With a heavy heart, today I reflect on the life of a great artist, mentor, friend and uncle.
My uncle, Charles Stagg, passed away earlier this morning.
I grew up living across the street from him. As a boy, I was always intrigued by this mysterious man. He was definitely different than most people in our small southeast Texas town. He thought deeply about things, lived secluded in the woods without electricity in a home that was a constantly evolving work of art that he built right out of the dirt, and listed to NPR on his little radio. I used to wonder what kind of person would just listen to people talking in monotone voices all day long… now, I’m kind of an NPR junkie myself, and I see what the draw was.
I was always inspired by my uncle. A man that spent his life literally piecing sticks together to make art. Pioneering a form of art that a lot of people probably looked at and thought was somewhat a joke, but will no doubt be looked at and remembered as greatness for years to come.
I only hope to aspire to be as thoughtful of an artist as he was… leaving a mark on the world through what can be seen and beheld.
I will indeed miss having rather uncommon conversations with him and seeing what new thing he had put his hand to. I’m thankful that somewhere swimming around in my blood are bits of hippie that link us together.
May his work and legacy live on.