Robert Graham RIP

The sculptor, Robert Graham was buried today in Los Angeles. The ceremony, a traditional Catholic funeral with the full medieval trappings, was held in the Cathedral, presided over by our pedophile-enabler-in-chief, Roger Mahoney.
One of those odd, only in LA kind of crowds, show business bigs mixing with Venice artists, and our humble civil servants, Bratton and Villaragosa. But I suppose artists are stars too, in LA. Graham had designed the large bronze doors to the cathedral. Ed Ruscha and David Hockney were there. Can't deny their stardom.
Old artists have the most fascinating faces of anyone. Every crease was earned, every pain felt, all the confusion of the years sits there defying still the entire world who has been telling them no through their lifetime. The torment of trying to comprehend life for the rest of us, while we go to the mall.
Hollywood faces, of course, have been all twisted, pulled, cranked, filled and sanded so that if there was any life lived, any soul in residence,it is impossible to tell.
Everyone was posing, but the artists win, hands down. They are just cooler.
Graham's widow, Anjelica Huston, is white as snow. She hurts so much, it radiates off her. Jack Nicholson, who has fucked her in all senses of the word lends his unwelcome support.
Seeing the pain in her face, I am reminded of a film she made with her father of James Joyce's "The Dead." Joyce wrote, "...the snow falls upon all the living and the dead." In that film her memories were of a dead lover. Her face was the same face I saw today.