A man of Light

or, the art of Drew Struzan

I have cried for three days this week for a man I have never met.*

Drew Struzan

He was an artist. He lived on a continent far from mine. He was decades older, and he lived a life I had no part in. We never met. I won’t be at his funeral, and he will never know my name. But when I heard the news of his passing three days ago, I was inconsolable; steeped in the kind of heavy sobs and hot tears that you can’t stop.

I grew up with his art greeting me outside every cinema. For the 80s kids amongst you, you will also recognise his work. It shines through the eyes of Marty McFly or Luke Skywalker or Indiana Jones. But it was years later that I learned who the artist was. One rainy December afternoon, a documentary of his life was playing in the background at a family gathering. I didn’t move or breathe until it finished. The art of course, is incredible, oh my, the talent! the skill! But it was his light that got me. I recognised him, I knew him. Not the earthly person, but the Divine Light of creative presence within him. I would know that light anywhere.

I could see that he was an extraordinary vessel of light, a pure expression of a Divinity that worked through his hands onto the canvas. In that moment I understood what soul-inspired creativity really is: the communion of the human and that immense power that creates all.

He delivered beauty into the world for us, just like the many, many artists who have come before him, and the many that are yet to come. A beauty not only for us to receive, but for us to experience and feel Divine creation; packaged up with humility, wisdom, and generosity of spirit in human form. He was pure-hearted, and the pure-hearted are the ones that bring exquisite light to this madcap town we call Earth. It doesn’t mean they are perfect, it doesn’t mean they are not flawed, it means their hearts allow Divine force through them with the volume turned up.

I filled with sadness at the extinguishing of this light in its earthly form, feeling that the world was a lesser place without it. Sadness even though I know a new light is born every day; even when I know he simply returned to his true state of being. His presence, however distant, was a comfort to me, a reminder on darker days that creative beauty, art through the soul of a human, is a sacred gift offering redemption to even the emptiest of souls.

So here, in my own little space, when dusk has been tucked in for the night. When it’s quiet, and there is only me and a candle flame, I will express my deepest gratitude at the man himself and all he brought us. I will grieve for this true visionary. A man of Light.

*this piece was first written on October 13th