By jonasAs a flicker of memory takes hold, I see his silhouette framed by the soft glow that caressed the basement walls of our house on Oak Street. My father, Leroy, was his name, and he was an alchemist of sorts, transforming simple materials into visual symphonies. The scent of fresh-cut plexiglass and the hum of his busy studio are etched in the recesses of my mind.
He lived for his art, creating masterpieces that were abstract explorations encased within the sharp, clear edges of plexiglass cubes. These were no mere trinkets; they were expressions of mathematics made tangible, a symphony of geometric precision where each cube nestled within another, an infinite regression that mesmerized the senses.
As a young boy, I watched, not fully understanding the gravity of his work. It was at Indiana State University, where he also shaped minds as a professor, that I first glimpsed the impact of his gift. Students gathered, eager and attentive, as he wielded the tools that crafted those iconic sculptures.
The 70s brought change, aluminum sculptures replaced plexiglass, a flowing transition mirroring life's impermanence. But it was the dawn of the digital age in the 80s that ushered in our most cherished collaboration. I taught him the language of machines, the BASIC programming language. His eager mind grasped the concepts, and the screen lit up with forms and colors at the touch of a spacebar—a paper sign cautioning, "Dad, do not touch,” a playful lure into the digital depths.
He translated his artistic vision into computer art, programming IBM PC juniors that danced with vibrant artistry. I watched as he painted these machines in vivid hues and mounted them on aluminum stands, bridging his past and present creations.
In my home now stands one of those same colorful computers, a shrine to his creativity, running the programs he crafted with such fervor. His plexiglass sculptures and metal pieces adorn my living space, a vivid reminder of the legacy that surrounds and shapes me.
The brilliance of his plexiglass cubism caught the art world by storm, a testament to his vision in a time when the light shone brightest on innovation. His one-man shows at the Whitney, his pieces in seminal exhibits – these were his zenith, though the later years saw him drift from the public eye, embarking on a solitary journey through computer art.
In my youth, perhaps pushed by the tumult of a marriage strained by betrayal, I fled from the world of art, seeking refuge in engineering. Yet, as the years peeled back my resistance, I found solace in the culture he instilled. La pièce de résistance: a Barcelona chair from my father's collection, reupholstered and cherished—a daily reminder of my roots.
Fate led him to Austin, to be near family as health waned. He wove himself into the fabric of our lives, a doting grandfather until his story ended in 2010. I look back and yearn for the stories untold, the man behind the enigma, his thoughts on those iconic cubes, his 1940s LA adolescence.
These are not regrets but achings—longings for what could have been captured, shared, and savored. It's why I now gather stories, preserving legacies, so others might not merely wonder but know the hearts of those they love. It's a tribute, a bridge across time, to the man who taught me to see beyond the physical, into the essence of creation itself.