Donald Keyes Remembered

Words from a Friend

originally published May 30, 2007

Last December, Donald Keyes and I took a long road trip. We headed south to Miami Beach for Art Basel Miami, a three-day art extravaganza.

The preparation was pure Donald. He insisted we take his car - a gas-sipping Prius - because it would use less fuel. Fine with me. He had also arranged our accommodations through friends at Art Papers magazine in Atlanta. It was thrifty, to say the least. But it was perfectly located: just three blocks from the main exhibition hall and directly across the street from the ocean-front Delano Hotel, which was party central for the weekend. Our double room was perfectly okay, and it cost less than a fourth of a room at the Delano. And, we split that! Oh yes, and he brought snacks along for the car.

While I used my press card for general admission to the hall, Donald had been given a VIP card gratis and he wore it proudly. He popped into the private lounges for collectors that were clearly off limits to the press and the hoi polloi. He was in his element and really enjoying it.

Over the three days of gaping at literally thousands of art objects, he never flagged a moment. We wandered the galleries on our own, but when we’d get together for coffee or a glass of wine, he’d divulge a whole raft of discoveries that I never saw. He’d also talked to all sorts of people, just like a reporter. Donald was intellectually curious, open and respectful of others, so he was always learning from everyone he encountered. He was genuinely interested in learning what they knew, so he extended an invitation to talk. And, they often did.

In Miami, Donald visited with lots of people he knew from around the art world - Atlanta gallery owners, folks from the Charlottesville museum, the head of a major New Orleans gallery. He knew the work of many of the contemporary artists there. But he was most passionate about his special interest in photography.

He always had an eye out for a new piece for his own collection of photographs, so he was sorta shopping while gawking. He was very proud of his collection, not for its commercial value, but because it afforded him great pleasure. His refined sense of aesthetics and discerning eye had netted a world-class assemblage, and he was continuing to think about what else might complement what he already had. He occasionally took notes in front of a photo he fancied.

Donald had a certain regal presence. His beacon-red glasses and Prince Valiant-cut grey hair were emblems of his style. A big man, he dressed casually, like the academic that he was. He came to his Ivy League sensibility honestly, having earned his bachelor’s degree at Yale and having taught at Smith College. The irony was, of course, that anyone who knew him appreciated his working man’s ethos and knew that he could be counted on to pitch right in to do whatever physical labor was required in any given instance. For example, I recently saw him at Athens Institute for Contemporary Art (ATHICA) coolly cutting a metal desk into parts with a power saw so that it could be disposed of and recycled.

Even though Donald is known locally as a builder of our arts community - for his work at the Georgia Museum of Art for almost a generation, at ATHICA, the Athens Arts Council, and, most recently, the artist-designed bus shelters that will soon be installed in Athens - he was also a cosmopolitan scholar with a global perspective. The good news for Athens is that he acted locally.

I can’t begin to list all the forms of public service he cheerfully offered. He and his wife Valerie supported all sorts of arts events financially, pragmatically and personally by showing up and lending their glam factor to the scene. Donald’s enthusiasm for all the arts was unbounded. It inspired me. He and I were usually the oldest folks in the crowd, and that was just fine with both of us.

During our long hours in the car on our Miami trip, we talked about a range of topics. Teaching. Pop music. Family. Rental properties. Boosterism and criticism. New York. His art tours. I learned a lot from him, and our conversation made the miles zip by.  He was a consummate teacher, as well as a friend.

A few weekends ago, he called me from Thomson, GA, saying I should join him at the Blind Willie McTell Festival there.  Unfortunately, we had other plans that night, so I had to decline. If I’d known that it was my last chance to share an evening with him, I would have changed my plans. I wish fate had been different.

In my sadness since his death, I’ve been thinking about the old Chinese saying that goes “When a learned man dies, a library burns.” The library of Donald Keyes’ mind may be lost to us now, but his legacy lives on.

John W. English