Laura Eason

I was so happy when a new book I ordered by my friend Tony Fitzpatrick arrived at my apartment Saturday morning, only to learn a few hours later that he was gone.
After being a fan of his work for years, Tony and I got to be friends when we acted in a play together at my theater company, Lookingglass. And then, for a number of years, I was lucky enough to see Tony often and spend time in his orbit, watching him make his singular work at his studio or talking about art on his porch with his beloved dog Chooch nearby or debating one of a hundred things at a dinner with some of the fascinating people he always gathered around him. I treasured those experiences as I was living them and even more so now.
Sadly, he and I hadn’t connected since just before the pandemic. But he was and will continue be a daily presence in my life because of his work, collected and generously given, that hangs in my house.
When Erik and I got married, 20 years ago this month, Tony gifted us one of his drawing collages. It was staggeringly generous of him and it remains one of our most cherished possessions.
Beyond the stunning beauty that all of his intricate collages have, this one holds special meaning. If you look at the photo of it and ever knew Tony and how he held himself, you’ll recognize -- it’s a self-portrait.
The poem in the collage starts, “Chicago Big Cat” which was the name of his printmaking studio for a long time and continues:
Chicago Big Cat,
eager as the morning,
tip-toeing around the day-shapes,
and smokey-juke-box song,
waiting for the wonder:
A kite made of stars,
a six-toed black licorice cat;
and a girl with a lover’s grey eyes
singing along with the radio.

Tony was a giant, as an artist, as a friend, as a champion of others, and especially as a chronicler of the City of Chicago. There will never be another like him. I loved him and I’m so grateful for the time I spent with him. HE was the wonder.