An Artist's Final Days

The late Ken Kelley, photo by Anita LoCoco


The winter storms keep sweeping in from the Northern Pacific, bringing us cold weather, rain, and even snow in the Bay Area's higher peaks.



Those of us who count ourselves FOKs (Friend of Ken's) continue to inquire as to how he died, and who might be responsible. It is a mysterious death, suspicious even. Then again, Ken's life was mysterious, even suspiciously unlikely in the extreme.



The photo at the top of this post, by our mutual friend Anita LoCoco, former art dealer and now a resort operator in Bali, includes one of Ken's paintings in the background. In his later years, Ken turned to painting, and produced a number of pieces. He once told me that the head of S.F. MOMA was considering exhibiting his works at the museum, but as with so many of Ken's claims, this one could not be substantiated.

In fact, probably it was not true.



Talking with Ken's friends in recent days, I've come to realize what an unlikely life he led. Always uniquely a character, and a symbol of the youth rebellion of the Sixties, Ken also was a talented journalist, a great interviewer, and a terrific source of information for many other reporters.

His fiercely intelligent, bright blue eyes were perhaps his signature physical feature. He couldn't keep a straight face, however, and was a terrible liar, which is ironic because lying came much more naturally to Ken than telling the truth.

But his mouth was his weakness; he could never control the muscles around his lips, alternatively about to break into a devilish grin or issue a sputtering rant.

Ken just wore us all out, that's all. He was so hard to be around, yet his kindness and generosity on occasion was just as much truly Ken as was his scheming con side.

A conundrum, that's the word. Ken was a conundrum.

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