The Sunday that followed, Bet held a dinner for Eric’s oldest friends, many people who had known him since the mid 1960’s. As I walked through the door I could immediately hear ancient tales of shared exploits and recollections of grand adventures being told by those old friends. I was among the youngest there. My having created the cast had gained me special admittance to this sacred event. I set Eric’s bust on its stand at the head of the dining table and the room quickly quieted as Eric’s presence commanded focus and attention from all there in attendance. As the evening ambled forward with so much lovely conversation, I watched those interactions with the plaster, the tears and the smiles and the loving expressions. Not from all, though certainly from many, gazes that only could be defined as a truest adoration. I watched peoples expression change to amazement as they realized that the bust had a few of Eric’s whiskers captured from his chin and, several arrant hairs on the top of his head. It wasn’t just a likeness of Eric. Eric is in it and coming out of it at the same time. I watched as hands slowly hovered like butterflies, an inch or two over it, to touch those hairs sprouting. I saw many people kiss that plaster. To see what this thing meant to so many was utterly heart melting. In so many ways it was almost as if Eric was there enjoying the evening with all those who had gathered. It was almost as if he was smiling for that express purpose. That smiling face was so reassuring, as his had always been, there for every one to see again, when most thought they never would. There volleying reminiscences and recollections across the dining table with Eric at its head was such a treat for everyone. I was proud and honored to give this gift with Eric’s help or, maybe it’s the other way around. Either way, no one there was left undeeply touched as Eric’s likeness reaches beyond death its self. In that evening the meanings of sculpture from the beginning of time redefined it’s self within me. I remembered a quote from Michelangelo in which he defended his carving of Lorenzo De Medici for not truly resembling the subject. Michelangelo declared “What will it matter in one thousand years time what this man looked like”. I know that dear Buonarroti was addressing what he felt was the greater significance of portraying the spirit rather than creating an accurate likeness which for him would have been a less expressive and/or challenging task but, in the end we are left only with the artist’s poetry. Lorenzo's likeness in truth has been lost. Eric’s likeness writes its own poetry beyond any artist’s gifts and for those who knew him first hand, time and space are transcended beyond any of talents contrivances or inventions, no matter how great or nobel. In my opinion nature is the greatest designer. The phenomenon of Eric’s existence was among the finest examples from that source. Within this incredible object there is nature showing more evidence of sweetly sublime character in perfect three dimension than mere intelligence and skill could ever really match or, convey. Even in death Eric continues to be a creative catalyst. In that we continue to give each other gift and tribute. Thanks a trillion Mr. Krupnick, rest assured, the kid’s are alright.
