About
I was born May 16th, 1951 in Greencastle, Indiana and grew up in Graz, Austria. I was a scrimshaw artist for most of my adult life, as well as a professional musician (- boy, did I want to be a rock star!) and for many years I traveled the world collecting and selling fossils and mineral specimens. I lived in all kinds of exotic places like Amsterdam, Holland, Bali, Indonesia, Morocco, Germany, and Mexico. For the past 7 years I have spent much of my time in Bangkok, Thailand, producing and designing my newest book, Up In The Air with the Flying Mingling Brothers.
In the summer of 1977, along with my best friend Bubba, aka. Mike Clanton, (R.I.P.) I finally found my true home; New Orleans, Louisiana- the Big Easy. Birthplace of Jazz. The greatest city in the U.S.A., or quite possibly, the world. I never found a place where I felt more at home or that I liked more. Unfortunately last August an angry, ferocious water buffalo named Katrina stampeded through my city and in many ways destroyed or changed that wonderful, magical place forever. I lost two art galleries and our home because of the hurricane, and this disaster has also forever changed my family's lives and the lives of countless others as well.
As I write this, we are still displaced. Still uncertain about the future. I have just returned to California from this year's Mardi Gras celebration and I was especially proud to be part of it. Thanks to my wife Pam I made a 2006 commemorative Mardi Gras poster, but I was terribly saddened by the lack of progress rebuilding the city; -bringing New Orleans back. I suppose it is impossible to rebuild 200,000 homes in 6 six months.
My art business there was 100% dependant on tourism and there were no tourists anywhere in sight; not two days before Mardi Gras anyway, and not two days afterward either.
There are no tourists there today.
What I found was lots more traffic. Way more than I ever saw before the storm and loads and loads of pickup trucks with construction workers from all over the country. Lots of Mexicans. Don't get me wrong, I love Mexicans and lived in their beautiful country for over 10 years. It's just that prior to Katrina I never saw a single Mexican in New Orleans. Ever. Now, every morning Claiborne Ave. is lined with groups of mostly illegal migrant workers waiting to be picked up for work- to remove the dangerous mold growing inside the flood-damaged houses. Nobody else in New Orleans wants to or is willing to do that dangerous, surely unhealthy kind of work.
Here is something about me most of you don't know. Three years ago, I was a starving artist, barely scraping by. The phone had stopped ringing. I was 51 years old with bad teeth and seriously contemplating my future as a professional artist. Still, the die hard artist I am, I believed in what I was doing. We were living in a very modest 'shotgun' style house in Mid-City, - I drove by there and saw that the house was in ruins, one of the thousands of houses/casualties that had been flooded. Then, one day, after years of hard work, (and the help of a wonderful patron,) I was miraculously able to open the Jamie Hayes Gallery at 903 Decatur Street, in the French Quarter. We opened the doors January 1st., 2003, a glorious day for me and my family. The gallery was an immediate smash hit. A month after we opened, we moved into a mansion on Royal Street.
Mercy. God bless America.
The Jamie Hayes Gallery took off like a jet; a geyser,- a volcano even. During the starving years, I had done many official posters for lots of music festivals all over the country. I didn't realize how many fans I had accumulated. Now, because of Katrina, the galleries and our home are gone and I am beginning a new life with Pam and Julian out here in sunny, Southern California. We wound up here because of a couple of fans, real collectors of my art. After Katrina there were over 100 emails from fans all over the country inviting us to come and stay at their home. One of those offers came from Charlie and Mary in Rancho Palos Verdes, California, who said they had an 'extra' home over-looking the Pacific Ocean. That sounded mighty fine to us, so we accepted their generous offer and we are still living in the area. Believe me, it was the right choice. It's hard to imagine such a beautiful place. My son was given a scholarship to the nicest, probably best private school in the country and he has really blossomed. Things tend to blossom here in fertile California. He's going to be a surfer I reckon.
While I was in New Orleans I met up with some great old friends, guys I'd known for more than 30 years, who kindly offered me a great paying job selling sheet rock and roofs. It was something I was actually considering. On my last night in town, I was having dinner with my good friend Kirt Smith, the former manager of my art galleries, who like me is terribly saddened by the unexpected changes in our lives. Kirt is still living there. Still trying to hang on. We were at our favorite restaurant Jaque-Imo's, Uptown on Oak St. (I am happy to report that there are still long lines of people waiting to be seated, and the food is as great-spectacular as ever!) I am one of the lucky few with a "carte blanche," because of my friendship with Jack Leonardi, the owner, so we were able to get a table right away. Over fried green tomatoes and stuffed shrimp, I talked with Kirt about the job offer to sell roofs (and sheet rock) and even tried to enlist him, "If you do it, I'll do it." His response was:
"Some people are put on this earth to sell roofs, and others are here to entertain. You belong to the group that do the latter, Jamie."
When I got back to California and told Julian, our 9 year old son about the job offer, I really understood what Kirt meant. Julian laughed. A completely natural, innocent, "Are you crazy?" kind of laugh only a 9 year old can muster. That's when I really knew the answer:
I am here to entertain. So, for better or worse, I will continue to do just that. The fateful day the 'big light' goes out, I want to be able to look around the room just before that happens, and with all my drawings and paintings hanging on the walls want to say,
" I didn't waste my time."
Let the show go on.
Sincerely,
yours truly,