I spent many entertaining nights with Steve as he played guitar at Yellow Springs Inn. Accompanied by my wife Undine and our twin "bar babies", we watched and listened as he wove song and words to reflect the attentiveness of his audience.
His studio was in the bottom of my barn where I could always find a new tractor painting, a beer and a cigarette. We weren't very good for each other. I did manage to accumulate over twenty of his paintings ... none of which I could easily part with. In the corner of the studio was a filthy white leather chair that I came to believe represented his father and an assigned position that condemned him for eternity to watch Steve paint. There was something about that chair that escaped full disclosure. Steve will forever be a favorite memory in at least one epic of my life.
I heard it said that we only live for immortality that can only be achieved through offspring or fame. Steve has fame in spades through his paintings. His works are like Dali's with hidden depths and shadows that go on forever.