John Osler (1935–2023)
I met Spike long ago at an art show at the Scarab Club in Detroit. During our conversation, he mentioned that he and his wife Phyllis spent many of their summers in a part of southeast France which I know well: Provence. As I lived in Paris then, Spike invited me down to have dinner in the ancient stone house he rented in Le Beaucet. A brisk night, but with windows open to the dark sky, we ate by the crackling fireplace and talked for hours as jazz records played in the background. Spike had a studio right across from Detroit’s Eastern Market, a small space filled with light, and stacks of finished canvases. I wonder what will become of all those amazing artworks now that he’s gone. Should you get a chance to adopt one, don’t hesitate. I have one in my apartment in Paris, an oil of a saxophonist - maybe Donald Walden - who keeps an eye on me as I take my meals. We’ll miss you, Spike. |