CRog

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Daddy Dash

I heard the news of Dash’s death yesterday, and since then slowly, the news is sinking deeper and deeper into my heart.

His estranged wife Agathe and I met probably at Gavin Brown’s Passerby one night when Eric D was DJing, and then we were friends. She loved dancing on the bar. She’d hang her head heavily from the neck and her arms fell loosely from their sockets. She would dance, flopping about like a sad rag doll. At some point I joined her up there and the two of us made a weekly tradition of entertaining the always packed, tiny bar from above.

I knew who Dash was. I first met him on the corner in front of Charlie Parker’s old place across from the East Village park. We passed each other and he nodded to my boyfriend a surprising  look.

He struck me in those seconds as someone interesting. I asked who was that? And he said, oh some rich boy writer, or something dismissive to that effect, even though they were friends and he loved him.

It wasn’t until two years later that I found myself with Agathe and Dash eating chips and guac on a Rivington sidewalk. It was the first time I saw him in daylight. It was the first time we really talked. He was charming, and for the first time I saw how truly beautiful he was.

His death has fueled the already heated discussion of did or did not Dash deserve the recognition he had in recent years. He began turning up in fashion magazines’ editorial and party pages. He started to become a household name to those into it.

Those who had no encounters with Dash, the question of was or wasn’t he a worth while artist is a natural and obvious debate, but its painful to witness from both angles.

To those “for Dash Snow”: be careful of your inclination to idolize.

To those “against Dash Snow”: be mindful of your criticism.  A fine pedigree does not imply a fine life.

The New York Mag article entitled, “Chasing Dash Snow” is now more appropriate then ever. Who was this man/boy who garnered so much attention?

Dash at Stamina 2005

Most of what I know of Dash comes from Agathe and what I saw of him from afar. He was a magnetic person. He inspired those who loved him as he was truly fearless, optimistic, charming, full of laughter, a great lover of music and a great lover of love. Sometimes he did things that were annoying, but only when you were the victim of his jokes.

My first reaction to his death was not a sadness that I would never see him again, although I do wish I could have known him longer, it was a sadness for those he left behind, specifically for his daughter Secret. But as time has passed and more information comes, I grow more and more sensitive to the pain his life and death illustrates in this small but influential community of kids in lower Manhattan.

His death is not the first of this crew. There was Harold Hunter died February 17th 2006 from a “cocaine over dose” but those who knew him think other elements were involved. Then there was Lily Wheelwright who died on March 22nd 2007, heroin. Then Semz, a member of the Irak crew Dash was a part of who died April 7th 2007 of heroin. Shawn Mortensen a great friend of the community who died April 17th 2009 of unpublicized causes and now Dash, July 13th 2009, heroin.

One night I was with Dan and Dash and “A-ron the Don” of a NYthing hanging out at Dan’s. It was just after the news of a good friend of mine died in Puerto Rico from heroin in 2005.

Everyone in my circle: New York 2001 and on did coke. I had a party at Kate’s Joint called “Night Coffee.” At some point it seemed people started doing more and more heroin. It was catching, but some struggled with heroin long before this particular circle found it chic. It was still an outlaw thing to do and even these “outlaws” didn’t talk about it.

But still I felt it was becoming more a problem for this group, and I begged A-ron as a voice of these people who I loved from a distance to check themselves. To remember the reality of this vampire.

CR and Dash in Paris

Now another one goes down. A good one.

He left many but perhaps most importantly he left a daughter who will only hear of her father and see the photos and wonder who was that man and what parts of him make up me?

Daddy Dash by Patrick Griffin

His death calls attention to it, but his life and those who shared their life with him also calls us to a simple and painful fact that the world is running empty on its supply of compassion.

Rest and restore yourself well, Dash. And love to all who knew him.