My hope found home with Perry as an overflow of creativity, an intense, sentimental and intimate soul, able to convey his presence without words or even visuals. Wherever I am, I can recognize his hands over my eyes from behind.
I was fortunate to be accepted onto the lollapalooza tour in 1993 with a tent of my paintings. My sister Shelley and my friend Shawn drove the entire country with me that summer. I went to Eddie Vedder and Stone Gossard, who had done the tour the year before, and I told them my plan. They were excited for me and helped me to finance a used van for the trip.
The next year, I was asked to do an illustration of Perry for the Lollapalooza magazine called Teeth. I also handed these prints out at the West Coast Lollapalooza shows.
We slept where we could steal away and sat in lawn chairs trying to survive the heat, 100° at midnight in New Orleans, scorpions running between our feet in Arizona. I passed out several times. Every time we hear Rage Against the Machine we think of their energy on the second stage, the gates opening after our morning set up, drinking coffee and chicken scored in vendor culture. Primus closing brings us to the dusty nights with dinosaurs echoing over the emptying fields.
It was an exhausting trip, only for the young, and I am grateful for their help and willingness to dive in with me. We were fortunate to experience many cultures of the United States, our countries within a country, for hospitality on nights we couldn’t afford a hotel, the camaraderie with fellow adventurers and our education in production of that size.
At our hotel in Florida, he came out one morning in his leather jacket as we sat by the pool. He went to the tiki hut bar, ordered a drink and sat on a stool. We talked while little kids in swimsuits patted by on the cement with their wet feet laughing. He always seemed so out of place to me.