David Bowie was a little before my time, but his impact on the world around me was huge. The glam ambigendered misfit, a gorgeous one at that, appealed to the misfit art student. Which is to say, every art student. Suffragette City echoed through the corridors of the dorms. Let's Dance made the Reagan era real for us hippies in New York City where it was easy to pretend Republicans Did Not Exist.
I saw Bowie in NYC at least once. He was unmistakable, with the mismatched eyes. He was slender, not so tall - maybe my height - pale, with a shock of blonde hair, and his nose in real life appears a bit sharper, with a bit of a hook to it. But I am pretty sure what caught my eye initially was his wife. Iman - also slender, with long long cafe au lait hair to match her skin, and large eyes was certainly eye catching, and at the time an omnipresent super model. They were a striking couple, just going about their day, seeing art at the Metropolitan Museuem on the upper East Side. Probably 1992 or so.
Just a couple weeks ago my 15 year old son turned me on to the Bowie version - the original - of The Man Who Sold the World. I knew it from Nirvana's faithful version, and loved it. When Evan woke up Monday morning, I was playing Bowie as was everyone else in the world, but I could not bear to share the sad news. A part of my youth had slipped away. Good bye, Man from Mars, and thank you so much for giving us all something forever beautiful.