Brent Brooks: Artist and Friend

For those of you who don't know Brent, here is an insight to his soul.
Brent wrote this...

starry, starry night
Journal Entry: Sun Jun 3, 2007, 7:25 PM yesterday while i was in an intense brawl with my most recent project i got a call. i had to take some parts of a motorcycle to a friend of a friends house and it was indeed an emergency. what you need to know about lynn, the friend of a friend is that he's one of these super genius motorcycle shamans who has the self effacing character of a monk and the aura of our lady of guadalupe. this said you need to know that the little shop he works out at his home, just to the side, clad in old wood slats and rusty nails is a perfect throw back to the days when i would stand outside of the local bike shop drooling over the latest evil knievel special. a casual stroll through his shop and you would most definitely have to maneuver around a dusty old triumph, a pile of other parts from some recent massacre and an old bike lift that i'm sure Ive seen before when
i was about ten years old.

in my rush to deliver the parts to lynn i didn't bother to change out of my painting clothes and showed up in lynns shop, box of parts in hand, covered in paint. i was trying to be modest when he asked me if i had been painting as if i was painting my fence or the kitchen cabinets. when i said no and then yes and that i was actually painting as in what i call art painting like in canvas and brushes i could tell, while i was trying to hint at what i had been up to just prior to my arrival, that he was having a hard time decrypting my demurred meaning but then he soon lit up with understanding. he asked me if i had heard of john mclean and of course i said yes and who wouldn't know the main who coined the phrase "the day the music died" in the song american pie, i answered yes. he then asked me if i had heard the song titled "vincent" and i said no. he then walked over to this mountain of conjoined players, wires and buttons and pressed one, or perhaps a few. what came out of the speakers at that point was a song that i had always thought to be "starry starry night" but he was quick to point out that i was wrong. he was also just as clever to point out to me that the song was about one of the very few artist i had ever held to any esteem, vincent vangue. he didn't try to explain, he didn't even try to warn me he just walked off into his back yard and left me to listen to a song that i have heard a million times before, that i listened to now for the first time in a million and one, alone after i had just walked away from a painting i wanted to murder.

here's the lyrics:

starry
starry night
paint your palette blue and grey

look out on a summer's day
with eyes that know the
darkness in my soul.
shadows on the hills
sketch the trees and the daffodils

catch the breeze and the winter chills

in colors on the snowy linen land.
and now i understand what you tried to say to me

how you suffered for your sanity
how you tried to set them free.
they would not listen
they did not know how

perhaps they'll listen now.

starry
starry night
flaming flo'rs that brightly blaze

swirling clouds in violet haze reflect in
vincent's eyes of china blue.
colors changing hue
morning fields of amber grain

weathered faces lined in pain
are soothed beneath the artist's
loving hand.
and now i understand what you tried to say to me

how you suffered for your sanity
how you tried to set them free.
perhaps they'll listen now.

for they could not love you
but still your love was true

and when no hope was left in sight on that starry
starry night.
you took your life
as lovers often do;
but i could have told you
vincent
this world was never
meant for one
as beautiful as you.

starry
starry night
portraits hung in empty halls

frameless heads on nameless walls
with eyes
that watch the world and can't forget.
like the stranger that you've met

the ragged men in ragged clothes

the silver thorn of bloddy rose
lie crushed and broken
on the virgin snow.
and now i think i know what you tried to say to me

how you suffered for your sanity

how you tried to set them free.
they would not listen
they're not
list'ning still
perhaps they never will.


btw:

in his graciousness, he allowed me leave with some of my smugness and self importance intact in spite of my tears.

This post is from Brent's Deviant Art blog, which Sarah sent to me in an email.

Regarding the memorial:

The memorial for Brent will be a beautiful and simple evening of rememberance on November 20th from 5 to 8 p.m.
Candles are encouraged.
Brant, the oldest son of Brent, will have some words that he has written and sent from his home state of
Nebraska for us to read.
Bill Bruce has printed 4 x 6 photos of Brent that he took on one of their visits together.
Richard Silva has made a beautiful and artistic cross out of chunks of wood that Brent had given him. The cross will be displayed at the memorial as well as a beautiful portrait of Brent that was taken by his girlfriend, Sarah.
A large painting of his will be displayed.
Pieter Moerdyk will sing, Vincent. This a song that Brent really had a fondness for. He was also very fond of this artist.
I hope that our artist community will attend this memorial in his memory. We as artists, need to come together and realize that our lives our so impacted by art, expression and each other. If you cannot attend please keep his family in your thoughts.
Brent loved to cook, so if you do attend, a dish of your favorate food would be greatly appreciated. We can eat around six p.m. Brent had his last show at the Margaret Hudson Gallery.
He barbecued hotdogs to serve along with rootbeer floats! It was so much fun to enjoy his amazing paintings, eat and be just hang out.
Brent had a wonderful sense of humor and one of the kindest, most generous hearts I have ever known.
If you can, please write something for the memory box that we will send to his son. If you have any questions you may contact Maria or myself at the numbers Maria has provided. Please RSVP on the event page. Thank you.

A special thank you to the donors for the donation given and to Margaret Hudson for sharing her gallery.