Leonard Rosenfeld, 1926-2009

photo credit: Bob van Lindt

“In the old days, I was overlooked. Now I’m looking it over.”

Leonard Rosenfeld 1926-2009

"Don't step on the snail, because it will die!" The young mother exclaimed.
"What is that?" asked the three-year old girl, looking up at her mother, eyes wide with curiosity.
"It's a snail and if you step on it, it will die!" The mother was upset because her daughter had just stepped on a snail, killing it.
"Yes, but mommy, what is that?" The girl continued, imploring her mother.
"It's a snail. And when you step on it, it dies." The mother was heartbroken that her daughter had inadvertently ended a life.
"Die, mommy. What is that? What is die?"

I overheard this conversation the other day, on the way home. I recognized the stress in the mother's voice, the despair that the snail's death had unleashed. Some may think that the mother overreacted, but I recognized that bottled-up stress that raising children in cities produces.
I also appreciated the child's question. I mean, she realized she did something to the snail. But she didn't know what. And then her mother expresses a deep sorrow along with a word the young child perhaps had not yet encountered in life: death.


Flashback: NYC, 1995. I've been hired by Danny Simmons to write art reviews for his brother's, Russell Simmons' latest venture: OneWorld Magazine. I had met Danny in the early 90s when an ex-girlfriend of his happened to be my neighbor. What I loved about this neighbor was that she always looked out for me. When she had heard that I was studying Writing and Literature, she immediately recommended that I take a look at Danny's then unpublished novel, Three Days as the Crow Flies. Those days as a struggling student were greatly appeased by getting the job of editing and typing up the first draft of this novel.
Danny is the type of guy who recognizes and encourages talent. I was fortunate enough to know him during my time in New York and whenever a writing job came up, he would always think of me. He ran the art section of Oneworld, and through him, I received some great assignments of covering well-known and emerging artists in the New York arts scene.
One of these artists was Leonard Rosenfeld.
A couple of years ago, I received an email from Rosenfeld's wife. I hadn't heard from Leonard since the time I had written about him for Oneworld. He had passed on, his wife informed me, and she thought of me because she felt that the piece I had written about him truly captured an aspect of him she could recognize.
It's only now, some years later, that I have the time to recall and recognize this meeting with Leonard. His wife, Janet, had found the article I had written about him and recommended that I check it out. I stalled. I was not sure I wanted to revisit my New York City journalist past: there is something about writing that makes it difficult to reckon with in hindsight and the shorter the time that has spanned between your writing it and where you now find yourself, the less comfortable I feel. That said, enough time has certainly passed when I am able to read the words I channeled upon meeting this remarkable artist and human being, Leonard Rosenfeld, who inspired the words I typed about him. Those who know me know that I can not be moved to write about someone or something that I find uninspiring.
I loved Leonard's work. I had forgotten how much, until I visited his website today. I remember hanging out with him in his studio, as he told me stories about being on the same unemployment line with Amiri Baraka. I remember being in awe of his space, the creativity that oozed. I remember being completely bowled over by his commitment to his art: his relentless continuation of creation. I remember the canvas frame he had given me, adorned with various colorful wires and flattened spray cans, and how moved I was that he shared his work with me.
What does it mean to die? I found the answer on Leonard's website:http://www.leonardrosenfeld.com/
“In a dream we are born. In a dream we live.
Death alone will awaken us.”