Byline: Meg Cranston

The other day Larry Johnson had an idea. He thought we should organize something for John. His plan was to have an artist thing. Dealers could come if they wanted to, but he suggested we not go overboard. It was a simple plan, but I, for whatever reason, started to dream up a lot of stupid art-world complications. Larry, who isn’t into making things complicated, corrected me. He said, “Meg, it’s just an excuse to get drunk.” John couldn’t have said it better himself.

If Larry’s Baldessari memorial ever happens, I hope the place can handle a crowd. I also hope, as John certainly would have wanted, that any artist who bothers to show gets in the door. Considering John’s long association with CalArts, Disneyland would be a good choice and, as John would say, I’m serious. John and I went to Disneyland once. We had a very good time.

Years later, Bettina Korek invited us to speak with Hans Ulrich Obrist at an event at the Ace Hotel. When we drove up, we saw hundreds of people outside. John saw the crowd and commented casually there must be a “rock show.” When I broke it to him that I suspected the crowd was there for him, he asked, “Are you fucking kidding me?” John didn’t do much dialoguing on stage that night, though he did occasionally lean over to me to ask if we were really the only act on the bill.

It wasn’t that John was overly modest or unaware he’d become a star (at art-world scale of course). It was more that the so-called star treatment was so humdrum. Endless questions about John’s days as a teacher at CalArts baffled him. It was true he liked teaching and loved and admired his students, many of whom became his longtime friends. It just annoyed him that writers couldn’t seem to come up with another angle. So, as he got older, when asked why he taught, his standard response was: “For the money.” To be clear however, John thought all work was honorable and often said so.

Those of us who had John as a teacher thought of him as famous and, in relative terms, rich. It’s worth saying what rich and famous meant at the time when John taught at CalArts; it meant you had a studio, a dealer in New York, possibly Benjamin Buchloh’s phone number, and a reliable car. When John bought a photocopier for his studio in 1986 on his newly reissued American Express card, we thought he’d hit the big time or was possibly on his way to “selling out.” John felt the same. He wondered, “What’s next, multi-colored office memos and a receptionist?” For a guy who did acid with Robert Smithson but enjoyed hanging out at Berry’s bar with Nick from Sonnabend more, that was a genuine concern.

I realize I have dropped too many names here, and much of what I say will make no sense to many, but I am writing this for the artists who loved John Baldessari as I did. I make no apologies. R.I.P. our friend.