In the early nineties I was humping the road about 30 weeks a year, and one of my stops up to three to four times a year was Texas. Honestly at that time I was sick of the road, sick of comedy, and was searching for something that could feed my soul while on the road. I eventually picked up a camera. I greedily shot everything, as is the duty of any photo newb.
Whenever I showed anyone my pictures, people were polite, but it was obvious they'd rather talk about the weather, how they could get a stand-up tape in front of my ex-husband who had just started to manage comics, or which middle had the best weed and a clean reliable car if a string of one nighters should happen to come your way.
I always looked forward to my stops in Austin. I could escape Los Angeles and New York and the ever growing divide between the widening circle of alternative comics and their smoldering distain for anyone who dared to try and make a living off of clubs outside Los Angeles or New York City. Austin was a haven for the perpetual outsider. In fact, it was a magnet for them. It was the first time I witnessed true friendships between artists. A place where one could babble on about any absurd or abstract idea for a project, and others would not only listen, but would show up and help you make it happen, even if it was 110 degrees outside.
It was on one of these trips were I met comic and artist Joey Waldon. Out of all of my Austin pals, (admittedly we weren't the closest) I admired him the most. He was the kinda guy who simply was outstanding at anything he effortlessly tried his hand at. He was also the first person to actually ask to see my photographs.
I remember bringing my little portfolio to his rickety old house. What his home lacked on the outside, it made up for it once you walked through the door, as it was filled floor to ceiling with his artwork.
He patiently listened to me as I nervously showed him my travel photos, and only stopped me towards the end, at a picture I had taken outside Savannah of an abandoned house hidden amongst fecund weeds, largely and crudely sprayed and marked with the letters K.K.K..
Without hesitation he asked if he could have it. I couldn't believe my ears. I slid it out and handed it to him, he tacked it above his desk and without saying a word gave me one of his paintings he had just finished working on. That simple exchange changed me from a comic who just took pictures as a silly hobby, and only did something creative if it would give her something immediately and monetarily in return - to a person who wanted to truly examine and express herself and the things she saw around her, no matter what the form, no matter what the outcome.
That being said, my heart goes out to all the folks in Texas who had the pleasure and the god damn good fortune to count comedian and artist Joey Waldon as a father, baby-daddy, soul mate, friend, or just simply an inspiration. He will be missed.
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