Sean
You simply cannot think of Sean and not smile. He was irreverent, compassionate and a great friend. I first met Sean while at the University of Denver and we have been the best of friends ever since.
This blog is available for anyone who knew Sean and wants to share stories, thoughts, pictures, gossip...whatever. Sean loved to laugh and we will continue to do so as we remeber the man we love.
This blog is available for anyone who knew Sean and wants to share stories, thoughts, pictures, gossip...whatever. Sean loved to laugh and we will continue to do so as we remeber the man we love.
posted by Jake at 10:52 AM
10 Comments:
Man, this sucks. Sean, I will miss you dearly, you definitely made an impression on me and influenced my life for the better. You were a true free spirit.
Sean was a very creative, humorous person. It was evident when we met at DU and is very much so now with his films, furniture, sculpture not to mention a masters from Art Center (very impressive Sean).
I remember going snowboarding/skiing w/Sean and we saw the Easter bunny skiing down the slopes of Copper Mountain. I came up with a little song about the bunny and it delighted Sean. It lead to some yelling of expletives at the poor bunny but it was all in good fun and is something I’ll never forget.
Sean, I’ll miss you man.
Sean chewed the most disgusting buble gum. The last day I hung out with him we had really really garlic-y pizza and then Sean drove us around for 45 minutes looking for some gum. He came back with sour apple-mint UGG! As I chewed it, Sean cheered "isn't it good, oh man it's so good! It's amazing that they can make something so good and so bright green!"
How many people do you know as vibrantly alive as Sean?
I meet Sean about 2 years ago through a mutual friend who said it would be good for us to meet since I graduated from the same program at Art Center and was now doing animation for a living. At the time, he was developing this “new way” of animating with this puppet named “Ben the Canary” and was somehow tying it to the study of Myth. His name is Sean Sullivan, and with an Irish name like that, he’s got to have luck on his side. I remember thinking to myself: good luck kid.
A few months past, and Sean emails me. He says he needs some help as he’s full steam into production on his thesis..and would I be available as his thesis advisor. Yes, of course, I’d help out. It was surprisingly quick for me to say. Something about his charm made you say yes quickly… and always with a communal smile. He mentioned it would be about 30 minutes long…I remember telling him: okay, he he, good luck man.
One day, we meet at my studio. As he’s walking back to his car, he realizes the back window is busted out. His bag, I think his computer, alot of his work is gone. He phones to tell me. But instead of being pissed off, he chuckles to himself. He’s got a mad deadline looming, just lost much of his work, and this kid is smiling on other end of the line. I say to him: Sean Sullivan, you got unlucky.
A few weeks later, I’m sitting in Ahmanson Auditorium at Art Center to see Sean’s final thesis presentation. And as I’m walking to the theater, there are stickers of a silhouetted Ben the Canary pasted through out the building. I can overhear students and parents and young hipsters asking what the hell is this bird about. Who is this Ben the Canary? It’s like some myth they should know about. Like some inside joke they need to be privy to.
Sean walks in, a few minutes late. Technical difficulties, he says. But to make it up, he says one of the worst political jokes possible. An awkward silence follows. But he’s still got a smile on his face that makes the joke still funny. The place feels like they’re squirming, anxious to see this animation they’ve heard so much about. It’s already a half hour late and he still has not figured out the sound problem. I’d be pulling my hair out. Sean’s got the smile on. And I say to myself: good luck Sean Sullivan.
The movie plays, the sound is off…but the film is funny. It’s something you’ve never really seen before. It’s got these mouths moving with an animated puppet or drawing or even a mountain of fake grass and you can’t stop wondering how the hell he came up with this strange animation process..let alone story about a Canary named Ben. I overhear people say that they’ve never seen anything like it before. The film ends to great applause and Sean’s still got the trademark smile on. It’s about thirty minutes long. The kid did it. I say to myself: this kid does not need luck.
Later, after graduation, I see him. We chat about the future over fish and chips. He wants to know how he can score a job. I tell him: you got the talent and the courage, you don’t need luck.
He emails me a few weeks later. Tells me he been talking to a producer who’s interested in developing Ben the Canary further. I think to myself, this is one lucky kid. But then I stop myself, and realize it’s not that at all. When ever you looked into Sean’s eyes, you could see right into his sincerity, his humor, his genuineness, his genius.
I get the call from Greg, Sean’s dear friend. I get the details. We think he may have hit his head, Greg says. I remember saying, before I can stop myself: jeez, that’s unlucky.
But after I hang up, I wonder what Sean is doing right now, in Heaven. And I think about him smiling, and about the life he lived making others smile, and live, and dream, and laugh. And I think to myself: man, I’m so lucky to have met Sean Sullivan.
Robin's green gum story is so perfect. Sean always said, "If it's green and it's not icing, it's good for you."
Sean was a dear friend with whom I talked with on a weekly basis. He and I had a strong bond, but I think part of his magic was having that connection with many others. We nurtured ideas together... discussed our inner-struggles and most importantly we laughed. Laughter was the through-line in his spirit. What a loving and endearing man, and what a talent. One day I had expressed to Sean how difficult things were for me. "Life isn't dealing me a fare hand." He drove to my place and insisted on taking me out for a bite to eat, despite the fact that he was flat broke. When the bill came he wouldn't let me touch it and with complete conviction he paid the dinner with quarters. I miss you man.
Sean was such a stanout man. Each time I would see him I would get butterflies in my stomach. He was not only beautiful outside, but his beauty emanated from every one of his pores. I thank him for touching my life. He and his family will remain in my prayers. Thank you, Sean, for your contribution to my life.
I cannot think of Sean and not think back to our freshman year at DU. His dorm room seemed to be the starting point of so many adventures, plots and schemes. Like many, we were all trying to define/reinterpret ourselves in a life phase of discovery. At the epicenter of this was Sean - a blend of wild and crafty innocence. Huck Finn? Perhaps. There are too many memories to fit into this blog - plus they all seem to blend together.
Losing touch, I've relied on the grapevine to hear the tales of Sean. Of all the accomplishments I've read about in this post (art school, furniture building, animation, etc.), I'm most proud and impressed with the strength Sean had to exhibit with his recovery. How difficult it must have been, yet it shows how strong his character truly was.
I am happy to have known him. And only wish I'd known the person he blossomed into. I join in prayer and meditation with all who knew him. May his spirit live on in our minds and hearts.
My thoughts are with you all and with Sean's family. Sean made me laugh and for that I will always be grateful. He had a unique perspective of the world that for a brief time in my life he allowed me to participate in. Thank you Sean, you will be desperately missed. Every time I go camping I think of you, and sing a few verses of "Une Elephante"
The first and last time I played dice was with Sean. It was Sean's idea to play dice. This will surprise no one.
I think he actually read a book on how dice is played. I'm not sure about that, though.
We crouched on the concrete front porch of the house he shared with my brother-in-law, King Gould, down in Cherry Creek, south of downtown Denver. Sean and King worked for a while at Nick-and-Willy's Pizza, just around the corner. There were a couple other guys there at the house. We all laid our dollar down, taking turns throwing the dice.
The rules were simple, although I can't recall them now. We took our turns, throwing the dice against the wall. We yelled at the dice, each of us doing our best to compel them to turn up numbers that would earn us a quick two or three dollars.
Damn, that was fun. And I feel quite certain that it's no coincidence that it is because of Sean that I have ever played dice. Now that he's gone on to what's next, I feel that I should never again play with guys drinking beer on a front porch, or anywhere else. I can then say for the rest of my own life that I played dice with Sean Sullivan and a couple other guys.
the last night...we're sitting in a crowded restaurant. he says he doesn't feel comfortable around a lot of people. i ask if he wants to leave. he says he wants to be normal.
...and like times before he asks the waiter about the best thing they serve and then orders something else.
we eat and talk about our dads' early deaths. i say that even in a long life you only get so many christmases or summers or whatever you love. he says he thinks his dad had a fulfilled life and tells of him hang gliding and eating desserts as meals.
while he's talking i see his striped socks under the table and look at him with total affection. he stops talking. he knows i'm in the middle of a serious crush and he smiles so sweetly. it was a really nice moment. i ask how he feels because he called the night before and seemed unhappy...he says he was but that today -friday-he feels good.
as we leave he does a perfect herzog impression to tell me about grizzly man. driving back we follow a skunk through alleys and yards. we fall asleep to really loud crickets.
in the morning he's all tangled up in his blue covers with one foot sticking out. i look at his foot for a long time..then wake him to ask if his alarm is set. i say to have fun camping.
i didn't say to be careful. i didn't know that was the last night and the last morning...his last night and morning. i want to walk up those stairs and see him sitting crosslegged on the floor building his house. i can't believe this happened to him. i keep saying i'm sorry.
a month before i told him i had seen the end of whale rider and that riding a whale out to sea to die seemed natural...our bodies and the earth being mostly water, the amniotic fluid of birth, etc. he didn't really respond but said something about me not believing in god. i said i had trouble with a certain concept of god but that i could see some sort of nature spirit. he assured me with cockroaches...saying that their unawareness of human existence is our unawareness of some thing greater.
he had given me this little rainbow bouncer..a disk that when held to the sun "splashes your walls with sun spectrums". yesterday i sat in the yard with stanley and made little rainbows. they were little but brilliant and it seemed like there is some thing ...some nature spirit and he's there making it more amazing. today there's no presence. his absence is everywhere and i really, really want to hear him laugh and smell his hair and tell him he's the best man i've ever met.
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