A good friend of mine passed away a couple months ago. He was a cool dude.
Mark Burgdorf (1951 – 2015) was a silversmith and consummate artist with a creative brilliance and a bit of a self-destructive streak. His interests included rocks, fossils, agates, gems, metals, polarized lenses, molecular structures of various materials, the Upper Iowa River, Lake Superior, Frida Kahlo, crows, the other birds of Iowa, historical preservation, female aviators, cameras, photos, clocks, postcards, stamps, coins, spontaneous art, found objects, plants, roots, stalks, puffballs, morels, coffee, NPR, public TV, politics, religion, his family, and everyone else’s family.
Mark is survived by his son Owen Burgdorf-Hibbs, with whom he shared the ability to see the ordinary as extraordinary.
What follows is a thing I wrote, years ago, about when I first met him. The writing probably sucks, but fuck you. It’s my story.
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…Miss ya fucker.
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