In Memory

Robert Reid

HERE is a eulogy for Rob written by Tim Brennan. Rob's obituary is below Tim's words:

For Rob

(January 11, 2013)

Special people die thinking they’ve done nothing because they didn’t accomplish everything.   They discount the greatness they’ve done, thinking it of no value, forgetting how many loved them.   When I saw Rob the last time, about a month before he died, I asked him what he was painting, and he said he didn’t paint anymore.   There was no self-pity – he was just trying honestly to look defeat in the face.  But it hurt me to see him that way.   He was irascible as always, throwing his impish smile in all directions, a smile like a grimace, but conspiratorial with warmth behind the eyes.   He had been tough on himself and others in the last years – the usual crustiness turning a bit hard, especially at home.   But I tried to remind him that he had had in his life about thirty years of blinding creativity – a time when he found his own style (and who can say he didn’t have style???!!!) – a true autodidact who tried hard to live down being born in the suburbs and finally succeeded, but at too great a cost.  He poked around in local slums and NY tenement halls for what he called “the dark side” and, unfortunately, found it.

But I’d rather think now about the genius rather than the genius cut short.  Rob was the most naturally talented person I ever met – not just a draughtsman but an artist, a thinker, and a theorist.   He sculpted beautifully, but only after apprenticing himself to Gaudier Brsezka; he invented paintings after Gustave Moreau, skied with grace and skateboarded like a surfer.   He played blues harmonica way beyond the level of someone who never actually cut records.   Even in hospice, when the ravages of illness were unkind to his body, he managed to look elegant, with short clipped whiskers, and wispy hair brushed to the side.  How did he get that way?  Those extremes? Charles Bukowski on the inside, and a fashion model on the outside?   And that too was him.  Brilliant at so many things, and cashing in on none of them, as though the quest were enough. He had the uncanny ability to enter a bookstore and leave it with all the books you wished you’d bought instead – on Taoism, Chinese nature drawing, fascist novels from the 1930s, the etchings of Albrecht Durer.

Rob was about transcendence.  He was in important ways, deeply and truly ethereal.  We would be in the car and he’s say stop, let’s look at the clouds – and we’d get out and watch them for a half hour.  There was a glow about him (the glow you can see in his self-portrait) -- an inconsolable longing.  He was never settled, marveled in everything, was drawn to beauty and intelligence in all its forms. My house is filled with art, but it is one of his paintings – perched appropriately, if by chance, above the television set – that everyone who visits my house eventually gravitates to: a painting divided down the middle vertically by a gold band, that portrays a cosmic fetus in the style of Odilon Redon.   It is one of those times when the ethereal within him got out. 

I can’t let you go, somehow.   I wish I could hear more internet doctor advice from you about herbal remedies; hitchhike again to NY or sleep, as we did once, under thorn bushes on Nantucket Island hiding from the police; I wish you could hop on a plane and come out to see me just to see an art exhibit like you used to do, or me drop out of school to visit you in the Rockies.  The times of hanging out on the Lower East Side are gone, and so is cross-country skiing with Jamie on your back in Darlington, mushrooms under the moon, or waiting for the birth of Maggie, meeting Ursula, Addie, and Tristan at the farm . . . and later Corinna, see your and Jodie’s studios.  I have to learn now to live now with all you’ve left behind.  You don’t know how much.  More than you can imagine.   Bye old man. 

-- Tim

 

OBITUARY:

Robert Craig Reid, of Granville Road in Cedarburg, passed away late Tuesday evening, January 1, 2013, at Seasons Hospice in Waukesha. He was 59 years old.

Online condolence may be left at www.eernissefuneralhome.com. You may have to cut and paste the link into your browser.

Rob was born in Madison on September 28, 1953 to Bruce and Beverly Stevens Reid. He attended local schools after the family moved to the Milwaukee area, graduating from Whitefish Bay High School and University of Wisconsin- Milwaukee, later receiving his Masters in Architecture.

Rob moved to Cedarburg in 1986. On July 17, 1995 he was united in marriage with Jody Boogren in Milwaukee. The couple settled in Cedarburg to start their family, later moving to Plymouth, and returning to Cedarburg in 2008.

Mr. Reid was a former member of St. Francis Borgia Catholic Church in Cedarbrug. Rob was an avid reader and knowledge seeker. His friends often referred to as him as The Renaissance Man; he enjoyed painting, especially in the medium of Acrylics, sketching , had trained as a sculptor under Alex Weiger, and worked as a blacksmith.

Mr. Reid was also a Ti Chi instructor for many years, primarily taking on private students. He is survived by his wife Jody Reid of Cedarburg, 4 daughters: Maggie (significant other Evan Paydon) of Milwaukee, Ursula, Addy and Corinna, and son Tristan, all of Cedarburg. Rob is also survived by his mother, Beverly (Tom) Linnan of Brookfield, sister Julia Reid of Colorado, parents-in-law Alan & Dianne Boogren of Fond du Lac, nieces, nephew, aunts, uncles, cousins, other relatives and many friends.

He is preceded in death by his father, Bruce Reid. A memorial service will be held 12 PM Saturday, Jan. 12 at St. Francis Borgia Catholic Church South, N44 W6055 Hamilton Rd. Cedarburg. Father Jamid Blanco will preside. The family will receive visitors at CHURCH Saturday from 10AM-12PM. Memorials are suggested to the family for future education costs. The Eernisse Funeral Home is honored to be serving the family. Online condolence may be left at www.eernissefuneralhome.com.



 
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05/20/13 12:31 PM #1    

Lawrence Bragman

Good bye to a sly master of adventure and artistic creation. A vivid memory returns when I read of his passing;

One schnapps fueled night,  Rob and I drew artistic graffiti on the halls of the art department at UW. When the campus police patrol came upon us, Rob deftly disappeared and I was left to proudly take the rap in the name of art.

Larry Bragman

Fairfax, California


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