My Story
Written by Geneviève and Soara DeLouvre
August 2014
Sir Lawrence was creative and different.
Sir Lawrence started drawing before he could even focus on learning how to write. In the first grade, he began showing signs and symptoms of dyslexia, which finally explained the frustrations he experienced in school.
In his teens, Sir began to experiment with different artistic mediums, such as metal and clay, but his true passion was paint. Later on, around the age of twenty, he was drawn to dance, theatre and music, which led him to the decision of creating a career that combined all of his passions and interests. Later on, inspired by diverse interests and life experiences, a black man with Creole heritage, he chose to focus primarily on the visual arts, eventually coming full circle from where he began.
“Each piece represents an element of my life’s work. I give the world what I feel and see artistically. My imagination is inspired by the colors of the world, nature, movement, food, and people. My work is my eyes, my hands, my feelings and spiritual experiences. My style ranges from abstract to impressionistic to realistic.”
Sir Lawrence didn’t like the struggle of being a black man in America; he felt targeted, disrespected and robbed of opportunities. However, in the face of hardships, setbacks, and adversity, Sir Lawrence never let it stop him for doing what he wanted; and what he believed in more than anything: his art. Later in his life, he often said to me that the constant struggle wore him down and made him tired. His life had been an uphill battle from a young age: his father had left home when he was three, as one of eleven children, and the eldest son, he often had to bear the brunt of any and all discipline, whether it be corporal, verbal, or emotional. This, combined with a latchkey childhood and a lack of maternal affections cause him a lot of suffering, lower self-esteem and tendencies of depression. However, his circumstances also forged a greater ability to adapt to different environments, situations and people, as well as independence and self-reliance. He never made it past 8th grade, having been deemed more useful to his family working and earning money than learning. Soon after, his mother decided to move, and at 16 years old he was kicked out of the house. Luckily, he had a close relationship with his maternal grandmother, and was able to move in with her. At 18, he moved out of Vallejo to see what life would bring in San Francisco.
A San Francisco native, he attended the Art History Program at Merritt College in Oakland from 1967-68. During his last semester, he met Anna Halprin and joined a groundbreaking dance company focusing on myths and rituals in which the inspiration is on issues of everyday life, called “The Dancers Workshop San Francisco”. He worked as a dancer/theater performer and instructor through 1974. During that period, he continued to draw and painted several art pieces and self- portraits as well as designing and creating environmental props for performances.
In 1983, he started drawing and painting in his own studio in SOMA neighborhood of San Francisco and later at home, fusing movements, colors, swirls and geometric shapes, until his death in 2013 His signature piece, “Rhythm of the Universe-Dance of the Gods was created in the fall/winter 2001: “Rhythm of the Universe-Dance of the Gods” was born of a scribble under seven seconds. At first the scribble is like a cloud full of images the viewer (the artist) creates, and then the rhythm within the graphics creates the gestures of the dancers, which is greatly influenced by my dance background and the color of life.”
Bill Graham once told Sir Lawrence that he was a visionary, as is evident in his art. He was very imaginative, avant-garde, and found pleasure in inventing, modifying, upcycling, and repurposing everyday objects and making them more convenient and user friendly.
I knew instantly when I met him, in the summer of 1969, that he was unique. He had a “je ne sais quoi” that was palpable. He walked with allure, and gracefully like a dancer. When he entered a room, you felt his presence and charisma. He was proud but never pompous, vulnerable but never weak, strong but not mean. He could be hard on anyone he wanted to help if he felt they responded best to tough love, but was always harder on himself. Toward his friends and especially his daughter and wife, he was very protective, but also understood the importance of boundaries and freedom of expression.
As a man, he considered himself old school and believed in honor and above all loyalty. Though his charm helped him make friends quickly and easily, he could be abrasive and hard if he felt misunderstood or betrayed, but was never physically violent. Having grown up as one of eleven brothers and sisters in a poor neighborhood, he developed tenacity, grit, courage and sharp instinct, though he could be very stubborn, he also had a self-awareness that helped him recognize his own mistakes. He was never afraid of anything, actually quite daring in his ways to which he explained to me once: “I am afraid of nothing, because I am afraid of everything.”
On New Years Eve of 1971, a race related attack that resulted in severe head trauma left Sir Lawrence unconscious and temporarily paralyzed for years to come. Tough he miraculously survived the assault; he always felt he had died that night. He once told me: “That night, before I truly died, I was given a choice. I saw your face and called your name – Geneviève! That is when I came back.” Forever until he passed away recently, each time he felt emotionally confused or sick, my name was a source of emotional comfort.
That New Year’s night, he became paralyzed on the left side of his body, having to learn in the months that followed how to walk and dance again. He moved on with his life, but struggled from losing his short term memory as well as full mobility on his left side. He never complained, but each day was a challenge. By 1972, he plunged back into his life, began dancing again, touring on the East Coast, performing, but the anger and disappointment created by the accident remained for the rest of his life.
For many years following the injury he would live his life as if tomorrow didn’t exit, re-stating what seemed to almost have become a mantra when he was frustrated. “I’m already dead.”
His non-chalant attitude toward life led him to take many risks: He once missed a curve and went over a cliff, his car landing on all four wheels; he escaped unscathed and simply climbed back to the road to the utter amazement of all the drivers that has stopped expecting the worse. Another time, while riding his bicycle, he flew over a car, landing on his face, badly injured, but nothing life threatening. Later on, while trying to remove a dead branch precariously hanging over a schoolyard, her fell and broke his femur in three places, requiring a metal rod and several pins.
However laissez-faire he could be about his own safety, when it came to his art, he had an unmatched zeal for all forms of creativity. Although painting was on the backburner, he immersed himself into other forms of art, eventually co-founding Carnaval in San Francisco’s Mission District in 1979.
In the mid-80s he consciously decided to teach himself how to read. He eventually joined a program at the SF Library and began writing a magical story with a tutor who felt that his imagination was boundless.
After his friend Bill Graham died in 1991, he left Bill Graham Presents (BGP) as a stagehand. He became a massage therapist and slowly began to paint again. Before he died, he had completed over fifty paintings– all very different, all very vibrant and all reflective of his moods and amazing imagination.
He had many friends from many different backgrounds, relationships ranging from judges, lawyers, rock stars, stagehands, pimps, store owners, or homeless people he met while on a walk. It didn’t matter to him what gender, race, religious affiliation or political background people followed as long as they were good people that had good vibes. He drove twice in 1968 with Jimmy Hendrix, smoked pot with Bob Marley and the Whalers, gave massage to Jerry Garcia, had conversations with many rock stars, but was never intimidated by their fame or status. “They’re just people” he would say. He enjoyed people watching, and learning from and talking to those around him, whether it be discussing string-theory with a scientist at a coffee shop, or catching up with the mailman about his family; as much as he tried to come off as callous and insensitive, Sir Lawrence cared about everything and everyone around him, perhaps even at fault.
After having mostly worked with acrylics since 2001, Sir Lawrence re-integrated collage to his work, creating a piece he called Crowded Vision. Crowded Vision is a colorful collage representing the story of someone life experiences. His first and only subject, before he died October 2013, was Bill Graham (Impresario).
His tumultuous childhood was very formative, and as a father and husband, he remained devoted, hands on and protective.
Of himself he would say: “I am an exceptional human being, but as a man, I’m a dog.” He was amazingly courageous, kind and loving. He knew that life was not a linear progression: It has many paths and challenges. In spite of the hand he was dealt, he always managed to confront adversity and hardships with dignity, courage and pride.
When he found out he had cancer in August of 2013, he knew instantly that the anger he had held on to from an early age had contributed to the cancer that killed him two and half months later.
They are no words that can express how fortunate I am to have shared so many wonderful, magical and loving years with him. He was everything to me. We are true soul mates. Soara, our daughter was and is an expression and manifestation of the love we shared for 44 years.
Having Soara was our miracle. After having been raped when I move to the U.S from France, I was no longer able to become pregnant. Soara was created with the help of in vitro fertilization – we had waited for her for 16 years. As soon as she was born, everything I love about Sir, the zest for life, the pure joy, the twinkle in his eye, his sensitive nature, it was all magnified and grew exponentially as the days passed. His paternal instinct was evident in the way he cared for her, always making sure she wanted for nothing. He promised himself that he would always provide her with everything he never had, and kept that promise until the day he died.
He shared with Soara his love of music, art, cooking and food. She made him happy; she was his pride and joy. They spent a lot of time together as she grew up, and they had a very playful, close relationship, but when she was tired or sad she knew she could always go to him for comfort. He would say to her: “Come and lay in daddy’s arms”; they would then both calmly fall asleep. His favorite times were spent with his family, preferably at the Sea Ranch or on the top of Mount Tamalpais, or simply, together, watching a movie, and falling asleep in my arms.
Sir’s life was not an easy one. It was full of ups and downs, struggles and strife, but through it all he was always able to find the good and express that through his paintings. All he really cared about was love – the love of his family, the love of his art, and his love of life. He always told me that everything would be ok as long as he was in my arms, and in the end, he died peacefully and loved in my arms as he always wanted – just too soon.
When Lawrence and I met the summer of ’69, this quote from Jim Morrison was also how we felt.
“Friends can help each other. A true friend is someone who lets you have total freedom to be yourself – and especially to feel. Or, not feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at the moment is fine with them. That’s what real love amount to – letting a person be what he/she really is.”
In the end, this quote from Laurie Anderson also matched my own feelings.
“I was holding in my arms the person I loved the most in the world, and talking to him as he died. His heart stopped. He wasn’t afraid. I had gotten to walk with him to the end of the world. Life –so beautiful, painful and dazzling – does not get better than that. And death? I believe that the purpose of death is the release of love.”