Even in 6th grade, always dressed in black, Mike Savage stood out.
As an
artist he fished an un-herded menagerie from his vast inner-space, let loose in
a ghetto blasting liberation of sanity-clauses...
spun with comic ferocity,
each handled with the twinkling ear of a punster. He then promulgated his deft
paintings as pranksterisms.
His mom, photographer Naomi Savage, (Man Ray’s favorite niece), tells me DADA
only happened when jazz was young and Paris sizzled.
Yet Mike enjoyed his
readymade status in the Art Scene.He took the sobriquet "Son of DADA".
Living
large as he sped the Porsche or gamboled on foot - Prince of
Bodhichitta.
Asking everyone to ask: "WHAT THE F**K ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!...
For his rolling camera...
At his wake, we observed a moment of loudness, an
apt tribute to a mensch of infinite geste and volume.
It was always hard to
miss Mike Savage, it still is.
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