouth of the Delaware by now, strong swimmer that he is. What a great monologue this is going to make. Or not. Spalding inhabits a magical reality where such feats might actually be possible, but there is something about the current state of New York Harbor that seems adamantly unfit for human survival. In my less magical reality, it's easier to see him beneath all that black water.

Barlow's discussion about Gray's wrenching last couple of years are horrifying. Barlow asks unanswerable questions:

Still, it seems premature to write one of those eulogies that I all too often compose for my closest friends. Part of me thinks I should be out there looking for him rather than writing this. Perhaps, I think, he just went out on one of his famous walks, walks that I shared for many droll miles. Perhaps he was hit by a cab and is lying comatose and unidentified in one of this perilous island's anonymous hospitals. He left his wallet and ID at his loft and would thus have been taken for another homeless drifter, as he frequently was. He could be holed up somewhere, waiting for his mood to pass. But he hates (or hated) to be alone. Neither seems likely, but where there's no proof, there remains hope, however unrealistic. What is grief without finality? A terrible confusion and an opportunity to celebrate what one might still have.

What is grief without finality?

I think of the people still waiting to bury their loved ones who died in the World Trade Center. Or the lobster fishermen's wives in my home state, whose husbands disappear at sea. No body to bury. Grief prolonged, confusion intensified. No closure.

Additionally, Barlow has written a "coda" - Apparently Spalding Gray called his son on Saturday, Jan. 17, 2004:

Spalding placed a call at 9:00 pm on Saturday evening to his little boy, Theo, to tell him he loved him. The originating number, I now learn, turns out to have been a pay phone at the Battery terminal of the Staten Island Ferry. Also, two people have come forward and say they saw him on the ferry after that. That's all I know but, hell, that's all I need to know.

He's gone. What remains will likely turn up in the spring when the water warms.

Barlow's writing brings tears to my eyes. I cannot imagine Spalding Gray's psychic agony, which must have been acute. I cannot imagine Barlow's sorrow, his pain. I try to imagine one of my closest friends choosing to disappear like that ... Horror. I cannot imagine it, so I thank Barlow for attempting to express it.


(via Jeff Jarvis)

Posted by sheila
Comments

Thinking about it hurts me, merely as a fan of his work. I can't even begin to imagine the agony his family and loved ones are suffering.

Posted by: Emily at January 22, 2004 12:48 PM

It is horrible to contemplate. Just horrible.

Posted by: red at January 22, 2004 12:49 PM

What thing that just struck me as well -- here's this guy who friends say hated to be alone, yet there's a possibility he's chosen to die alone..."sad" doesn't even begin to describe the feeling I have thinking of this.

Posted by: Emily at January 22, 2004 12:54 PM

I did not know about his horrible accident - until I read Barlow's piece. The complete fracturing of his face and hip ... I mean, Jesus. And the drugs given him exacerbated his natural tendency towards depression ...

Fuck. It just SUCKS.

Posted by: red at January 22, 2004 12:57 PM

I just read some of the comments left at Barlow's site - Jeebus, people really disgust me some times.

Posted by: Emily at January 22, 2004 02:16 PM

I know. Nasty people with small little minds.

I literally don't understand how someone could read what he wrote and come up with their cruel responses.

Posted by: red at January 22, 2004 02:18 PM

There is a part of me that wants to lash out at Gray for leaving his family with the emotional baggage that comes from this, but as someone who has to deal with a depressed family member wishing for death on a daily basis, I know that brining pain to his loved ones wasn't his intent. His demons simply became overpowering, and I can't condemn a man for giving into the crushing weight.

Posted by: Bill McCabe at January 22, 2004 02:37 PM

Bill,

I think you hit the nail on the head.

No one can know what was going on in his mind - but perhaps he became so miserable that he decided his family was "better off" without him.

I just liked the guy so much. I loved the career he made for himself. He was special.

Posted by: red at January 22, 2004 02:42 PM

Terrible, just terrible. I saw Swimming to Cambodia, many years ago. How much pain must he have been in, and how terrible for his family.

Posted by: Ken Hall at January 22, 2004 03:09 PM

As a fan of Gray's work, I was at a loss to explain the failure of that creative outlet to relieve his pain, to help him cope through sharing. Barlow's piece makes it clear that the accident and aftermath took away a great part of that outlet.

Posted by: Lew at January 27, 2004 03:03 AM

Has Spalding Gray been found yet?

Posted by: LA at February 12, 2004 02:01 PM

I have often been fascinated by the double edged sword of creative genius and hellish depression. It is not uncommon in many great artists (The list is endless) and Spalding was indeed great. My god, what it must have been like for him to battle those demons. I praise his soul and his life for having tried so brilliantly. I do not feel he failed. The accident and its aftermath is much to blame for his leap into the pit. Yet, god bless him that he tried to pull out. He TRIED. He did not just give up. His work is now for the ages. I hope with all my heart he is at peace. I pray for those who loved him to find comfort somehow in celebrating his life. May we all cherish every day and be thankful for our sanity.

Posted by: Dennis Daniel at February 12, 2004 05:09 PM

LA -

He has not been found. It will probably be some time ... if it is true that he leapt off the Staten Island ferry. The currents are so strong.

Posted by: red at February 12, 2004 05:12 PM

Dennis -

Thanks for a beautiful comment. You have echoed my own sentiments.

May he find peace now ... and may his family go through their grieving process and come out the other end into the light ...

Thanks again. His work meant so much to so many.

Posted by: red at February 12, 2004 05:13 PM

i am heartbroken and can't even imagine the pain his family lives with now....more debilitating pain than spalding himself lived with before and after the accident? probably not. but not really comparable. such a creative genius. but when the genius is born of unbearable psychic pain, the genius needs to find relief. i just wish he hadn't taken himself away from us all. i saw him in performance twice and i adored him. goodbye spalding. you have broken many hearts, but i am glad you aren't suffering anymore.

Posted by: claujuh ambrosia at February 27, 2004 02:03 PM

They found Spalding's body in the East River in New York. :(

Posted by: Kay at March 12, 2004 06:51 PM