I love surfing.
If you paddle a little further than the other surfers, beyond the breaking line, not only will it keep you away from the harsh competition, but it also leave you plenty of time to read, think, or simply do nothing.
And at the end of the day, when everybody’s gone, you just catch a wave back to the shore.
It’s upon my return to civilization that, looking at the Purple Diary, I realized all that happened when I was surfing.
While Terry was busy shooting a Pirelli calendar, Olivier was kissing more girls in a night than most people in their entire life. And he was also taking hundreds of new photographs of the sexy Natacha Ramsay in unexpected locations.
And this is how I learned about the death of Dash Snow, the fantastic artist with a fantastic name.
Before I read Glenn’s beautiful eulogy, I only knew of Dash from pictures in a 2008 issue of Purple.
Even the hipsters I questioned at the time were uncertain when it came to describing Dash’s work. Some said he was doing Polaroids. Others that he was handsome : « You have no idea with the beard, but he is incredibly handsome ! »
But even if you haven’t seen his collages or anything else, you could tell he was a true artist by these photographs, just like when you see a picture of Marcel Duchamp playing chess, Jackson Pollock putting own his paint-dripped shoes, or Picasso proudly standing in his briefs.
The effect is the same of Dash choosing an LP, drinking a beer in bed, or wearing a dress.
For this is how one knows he is confronting a real artist : when you feel a little square or slightly overcautious !
By the way, on my last day of surfing, I flooded my ipod while listening to « Perfection as a Hipster », by God Help The Girl.