Sean Sullivan

Here we are, again

2011-08-14T09:25:00.000-07:00

Here we are, at this time of year again. Hard to believe it's been six years. It's kind of surreal sometimes, still. We miss you every day. So much love for you, from all of us.

I do.

2011-06-12T11:59:00.000-07:00

Hey, just checking in. We missed you at Jake's wedding a couple weekends ago. I mean, we felt you with us in Oklahoma, but we missed you at the same time.

Back in LA now, sitting here, working, and thinking of you. Still missing you.
You are loved.
G

Hello again

2010-09-02T15:15:00.000-07:00

I can't believe it's been this long. 5 years. I haven't written in some time, but it's everyday that think of you, love you, learn from you, laugh with you. Every day.

This year, leading up to this August has been particularly challenging, and it would have been impossible without you. Thanks for being there, for holding my hand and walking with me. The times we spend together, the memories and the dreams, are valued beyond any measure. And I am grateful.

Love,
G

Happy Birthday Sean

2010-04-03T09:49:00.000-07:00

It was your birthday last week Sean, and we miss you as much as ever. We'll get up to the tree pretty soon to spend some time together. Love, Laughter, Glue.

Crawfish Anyone?

2009-11-10T00:31:00.000-08:00

I recently came across this photo of Sean unloading a pot of Crawfish into the fountain at DU, just outside the quaint chapel. It seems like he was regularly up to something like this. When Sean set out on an adventure, people always wanted to be a part of it. Maybe he thought it would be funny or perhaps actually believed he was setting the crustacea free. I can't recall this exact event, but I'm sure it was his idea.

...just another Tuesday night

Each and Every Day

2009-08-23T13:38:00.000-07:00

Every day I breathe in Sean. I am grateful that I have the profound privilege of knowing him the way I do.

Today Robin and I spent some time at the tree with Lon, Claudia and the kids. Also lunch at Marston's.

4 years.
Love Laughter Glue

How will you live today?

2009-04-02T14:09:00.001-07:00

Admittedly, thinking twice has never been my strong suit, so when the trucker who was hauling Sean’s motorcycle to Tulsa from LA called to tell me he was stuck in traffic in Dallas I said, “No worries. I’ll be here.” They arrived just before midnight. Jason and his driving partner whose name I won’t remember. They were clean cut compared to what I had envisioned. I gave them an extra twenty on top of the three hundred we had agreed on. They were late to drop off another bike in Kentucky. Sean’s bike was just like I remembered it and it felt good to have it.

I stayed home from work this morning so I could take it to a repair shop. Instead of borrowing a truck I decided pushing it there would be faster. I pushed it the whole way without stopping, even up the long hill that runs about five blocks at the midway point.

I did receive a few odd glares. An old man asked me, “If I had cursed it yet?” And I am pretty sure someone suggested I go fuck myself as they speed passed me on one of the busier sections of road, but I didn’t have time. No one asked if I needed help and I would have refused if they did.

The mechanic told me the bike is a 1997 Honda xr650r. “A great bike for riding trails. They aren’t street legal when they come out of the factory, but someone added a Baja kit, these turn signals and headlight, so it can pass as street legal.” Sean always knew how to exploit a loophole. I probably increased my pace with every step on the walk home. I phoned my Dad to give him an update on the bike. We discussed the pros and cons of the bike all of which was opinion because by the end with both admitted neither one of us knew what the fuck we were talking about. Which happens often, the talking, not the admitting.

A young married woman in a black jeep who had passed me earlier when I was pushing the bike up the hill smiled as she pulled back into her driveway and by the time I turned onto my street I was all smiles. Life is better than it has been in a long while. I thought how grateful I am to be alive. And before I could even comprehend what I was about to step on, I blurted out, “Are you fucking kidding me?” Because there, laying smack (and I do mean smack) in the middle of the road was a freshly killed squirrel. Fresh because the blood still flowed out of his eyes and fresh because it had only been twenty minutes since I had passed this exact spot and the squirrel was not there before.

Why go on if this is the way it could all end? Here is this poor squirrel who was probably just doing his thing, trying to get across the street to get a nut and for no reason, with no warning, bam, he’s dead. Sean went out the same way. One minute he is floating down the Kern River on an inner tube and in a freak moment when no one was looking he falls off, smacks his head and drowns. Why didn’t the squirrel stay out of the street? Why didn’t Sean stay home? Why the fuck did he always take the risky way?

“Sean you should have played it safe. You should have stayed home. You wouldn’t have hit your head, you wouldn’t have drowned. You fucking asshole, you would still be here.”

“But I wouldn’t be have known what it was like to live.”

Sean knew what made life worth living. He knew if he didn't take risks and fight to get the most out of every minute of every day he would never know what it was like to truly be alive. I was reminded of that this morning. It is not what you do or how you die, but how you live. So if you are reading this, I hope you will be inspired to make the most out of today. Not because you might die, but because you are blessed with an opportunity to know what it is like to really live.

"Much love, my brother, and I'll see you when I see you."

2009-03-26T01:44:00.000-07:00

It's 1:44 in the morning, and I'm about to go to bed. The earliest I'll have been to bed in a month. Working like crazy, and loving it. Helping people. Doing exactly what I want to be doing, and letting go of the rest. Somehow over the years, I developed a sort of faith that everything would just work itself out or something. I don't know what this means, I don't really care. I know that tomorrow is Sean's birthday, and I miss him so much. It's amazing how much he's with me, all the time. I'm not really amazed, I guess, but I'm tremendously grateful. I can feel him in my heart. Not like in a special place in my heart, although I know he lives there too. But I can feel him inside, when things are sometimes hard to deal with, and he's in there, pumping my blood through my body, helping me live, helping me believe. He likes to help people. I do my very best to follow his example. I'm carrying on right now , streaming, crying. 1:53. No one watching, no one caring, no judgments. Just me. Me and Sean. Where I am right at this exact moment, is where I do a lot of my work, and on my right, I have a little Sean shrine.... A picture of Sean and Lon with that old flaming Mercedes, a little yellow Ben, a glue cast of Sean's finger, Minibot, a little ring that says "don't worry, be happy," a photo of Sean from New Years Eve one year, a tiny little random sculpture, a photo of Sean that says "i was dead, i came alive. i was tears, i became laughter," a Desire chip... and so I sit here 1:59am, and often I look over to see his expression from New Years Eve, "You're right in time and I love you." And there's humor to it, and total sincerity at the same time. He's a safe zone. And I love him. And I miss him. I miss him like I never knew I could miss someone. I never expected to need to miss someone like this. And then in an instant, I had no choice. And it hurts sometimes. It hurts a lot. It hurts so much it's hard to take it. And he's in there pumping, pumping. And I know that, and I love him for it. But i'm still selfish, I want him to be here, and I know he is, ...but I want him to be here. With me. Helping each other. Together on his birthday.

4 Sean

2008-12-19T07:43:00.000-08:00

Sean has been on my mind a lot recently. First, I was fortunate enough to get his huge, down North Face jacket. I love it and it reminds me of Sean every time I get to where it, which has been a lot recently.

The second reason is because of the Santa Rampage. It is an event that I have thrown together that requires everyone to come in costume. The part that got me thinking about Sean was making the video below. We used to make videos like this in college and it was probably the beginning of me finding the path that I am currently on. I think that Sean and I both shared a sense of self-doubt about our creativity that drove us into self-destructive behavior before learning that it was okay to try and okay to fail as long as you keep working and are ultimately happy with what you are creating. Although I am never happy that Sean is gone, I am content with the fact that when he did leave us he was in a good place with his creativity. Because creative is who and what Sean is was and will always be.

I really fucking miss you.

Learning to Float

2008-10-17T07:42:00.001-07:00

In between events at Robin and Greg’s wedding over the weekend, I logged in to Facebook and was surprised to see that a friend had reposted Nicol’s beautiful portrait of the late Sean Michael Sullivan. He was certainly with all of us over the past couple of weeks, as old college friends celebrated weddings in Chicago and Connecticut. In the photo he looks to be at peace, but at the same time intensely focused on the horizon. I concluded that the photo was a sign from Sean. It meant that he had willingly embraced the burden of being the first to move on, but he was patiently waiting for us on the other shore. Later, while taken a nap, Sean came to me and told me point blank I was a "dumbass." Fortunately, he set me straight.

For those of you who don’t know, Sean drowned in the Kern River while on a float trip. It was a truly random event, one that was made all the more shocking because Sean, along with many of us, already survived years of risk taking that very well could have taken him much sooner. But we had all somehow survived and we all seemed to be living a lot smarter lives, especially Sean. He was completely content with who he was and where life was taking him. Then he was gone.

Sean explained it to me this way. He is not waiting for us in the photo, he is watching. He is watching to see if we can figure out what he did about dealing with life’s challenges. “Don’t try to swim to shore it will only push it further away. Don’t try to tread water it will only make you heavier.”
“What the fuck are we supposed to do then?”
“Just float.”
I shared this with Sean’s friends at the wedding and Robin recalled what Sean had said before going to the Kern. “He said he just wanted to go float.”

None of us have any control over when it is our time to go, the best we can do is make the most of our time here. Just like Sean did. So when life gets a little too much for you to take, close your eyes, take a deep breath and float.

Thanks Sean.

Thinking of you Sean...

2008-09-22T01:34:00.000-07:00

Like many fly fishermen in Western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being of my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.

Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.

I am haunted by waters.

-Norman Maclean

Friends of Ben Picnic

2008-08-23T19:54:00.000-07:00

Please come join the picnic at Sean's Tree on Sunday August 24th at 5pm.
Hope to see you there.

Art Center College of Design (in the sculpture garden)
Hillside Campus
1700 Lida Street
Pasadena, CA 91103

Love, Laughter, Glue.

Like I was saying...

2008-08-22T09:21:00.000-07:00

As soon as I hit submit on my last post, this song started playing on my computer.

I hear you brother

2008-08-22T08:10:00.000-07:00

Sean has definitely been in my ear lately. Calling me out on my bullshit. Telling me to take the risk. Imagine the reward. Make it epic.

I hear you brother, and it will be.

The Sean Sullivan Thing

2008-07-15T22:30:00.000-07:00

Adam Novy originally sent in the following on 8/28/05...

The Sean Sullivan Thing

Whenever I was around Sean Sullivan, I always felt lonely. It wasn't really his fault, he always treated me with kindness, paid the normal amount of attention to me, and made me feel a part of things, but there was only so close I could get to him. I felt a kind of wall between him and the rest of the world, and I think he probably felt it, too, which might be why he seemed, on the one hand, like the sweetest, most inquisitive innocent person, and on the other hand, like such a lone wolf. Sean's pursuit of intimacy somehow brought him face-to-face with the limits of what intimacy can give. There we'd be, at his house on Wash Park, with its joggers, birds and weirdly endless lakes, getting smashed on who knows what kind of liquor, pills, fungus, plants, or powders—all God's drugs—laughing at some perceptive question he had asked, or a wisecrack he had made—and I think we all agree he had the best comic timing of anyone we know—and yet, in the midst of all the joy, I believe that he felt haunted by the notion that, as good as things were, they should somehow have been better; he was plagued by a feeling of arrival that never quite arrived. I always headed straight for Sean at parties or on GCB lawn, and I sat next to him in classes; I wanted to be near him, I didn't want to miss a word he said. The feeling I would get when I basked in his aura was something like my definition of what it means to be alive, and yet it always, always left me wanting more. Life is that desire, I suppose; it is that feeling of never getting where you want to go, or never having what you want, from a friend, from a lover, or the world. The Talmud says that the closest we can ever get to happiness is to be the master of our appetites. Sean struggled with this idea, whether he knew it or not. To paraphrase Simon Barnes, he was used by his desires; his desire was a kind of cognitive incontinence, bursting forth beyond his control. Sean was that rare kind of person who everybody loved, who had his pick of friends, and yet he still convinced you with that hangdog expression he could never quite get rid of. His inner life was a secret that could never be expressed, his outer life a crude and perpetually failed approximation. In the core of Sean's personality was this strange incoherence. Once, he actually told me not to smoke. He said it was bad for me.

I can't write a word about Sean with mentioning destroying things. He somehow made the ruining of property into a kind of moral inquiry. My happiest memory of Sean is the ski trip, freshman year, in Crested Butte. Sean was in a different, cooler room than me, and I had gone to visit him there late the final night, having heard the rumors of chairs thrown from windows, televisions smashed, sofas glued to the ceiling, etc. The party was ending by the time I found his room, and I meekly asked Sean if wanted to go destroy something. He shrugged at the ruins of his room, the roommates laying unconscious on the floor, and the girls splayed across them. We can shoot a fire extinguisher, he said. And so we sallied forth through the halls of the resort, looking for an unused fire extinguisher, which, since Sean had already been there for a night, proved difficult to find. But finally we found one, and he boldly took it off the wall and shot it. Fire extinguishers may be small, but they contain an incredible amount of white goo, and it took what felt like a dangerously long amount of time to finish shooting all of it. I remember wanting to run, but Sean looked so confident standing there, such a cowboy, so Steve McQueen, that I couldn't move. I was frozen in place, in his thrall. He had that existential man-of-action thing going, in spite of himself; he was the perfect iconoclastic hero, a lonesome consoler of the lonely who only made himself lonelier. When the fire extinguisher was spent, he flung it to the ground like an empty beer can. We stood before the ruined hotel hallway turned to white, frosted like the inside of an igloo. The experience exhilarated me in a way I can't describe, though you all know what I'm talking about, or else you wouldn't be here. He put his arm around me, and patted me on the shoulder. We had made art.

We want our memories to have meaning, in a Behind-the-Music type way, even though that instinct is a kind of over-nostalgic sentimentality. My memory of the ski trip has no real meaning, but everyone who knew well has ten stories like it. Sean gave me a lifetime of joyful memories in the four years I was near him, and I can call up that joy whenever I want. He made me happy, and he still makes me happy. This is how he improved my life. I must've gotten more from him than he ever got from me. I know that he felt like his life hadn't started, and that he'd only just found his path, and his passion, but the life he lived by accident had more mystery and delight, more pure elation than any life lived on purpose. I loved my time with Sean. I want more. It isn't fair. I would like his mother to know how much I admired him, and how much he meant to all of us.

But while my memories of Sean will endure as long as I do, he himself is gone. In Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra, Cleopatra asks her dying lover, Shall I abide in this dull world, which in your absence in no better than a sty? She says, It were for me to throw my scepter at the injurious gods and tell them that this world did equal theirs until they stole our jewel. But Antony is curiously immune to despair, and though everyone betrays him, though the world itself betrays him, he cannot hold a grudge. So it was with Sean, he was himself to the end. Yes, the Gods have torn our favorite from our lives; yes, so many of our hopes will go unrealized, and yes, we are frail and disappointed, but the death-god feeds on grief, he gorges on sadness and heartbreak and loss, and so we must defy him, we must make him choke on Sean, we must leave the death-god hungry for despair, as Sean hungered for life. We must make the death-god look bad for taking us. We may be the prisoners of Time, but let us shame it. The gods can only take our bodies, not our hearts, and this will be our triumph. In the words of Harold Goddard, the weaker we are, the greater the victory.

.

We're All In This Together

2007-08-19T15:22:00.000-07:00

It's two years to the day, my friend, and sometimes I still feel like I'm going crazy. Or I'm numb. Or a new wave of shock overcomes me. And there are all these amazing people whom I imagine feel the same way. ...who have come together, who believe in you. And some of them were there yesterday picnicing at your tree and telling stories. Coming together with Love, Laughter, and Glue.

And I can't help but think about how two years ago, during that week in late August, as we were heading to your memorial, and when nothing seemed to make any sense at all, a voice came through the radio,

"Sean called, and he said, 'We're all in this together.' "

All of us in the car heard it. All of us understood. And no one said a word as the song played.

As your mom and Tory left today, I thought about our weekend. I'm so glad they came out here, I'm not sure what I would have done if they didn't come. But now that they're gone, I'm beginning to feel this a little more intensely now. And this morning, I wasn't sure what to do, so I asked you. I asked you for help, like you taught me to. I asked you to show me a sign or something. And then I let go, and went about my day.

Later, just now, when I turned on the radio, that song came on.
Again.

Thank you,
G

We're All In This Together

Well my friends, I see your face so clearly
Little bit tired, little worn through the years
You sound nervous, you seem alone
I hardly recognize your voice on the telephone

In between I remember
Just before bound-up, broken-down
We drive out to the edge of the highway
Follow that lonesome dead-end roadside south

(Chorus:)
We're all in this thing together
Walkin' the line between faith and fear
This life don't last forever
When you cry I taste the salt in your tears

Well my friend, let's put this thing together
And walk the path with worn out feet of trial
'Cause if you wanted we can go home forever
Give up your jaded ways, spell your name to God

We're all in this thing together
Walkin' the line between faith and fear
This life don't last forever
When you cry I taste the salt in your tears

All the hour there's a picture in a mirror
Fancy shoes to grace our feet
All there is is a slow road to freedom
Heaven above and the devil beneath

We're all in this thing together
Walkin' the line between faith and fear
This life don't last forever
When you cry I taste the salt in your tears

2007-06-18T13:07:00.001-07:00

The River Sean

2007-05-17T16:47:00.000-07:00

I was up at your tree yesterday with Robin, did you feel us? I tied Nicol and Jason's Buddhist bracelet around your wrist, and shared a while. Stared a while. I'm so glad I stopped by before I head east this time. Just to connect a little. Maybe in a different way than usual. I wasn't exactly sure what to expect, but it made sense to me. I asked for help. I asked you for help. Sometimes that's all I know how to do.

Today, just a moment ago, I stumbled upon this song that Jamie wrote sometime in the first year. Thanks.

The River Sean

In a river in a valley
Floating underneath the sun
Lay Sean Michael Sullivan
On the day that he moved on

I wonder if there were coyotes watching
Or eagles flying up above
Did the clouds hang on the horizon
Waiting for the man we loved

I must admit if I had to choose
There’d be no better way to go
Nearly naked in a river
Where the cycle of life flows

He will be forever around us
Pulling us along
As we float together
As we float together
As we float together
On The River Sean

Eddies of curiosity
And whirlpools of art
We’ll be splashing in his laughter
And feel the current of his heart

And beyond the pools of sadness
And the waterfalls of tears
Lay infinite blue waters
And everlasting years

Where angry canaries frolic
Play soccer and unwind
And talking wooden boxes
Say what’s on their minds

Where crowds of people dressed in glue
Laugh as they fall down
Where we’re all just truckers’ girlfriends
Swimming around

He will be there rolling with us
When the river flows
We’ll spill into the ocean
We’ll spill into the ocean
We’ll spill into the ocean
To give our love to Rose

He will be forever around us
Pulling us along
As we float together
As we float together
As we float together
On The River Sean

As we float together
As we float together
As we float together
On The River Sean

Happy Birthday Sean!

2007-03-28T00:57:00.000-07:00

I spoke to so many friends of ours today, and they all send their love, but you know that.
... even Sloppy Joe, the Donut King!

I miss you Sean

2007-03-25T23:03:00.000-07:00

Love,
me

Donation for the tree planting

2006-09-02T15:32:00.000-07:00

At the request of many, here is the information to donate for the tree memorial.

Checks made payable to GREG COHEN should be sent to:
GREG COHEN
(memo: SEAN SULLIVAN TREE FUND)
PO BOX 480245
LA, CA 90048

Thank you all.

Year Anniversary Tree Planting

2006-08-06T09:09:00.000-07:00

Dear everyone,

August 20th marks the one year anniversary for Sean Sullivan. In his honor, we are planting a tree at the Art Center in Pasadena. Please join us to share this event and celebrate Sean.

When:
11AM Sunday August 20, 2006

Where:
Art Center College of Design (in the sculpture garden)
Hillside Campus
1700 Lida Street
Pasadena, CA 91103

For directions and map, please see the following link...
http://www.artcenter.edu/accd/dirtohillsidecamp.jsp

Automated Phone Directions to the Art Center campuses... 626.396.2246

Art Center galleries will be open for browsing.

***
Donations for the Tree are welcome...
All donations will go directly to the tree and the Sean Sullivan Scholarship at the Art Center.

Checks made payable to GREG COHEN should be sent to:
GREG COHEN
(memo: SEAN SULLIVAN TREE FUND)
PO BOX 480245
LA, CA 90048

***

Please help us spread the word and invite all those who were touched by Sean.
If you have any questions at all, please feel free to contact me at any time.

Thank you,
See you soon,
Greg

Greg Cohen
deggyphoto@cs.com

Song for Sean...

2006-04-26T01:11:00.000-07:00

Sean's favorite band, the Evangenitals, wrote a song for him called
The Sun is Shining.
You can listen to it here...
http://www.evangenitals.com/music-4.html

The Sun is Shining
(The Evangenitals)

For Sean Sullivan

I can't tell left from right
I can't find the same place twice
I don't hear what they say
But I know it doesn't matter anyway
Cuz the sun is shining in my eyes...

Don't know what's in front of me
I open up my eyes but all that I can see
Everything is light
And anything that happens, baby it's alright
Cuz the sun is shining in my eyes...

2005-12-16T17:53:00.000-08:00

Love, Stanley

2005-10-27T14:42:00.000-07:00

On October 1st, at the University of Denver, a French Lilac tree was planted in Sean's honor. Nancy Hendryx, a close family friend of Sean's, sent this in later that week. She also included a few images, below.

Did you know that they put a plant in the window where
Sean sits during the AA meeting in California. It
was so bright that day at the memorial that in order to show
the films of Sean’s work, they had to close the drapes?

Did you know that 2 years ago, Beamer (Sean’s mom)
had a dream that Sean was dancing around with a
birthday cake on his head?

That the hostess in Colorado had a sculpture, which Sean purchased
for her because he didn’t like what he had made himself. His own sculpture
evidently wasn’t good enough.

Did you know that there was a guy at the memorial that
was wearing Sean’s favorite leopard skin like slippers?

There was a guy, wearing light Bermuda shorts with
his suit coat at the Wake.

There was another fellow sporting Sean’s favorite
cowboy shirt. He was so proud that he received Sean’s
tools.

That Sean’s cat, Stanley, is safely in the hands of Robyn.

There was a gal, who witnessed Sean’s death, who was
grieving more than some.

That Holly had a fantastic buffet and that video clips
of Sean’s work were shown, and everybody laughed.

She displayed Sean’s self portrait: pieces of Sean embedded in
porcupine like scupltures. A toe nail, a strand of hair, a piece of
------.

At the tree planting in Denver, it was so loud at the
Party, after the ceremony, because it was full of
laughter and love and kids and a happy, happy dog.

There was ice cream replacing booze and cigarettes.
Something called Jalepo.

Did you know that the tree standing in Sean’s honor is a large
flowering french liliac? It is outside the DU mass media
building. The flowers will be white and pink, with red lines.

The dress code and the barriers were broken in California.
The family dressed up at the wake and then down at the
Memorial. Smiling, Tory apologized for the family and friends
being underdressed, because they came in jeans while
the entire crowd was dressed in pearls and heals.

In California, there was every manner of person present.
Around 300 persons were at his memorial, laughing as
they watched “We fall down.”

Did you know that Greg, his college roommate, and
his friends went back to the freshman dorm, where they threw
their white fur couch out the window? The window was padlocked.

That Greg snapped the most incredible shot of Sean
standing crosslegged by a chain link fence with a
sign spray painted “ASK” above him.

That each member of Greg’s family back east knows Sean as
Greg’s life partner, (due to Sean’s own introduction.)

That Robin (Greg’s girlfriend) is a comedian? No
wonder Sean loved hanging with them as a couple. But
that they weren’t the only couples Sean hung around
with. He was afraid to be an odd man out.

Did you know that in California, Sean met 6 days a week
with his AA group?

Sean’s entire life was full of laughter, good friends
and making people happy. Would he not want us to go on
with our lives and be full of laughter?

What next? Sean was a born again Chrisitan, as trite as
that title is today. He is now in God’s Kingdom. Sean
is making people laugh right now. He was brillant and
one can tell from meeting every one of his friends
that they are just bursting with energy and love for
each other and for Sean. So, keep in touch with each other
and never lose that laughter that Sean created with
his works of Art and his life. Sean also created
laughter to bring us all out depression. Cherish the
pieces that you have of Sean. (maybe not the one with
the ----- in it)

He was so giving that he’d want us to enjoy each
special item or thought or gift or moment that we have
shared with him. He would want us to be happy and enjoying
life.

Keep in touch with Sean’s mom and brother and let them
live their lives through your success.

Love,
“Stanley”

tree memorial shots

2005-10-27T14:34:00.000-07:00

Tree memorial shots

2005-10-27T14:27:00.000-07:00

Sufi view

2005-10-27T13:45:00.000-07:00

Here is a little something that was sent to me one evening, since August 20th.
I simply wanted to share this sentiment.

Dear Greg,
Here is the passage I read you last night. Hope it is a comfort.

"Prayers for the dead are on the same footing as gifts for the living. The
Angel goes in to the dead with a tray of light, bearing a cloth of light ,
and says, "this is a gift for you from your brother so-and-so, from your
relative so-and-so." And he delights in it JUST as a living person rejoices
in a gift .

al-Ghazzali

I have a feeling that this "cloth of light" is a bit like a film strip--and
that the receiver gets a little film of us blowing kisses their way. (I
made that up--but it sounds right to me.)

I will light a candle and say a prayer for dear Sean.

Love, Annie

Sean and i like to make things....

2005-09-29T09:16:00.000-07:00

Sean and i like to make things. I was so happy to hear that Sean was going to attend Art Center of Pasadena while i lived in LA. Quite a wonderful reputation this amazing school has. I was excited to live vicariously through him on his path to creative higher education, hoping to attend a few lectures with him and maybe concoct a few ridiculous ideas together. Sean has this part of his brain that comes up with ideas and images and concepts that make you say, “wow, where did that come from...who could of thought of that.” his perspective is an anomaly.

Sean made me something that is one of my most precious belongings. a birthday wish, not a card, but a technically measured, fitted and laser designed, battery operated small wooden box with a red button on it. He was still exploring sculpture at this point before his switch to animation. When you pressed the red button, Sean’s voice - recorded internally - spoke in an austere confirming manner:

“happy birthday kotch! you have grown into a fine, young woman”

In Sean’s winning effort to express comically, aesthetically and uniquely - he had no idea the profound impact this object would have on me through the years. I received the small wooden box at a time when i was vulnerable, frustrated, lonely, doubtful, easily saddened, a bit confused and needed a pat on the back - daily really.

well Sean gave me that. i pressed that red button within my first 15 minutes of waking during those months, sometimes a few times a day. just hearing Sean’s voice tell me i had ‘grown into a fine young woman’ really gave me the affirmation i needed then - not so much in the words—but mostly the tone of his obviously rehearsed, regal, masculine voice. Sean and this box continue to father, coach and support me in immeasurable ways.

Sean is my Stuart Smalley.

I have been more introspective regarding death in last few years as my husband lost his first wife to breast cancer. Todd has shared with me one of his most meaningful passages from a book alluding to the concept that one’s body is a mere dry dock for your soul - a travelling ship. I appreciated this idea so much because it is very understandable and viable to me. This is how i feel about loved ones that have passed and our dear friend Sean. He is still with us, perhaps onto the next dock. You will notice that i have not used the past tense but rather the present tense when referring to Sean as a testament to this theory. I believe he still “does” what he “did” somewhere out there.

And of course, i will always have my wooden box when i want to hear his voice.

love kotch xoxoxoxox

Sean - Wrestling - Pink Toe Nails

2005-09-22T10:36:00.000-07:00

I was letting my girlfriend's four year old paint my toe nails the other day and it reminded me of a story that Sean once told me. In high school he was on the wrestling team which requires all the team members to gather around a scale in the locker room before every meet and strip down to their underwear and get on the scale in front of each other to see if they have "made weight". Well, as it turns out, it wasn't until Sean was in the middle of this testosterone fueled scenario that he realized that he had forgotten that the day before he had let his girlfriend paint his toenails pink. Now there have been times when toe nail polish on a guy is something to flaunt but I assure you such was not the case in Alubquerque NM in the late 1980's in a locker room full of sweaty jocks. But that was Sean. Standing on a scale in his tighty whities with pink toe nails.

megan buchanan said...

2005-09-13T23:13:00.000-07:00

i moved out to northern arizona with my daughter, grainne, last october and had not kept in close touch with sean, although a bell had been ringing in my head to call him for the past month or so.

like everyone else who knew him, i, too, have a handful of great sean stories, some heartbreakers and some sidesplitters. a few things: everytime i saw him, he asked when i was going to sell him my truck, a babyblue 1987 ford f150 with ridiculously low mileage. before i left, he and i completed a project i had dreamed about for years, something everyone else thought was silly, except for sean: mahogany rails on the truck. working in his backyard, sweating and cooling off with the hose in late summer pasadena heat, there was a hilarious 4th-grade underwear moment, both of us standing in the bed of the truck under a tree: i'll show you mine if you show me yours, he said. except sean wasn't wearing any. classic.

living out here in flagstaff now, there are gazillions of pickups but none have mahogany rails made by sean sullivan.

he and my daughter had a special connection. he made her a baton for her 9th birthday called the flying gwendolyn, a name they each called the other. when he was sick of pasadena meetings we would drive around and tell each other our secrets. i trusted him.

when i heard the news, i wailed and wrote a little song for him. my daughter and i have been mourning him by ourselves out here and would have been out for the memorial but it was her birthday and her party was on saturday.

his light was very bright. i was thinking how he never got to be an old man, but instead will be remembered always as the vital, radiant young man that we all love so so much. so here's the little song--

all of this is true:
i danced with you
in the lumberyard
last summer
my friend

swallowed by a river
on saturday
i'm full of sand
my friend

your hugs were like the sun
i wasn't done with you
your voice contained the sun
i wasn't done with you
dancing through the lumberyard
my friend

4:32 PM

TREE DEDICATION

2005-09-09T00:06:00.000-07:00

OK, the tree dedication in Denver is shaping up. There is one minor change: please send donations for the tree fund to the new address....

Michel Allen
200 East 16th street
New York, NY 10003

Otherwise all other details remain the same (see previous posting). Should you have any further questions feel free to post them under this heading.

Thank you all so much, and we look forward to seeing you on October 1st.

CHE

2005-09-08T05:54:00.000-07:00

I was watching the Motorcycle Diaries a couple of nights ago, marveling at the scene near the end where Che decides to swim the river that seperates the patients and the doctor's. It was such a beautiful metaphor of Guevara's life and struggles to bridge the gap between the have's and the have not's. But when he started to really struggle at the end I sudden broke into tears as I imagined the way in which Sean died. It overwhelmed me. My tears could not be held back.

I don't believe in fate, I don't believe that things happen for a reason. I believe we live in a world that must interact with forces beyond our control. But what I believe is less certain than what I know. And that is that I will always long to see my friend Sean just one more time.

I miss you Sean.

An excerpt from the latest newsletter...

2005-09-04T00:50:00.000-07:00

...a memorial.

Our good friend Sean Michael Sullivan, man-about-town and sunshine spirit, creator of Ben the Canary (www.benthecanary.com) and other amazing spectacles, was taken from this earth by a couple of really beautiful angels on August 20th 2005, while playing with friends on the Kern River in Kern County, California.

Before he left us, we wrote a song for him. You may have heard it if you were at the last Derby show. It's called "The Sun is Shining in My Eyes" and it goes:

I can't tell left from right
I can't find the same place twice
I don't hear what they say
But I know it doesn't matter anyway

Because the Sun is Shining in My Eyes...

I don't know what's in front of me
I open up my eyes but all that I can see
Everything is light
And anything that happens, baby, it's alright

Because the Sun is Shining in My Eyes...

Sean will be greatly missed, many more songs shall surely be inspired by his smile and singular gait, and The Evangenitals have decided to release an EP of all of the songs we were writing for Sean's Ben the Canary project, that we had the honor of playing for him before he was sublimated into 100% pure golden soul.

Thank you, Sean.

We
Fall
Down

Juli, Lisa, Brett, Jones, and Salad
The Evangenitals

Please see the Tree Dedication and Scholarship below...

2005-09-04T00:43:00.000-07:00

Sean in 2000.
Love, Julie

Tree Dedication and Scholarship

2005-09-03T10:45:00.000-07:00

Michel Allen sent this in....

Please jon us to dedicate a tree to Sean.

On Saturday, October 1st at the University of Denver, we will
celebrate Sean by dedicating a tree in his honor.

We'll meet on the steps to the library at 3:30, and walk over to the site by 4PM.

At 6PM, we'll be eating at the Blue Bonnet.
The address is 457 S. Broadway, Denver, CO.

Dress is very casual. If you are not staying with friends
the Lowes Denver is close to DU and is offering us special
DU rates.

Donations for the tree should be made out to:
"The Sean Sullivan Tree Fund."
We need to raise $1,500.

Please mail the tree donation to my work address below,
and I will take care of everything:
Michel Allen
11 East 36th street
New York, NY 10016

*** *** *** *** *** ***

On another note, there will be a scholarship in Sean's
name given to a student in the Mass Comm department.
To give money to the scholarship fund:
Please write checks to University of Denver
and mail the checks to:
Richard Holtz
University of Denver
2190 S. High Street
Denver, CO 80208

With every donation a note will go to Sean's mother
with your name but not an amount.

Thank you all for your support.
I look forward to seeing everyone and toasting Sean!

Beautiful Sean.... love, Nicol

2005-08-29T22:52:00.000-07:00

With love from Holly Stauffer...

2005-08-29T08:18:00.000-07:00

Sean always made me laugh.
We talked a lot about Stanley and his issues.
And ate after meetings at Shakers.
Went trick or treating in the rain with some of my special ed students.
Did Bikram yoga which made him nauseous but he’d do it anyway.
And lie around in his room watch movies,
and talk some more.
About the idea that maybe for his thesis he would build a house.
But he built Ben’s house instead.
And stayed up all night sanding Ben to a perfectly smooth finish.

Sean gave my son his first glue gun.
And cried on my shoulder after a bad night with some ambien, whiskey and a girl.
And when I told him I was marrying Bob, he said he wanted to marry Bob too.
And every time I saw him, whether there was time to talk or not, I hugged him, and looked into his eyes and told him I loved him.
Because I did. More than anything.
And he always said, “I love you, too.”

I imagine Sean is amazed.
At the gathering of people here for him today.
Amazed at Jeff, Carrie, Olga and Brett for their courage, strength and dignity.
Amazed at the beauty of his mother and the grace of his brother,
and the outpouring of love from his friends.
Amazed at the amount of tears cried for him because he’s no longer here.
And the amount of smiles that appear every time we tell a, “one time Sean and I...” story.

And I am amazed at us.
Because of the death of this one man, the goodness has been brought out in many.
To survive we’ve circled, and reached out our hands, and grabbed the ones that began to drift away, and brought them into the center.
We huddled, and wrapped our arms around each other, and cried, made phone calls, and laughed,
and planned, and cried, denied, said goodbye, and took it back.
Then said goodbye again.

Holly Stauffer

August 26, 2005

From Ana

2005-08-28T23:52:00.000-07:00

at an Art Center furniture show in 2002

Shots from Geetika...

2005-08-28T23:42:00.000-07:00

the angel - Sean

Sean at Art Center Graduation Show

Sean and Adam at Ian's wedding

2005-08-28T08:36:00.000-07:00

Sean shakes a leg

2005-08-27T02:00:00.000-07:00

Sean with his good buddy, Luigi

2005-08-27T01:52:00.000-07:00

with friend in Honduras

2005-08-27T01:47:00.000-07:00

PHOTOS

2005-08-26T02:33:00.000-07:00

Please send all photos to deggyphoto@cs.com. Thank you.

2005-08-26T02:26:00.000-07:00

Posted by Steve Montgomery.

2005-08-25T11:46:00.000-07:00

Sean Sullivan

2005-08-24T11:39:00.000-07:00

Of Pasadena died in a sporting accident on August 20, 2005, at the age of 34. Sean was born March 27, 1971 in Denver, Colorado. He was raised in Albuquerque, New Mexico and graduated from Eldorado High School. He received his Bachelors Degree from the University of Denver in 1993. An accomplished artist, animator and writer, he received his Masters Degree in Industrial Arts from the Art Center in Pasadena. Sean was very active in recovery in Pasadena and left an indelible imprint on the hearts of those who had the privilege of knowing him. He was preceded in death by his father, Joseph Daniel Sullivan. Sean is survived by his mother, Delona "Beamer" Sullivan, his brother Tory Sullivan and the Funk Family. His mother and brother would like to express their deepest gratitude to Sean’s many friends who have shown their overwhelming support and love during this very difficult time. The viewing will be held Saturday August 27, 2005 from 2pm to 4pm at the Angeleno Pasadena Mortuary, 415 E. Orange Grove Blvd.

A memorial service for Sean is scheduled for Sunday August 28, 2005 from 2pm to 4pm at the War Memorial Building, 435 Fair Oaks Blvd. South Pasadena.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made in Sean’s name to the Bishop Gooden Home Recovery Center for Men, 191 N. El Molino, Pasadena, CA 91101.

Sean

2005-08-24T10:52:00.000-07:00

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.