Shige
Before I met Shige, I wrote him a poem after a 40-minute phone call in Japanese. He arrived for our date in a pink snakeskin stetson with purple sequins and a skin-tight T-shirt printed with a naked hairy chest. I arrived all sunglasses and Mac laptop peeking out to impress him, drank too much white wine and attempted art criticism in bad Japanese. After 3 meetings we had firmly and forever friend-zoned each other. Read the poem before the first date → Attend the pink-stetson date →
Shige had come home from Germany because his father was seriously ill. His family house contained a koi pond and 4 horse-sized dogs. Over dinner his grandmother sang “Ave Maria” to the dogs and they joined in. Stay with Shige’s family →
His clothes remained consistently fabulous: psychedelic fabric, cowboy boots, brutally tight jeans and enough hats to remain often be-hatted. He gave me rhododendrons containing Teletubby flower balls and a birthday cake made entirely of safety pins and beads. We danced often and visited countless exhibitions together. At YES YOKO ONO, we both bit Apple while it sat on its plexiglass plinth. Inspect the gifts and outfits → Bite Yoko Ono’s apple →
On the last day I saw him before leaving Japan, Kenken and I met Shige for a quick coffee. I cried all the way to the airport, spluttering, “I love him so much! He’s been my best friend in Japan!” He arrived in pink snakeskin and became one of the hardest people to leave. Read my remembrance of Shige →