I am usually pretty dense when it comes to first impressions. It's hard for me to remember faces, let alone names, after a first meeting, probably because I need shared experiences to really form impressions that stick. It's embarrassing to say, but everyone kind of looks the same to me at first. But this guy... it was a blaze of instant, unforgettable recognition. It was that face. The first thought that came into my mind when I first laid eyes on Vin was this phrase: "the face of a free man." (I actually would end up writing a song based on that phrase).Vin was free, man. I admired it, was drawn to it, wanted it. Whatever this man had, I wanted it!
Vin proved all too ready to oblige. He was the perfect blend of brilliance and humanity. He wanted to be your friend. He was kind, accessible, and transparent as a mountain stream. Vin would have had every right to be an edgy, aloof indie rock star artist. He simply had it, the man was goooood, he was naturally and effortlessly cool, to a degree that lesser people drool and pose and preen a lifetime for, and never achieve. But he detested those kind of airs. He renounced poser-dom and had some very sharp things to say on the subject, when pressed. He was interested in reality, not appearances. That's why his art was so fricking beautiful and bad-ass.
Last March, he drove three hours (each way) to meet me and Ben up at our new condo, and shared with us his visions for what he would do with our place. He was going to do it for free, by the way. Among other things, he was going to paint some birds in Ben's room and paint a vine winding around the post by the breakfast bar. Unfortunately, life got busy and we never found the time. Ben still cherishes that memory, as I do, especially afterwards when we went to Golden Corral and day-dreamed together in the glow of that early Spring.
Vin gave me the painting you see above as a going-away gift when I moved from Peoria to Champaign. It has a place of honor in my room, having taken on new meaning and poignancy in past weeks. He also led a bunch of us dear friends around Chinatown in Chicago on New Year's Day, 2012, a special day and one of the truly great and blessed memories of friendship I may ever have. Ah, the memories are rich... and so many. And yet, too few. I grieve there will not be more
Vin was an example of what, sadly, seems to be increasingly rare: a bona-fide American dream success story. Chinese but raised in Vietnam, he fled to the USA as a young man. He used to say that he would never allow himself to remain in the comfort of a Chinese-speaking enclave. He learned English, after not knowing a word, and set out to be a part of the world he loved best: art. He got a job in a framing store, engaged and befriended the local art community, and worked his way up to making a living as a full time artist. "I am doing what I love," Vin would always say, with passion and delight. His artwork pretty much defines the ambience and spirit of One World Cafe, one of Peoria's most popular beloved local restaurants (and one of its few genuinely hip, indie establishments). His art is actually all over the Peoria area and beyond, both in public establishments like restaurants and schools, as well as in the private homes of well-heeled folks who wisely used their ample resources to let Vin transform their houses into riotous celebrations of awesomeness.
The greatest thing about Vin was his love for his wife. The dude was in love, man. He possessed great tenderness, and nowhere was it more on display than with Jessamyn. Those two had something truly special. Jessamyn told me about a year ago that Vin said to her something like: "You know, if you keep letting me be me, and I let you be you, we can be happy together for the rest of our life." She laughed as she recounted it, taking delight in the simple beauty and wisdom of the words, which were just so... well, just so Vin.
Jessamyn was Vin's muse. She seems to be in just about every one of his paintings. The man had an extraordinary capacity for seeing. He let reality move him, he respected it, gazed intently on it, respected it by trying to let it be itself and thus see deeper and deeper into its secrets. Then, he would show us what he saw. His paintings are prophetic revelations of insight. I am so moved by the depths of what he saw in Jessamyn. This is one of my favorites:
Goodbye, Vin. I love you and miss you. I am so very sad. I especially would have liked to see you one last time to say goodbye. My faith and hope in Christ assure me that we will meet again. And that you still see me, hear me, love me. Help me find and keep my mojo, man. Look after your wife. Pick out a nice spot, because when we get back together, we will each have so much to say.
