What would become nearly a lifetime of insomnia started in earnest, in my art school years, at MassArt in Boston. After the first hour or two of unsuccessful sleep, I would just give up, throw my backpack on, grab my bike and go. I would put down 20 miles some nights just riding around, circling the city, just looking for interesting things in the world. Racing around downtown on what were normally packed streets, empty, just feeling the wind on my face. Searching for back alleys and tunnels, secret places, cut-throughs and service entrances, any place that was out of the way and tough to find. At some point on every ride, ending up at the aquarium to sit with my face against the glass of the harbor seal enclosure to talk to my buddies, as they bobbed in the water next to me. It was one of those nights that I stumbled into a moment that has stuck with me for a long time.
The demolition of Boston Garden.
It took me a minute to figure out what was happening. You don't normally see a couple of dozen people outside at 2:30 in the morning unless something really bad is happening. As it happens, something pretty bad was. Riding in from about a 100 feet away, I remember thinking, there were no cops, no ambulance, no fire, just people, standing and staring. The people there, they were at a funeral. No one was talking. There were people holding hands, heads on each other’s shoulders, trying to hang on to something…anything. Finally, I glanced up and saw a hole in the side of the Garden about the size of an above-ground pool. It looks like a giant casually walked by and punched a hole in the building. You could see the seats through it, disheveled and thrown everywhere. Rafters, straining, just realizing they were in their last moments. There was a pile of bricks at the base of the building that had to be two stories tall. That steel wrecking ball hanging a few feet away...just laughing at the crowd. Heckling people at their weakest. People were feeling their memories crumbling with those broken bricks. Moments of past glory and lives lived….broken into pieces. Victories, defeats, old friends, great times, the long memory of a city, a legacy of pride, laying in a pile of rubble.
A mammoth part of that legacy is KC Jones.
I had a hard time getting that moment out of my head when I was talking to KC Jones' family about doing this portrait for them. I decided to keep it to myself, trying to play it cool in front of what is for all intents and purposes, the Boston Royal family. Hearing the stories of KC, relayed through his son and daughter, the joy he seemed to bring with him even then permeating the conversation. I drew a few little practice portraits of him, in anticipation of our first conversation...and his daughter Bryna would pick through them saying that was his “you’re in trouble” face, and which ones to use that had his classic crooked smile.
While taking notes from those conversations was a big part of my research, I wanted a little different perspective as well, I needed to talk to a fan. I mean, I'm a Celtics guy, but I only knew KC Jones as a coach, I wanted to get the perception of him as a player. I went to my Dad.
When I mentioned this project to him, I gotta tell you, he lit up.
He talked about going to games with his college buddies watching KC and Bill Russell carve up the court. He talked about KC not being a big scorer, but changing the course of games. Celtics would be down by 8, then KC goes in and only touches the ball a few times, but in a few short minutes, they would be up. He didn’t want to score, he wanted the team to WIN. These are the kinda guys my Dad loves. Not the showboats taking bows...but the grinders. The Clydesdales. The behind the scenes guys that keep things moving. The kinda players they don’t really make anymore. My Dad is that kinda guy, so it’s easy to understand his appreciation.
For those of you from different parts of the world, I'll give you a quick KC Jones breakdown.
KC Jones is one of only eight players in basketball history to have won an NCAA championship, an NBA championship, and an Olympic gold medal. In college, while helping lead his team to a 55 game win streak, he helped develop the Alley Oop. While on the Olympic team, he and Bill Russell helped the team defeat their opponents by an average of 53 points...a record that stands to this day. After a quick stint in the military, and trying his hand at pro football(where he was known for creating the Bump and Run before he injured his leg with the Rams), he finally landed in Boston with the Celtics. Of his 9 seasons in the NBA,(all with the Celtics) he helped them win 8 straight championships, one of the most legendary teams in sports history. There are only two other players to have won more championships, they were both former teammates of his, Bill Russell, and Sam Jones. During his time as coach of the Celtics, he guided the Bird/McHale/Parish Celtics to the championships 4 out of his 5 years as coach. In total as a player and coach, he has TWELVE NBA rings. He was a veteran, husband, father, and to all of us, a coach as well as an icon. He was one of the most important coaches in Boston history, and maybe to all of sports history. Raise a glass, friends, to the passing of a titan, a Boston legend, and a good man.
A logo/assets I did for some of the memorial/charity functions that were held in KC Jones honor.
Preliminary Sketches.
Some quick sketches, just trying to find the ins and outs of his likeness.
A few quick tone studies, still feeling out the face a little.
The Final. (with alternate versions for different Backgrounds)
allowing the rim light to bleed into the background.
letting the shadows bleed into the background.
