Vision, Grace and Joy… after a lifetime of friendship, that’s how I know Gabe.

We met when we were kids. Little kids… like 4 or 5 years old. Gabe and Che lived down the street from us on Grand Ave in Madrona and Gabe attended my mom’s basement day care center where we would do all the dumb stuff 5 year old boys do. When the Motts moved away we stayed friends, mostly because our parents got along… but as you do in that time of life, we also drifted into our new schools, friends, worlds.

Those worlds came back together in High School. I had been away in the UK for Freshman year, so entered Roosevelt as a Sophomore, disconnected and a little strange. I’ll never forget the moment when Gabe, with grace, extended his friendship to me, the outsider… and helped me turn a page in which maybe High School wouldn’t be so bad after all.

We goofed around and got in trouble, but always felt like safe trouble… Bonnie and Millard like another set of parents who cared about us. Bonnie famously always asking about our 5-year plan. I remember Gabe always had a pretty good answer, and thought at the time he just must have been practiced, living with Bonnie every day. But now I don’t think that was it. Gabe had vision, and I see that now more clearly, 40 years later.

After High School we again went separate ways but this time stayed close, talking regularly and exchanging letters. College and post-college adventures, I scooted down to South America, Gabe went to Asia. I often tell the story of Gabe’s photo with the Cambodian basketball team… him taller than everyone, yet everyone else holding an automatic rifle. Where is that photo now?

I eventually settled in Atlanta, Gabe in the Bay Area… and we started our life as adults, both working in tech. Gabe would give these amazing demos of Silicon Graphics immersive experiences and I was part of a growing start-up company. I convinced Gabe to join me at RelevantKnowledge and he quickly stood out as a super-star, earning everyone’s lifelong respect and friendship. We used to go to NYC together and share a hotel room, staying up all night laughing and laughing. Gabe’s joy was infectious.

I got married. Gabe was my bearded groomsmen (before it was cool) and stayed close to me that day, letting his grace smooth over my manic nervousness. We were on top of the world, with nowhere to go but up. But what felt like the top for me wasn’t enough for Gabe. His vision pulled at him, and he followed. Not long after, Gabe quit the job to follow that vision, follow his art, his passion. Resigning a successful career without another job in hand was unthinkable, but Gabe did it anyway, shocking everyone but inspiring me. When I did the same a month or two later my boss asked, “So you’re pulling a Gabe Mott on me??”

Then there was Maui. And Gabe’s life there seemed idyllic and full of the joy Gabe created around himself. Art, creativity and a vibrant community of people who loved and cared for him. We missed him so far away, but knew he was on the right track, his track. I visited Gabe twice in Maui, staying at Camp Awesome, where Gabe showed me how to start the generator in the morning and climb the tree by the bathroom to cut down bananas. My first visit was just after Gabe had broken his neck and he was careful with himself, delicately wading into the surf for the first time since the accident. Looking back now, I remember the grace he showed me, and his body, recovering and moving forward from that painful episode.

Gabe and I were never out of touch. We talked about his obsession with color and the color box and the huedoku app. I challenged him to find the “so what” to halation, to find the thing that made it vital, necessary, marketable… and he pushed back, convinced that understanding the fundamental importance of perception was by itself a beautiful and necessary ingredient to life. I’ll never see color the same way again. He enriched my own understanding of the visual world and I’m forever grateful.

When his time on Maui was over and he returned to his Bay Area friends and family, reintroduction was not simple. The world had changed in those 10 years and Gabe had to reinvent himself again. Which he did, with characteristic grace and joy.

We saw each other just last November when I flew in to spend the night with Gabe and our friends Andy and Biri at Biri’s all-night dance-house party. We stayed out until 3:30, Gabe charming everyone. The next day, we wandered around South Bay, going to the apple store to get the geniuses to fix Gabe’s phone (they fixed it), taking care of little odds and ends and catching up on life. We talked about his art, his family, his friend Max and the good work they did and the good people with whom they did it.

Gabe insisted on buying my lunch, then hugged me tight and trotted off across the parking lot to grab a bus home.

I miss him so much. But I’m not alone. Gabe left an oversized footprint on the world, and there are so many ways to remember him and so many people do it with. If it’s not too late, I’d like to amend my submission for the Cherish Tree painting, adding just one small note. I cherish you Gabe. Your vision, your grace, your joy - and every second we had together.

~~~

I didn’t know Gabe, except that I DID know Gabe through Che, and I am grateful for them both. The feeling I have is that there is and will always be more love and creativity in the world because of him. 

And the following seems like a fitting beginning from an ending, with Gabe taking his place amongst the stars, the stardust, and the light that travels infinitely…

The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.

-Jack Kerouac, On the Road