
With the anniversary of Hunter S. Thompson’s death having just recently passed (February 20th), a day that preceded a lunar eclipse, a day that was both storm-ridden and sunny, it’s a strange coincidence that I should stumble across a set of photos from a show at M+B Gallery from over a year ago. No single author has been so influential to my own style, and what’s more, my own life than Thompson. I have to wonder about a person that can create so many changes in so many people, but then be reduced to a series of images and words, fragments of memories floating through our collective subconscious. I’m staring out a window at the same California sky that Thompson walked under for a better part of his life, looking at pictures of the times and places that he thought important or just vivid enough to need a reminder of, and I’m not questioning my mortality or anything as trite as that. I’m just enjoying a sky that a friend of mine once enjoyed, a friend I never met.
Hunter S. Thompson at M+B Gallery.