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Someone I used to know who died years ago had a Rauschenberg original from an artist's workshop he attended at a university.
Rauschenberg demonstrated some of his techniques during the talk and afterwards my friend asked him for the one he made. He gave it to him and signed it. It wasn't all that great of a piece.
The friend ended up getting killed by a drunk driver. He and his father were in an old pick-up truck transporting his artwork from Georgia Southern University (Ga Southern College at the time) where he had just had his senior exhibition, when, in truly cliche fashion, a young driver who had just gotten his license gunned his car up a neighborhood street and crashed right into the passenger side doorway killing him instantly. It all hearkens, in a sense, to the Cracker song "Truckload of Art."
I had been living at his house up until only a few days previous to this incident. He had talked about possibly giving me the painting or allowing me to buy it. He had kicked me out after it became known that he had designs on my girlfriend at the time. He was a squirrely guy anyway and I suspect being around two people happy like we were grated on his nerves. At any rate, in the impetuousness of my youth I had wished him dead. I've always felt horrible about it. I did consider going to his place and just taking it or trying to talk to his father or one of his family members about acquiring it, and probably would have, had it not been for the sincere misgivings. I never even went by his place to see what was going on with his possessions. Oh well...Statesboro Blues.
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