This is what I posted on facebook when i learned about John's death. I hope it shares a fraction of how special he was to me.
The first time I worked with John Iacovelli was on Burn This at Santa Cruz. Marco Barricelli match-made us, and the first time we met we went to see Come Home, Little Sheba. Going to see a play neither one of us had worked on was a great way to get to know a designer I'd never worked with before, and I've done it many time since, but John was the first, and i still remember the razor-sharp intelligence and specificity with which he discussed that design and that production.
The day before tech for BURN THIS, he showed up with a truck full of stuff and invited the actors to help him dress the set. "They're the ones that have to live on it. They should have some say about what goes on it." It was the first time that I had seen a set designer collaborate with and empower actors that way.
After BURN THIS, we did CLEAN HOUSE and BLITHE SPIRIT at Syracuse Stage, and the designs were always thoughtful, meticulous, loving. No job was beneath John. He'd grab a paintbrush or shop a prop. I still use the second choice laundry bag he picked up for CLEAN HOUSE. John also got me the Granada Fellowship at UC Davis, where we created a piece - Zona Rosa - based on his time in Mexico City in the 80s, and the true love of his life, Dr. Francisco Estrada Valle, a gay rights and AIDS activist who was murdered in 1992.
During our many collaborations, John and I became friends. Much more than friends, really. He wasn't a mentor, per se, although he could've assumed that role. But he was more interested in having me be a collaborator, a colleague, a confidante. John always saw your actual worth, not your status.
I have never met someone who loved to work as much. He had three or four full-time careers, simultaneously. When I ran the Hangar, he insisted that I offer him a job there. The designers' fees were embarassingly low, even after I had raised them, and I couldn't imagine he'd say yes. But he produced a XANADU that was as creative and comprehensive as any of his designs. He just loved to work, to be in motion, to go to plays and musuems.
He was the best of friends. Every time I passed through LA to do a book reading, he would come, and usually bring a friend or two as well. He made time for the people he loved. He was generous to a fault. If he didn't have such exquisite taste, he would've been a hoarder. Anyone who's been to his LA home, let alone spent a night there, knows how the exuberance of things all sort of just fit.
After one of my book readings, or maybe it was an opening, John told me that I made him proud to be a queer man. It is a compliment that I hold close to my heart, still, and will continue to for all my years. We bonded, often, about the complexity of gay identity and masculinity, and having John say that gave me a pride I had never felt before.
CLEAN HOUSE has a shadow sequence at the top of Act II, and when we moved into the theatre everything we had worked out in the rehearsal room had to be reimagined. John knew this would freak me out and it did. He told me, "Don't worry. Everything's going to be alright. We're going to figure it out together." And I believed him.
Your final halo, dear dear friend. I can't wait to see what you gather up there.