 Photo by Deb Attoinese | Kay Brown succumbed to cancer on October 23 at age 87, a diagnosis that had gone undetected until a freak accident and hospitalization in September involving a fallen tree limb near her Court 16 home. On that day, neighbors rallied around her, and after the ensuing diagnosis they did so again, raising $11,000 on GoFundMe to help with medical costs. Because she was such a consummate neighbor, mother, grandmother, teacher and friend, we asked those who knew her to remember her in these pages, to remind us all that friendship is the connective tissue that binds our community. (Edited for brevity and clarity) –P.J.C. |
Kay Brown (in black), with neighbors (from left) Deb Attoinese, Pete DeMille, Lionel Bain, Bryce Henderson, Megan La Rose, Dagmar Buck, Kay, Heide Oglesby, Michelle Jarrett, Judith Dvorak Bain. Photo by Karen McLoughlin
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Deborah Attoinese (formerly Court 16): Kay and I met at one of the Village Green art shows where she was displaying her artwork and I my photographs. Kay was an artist and teacher; one of the first women to get her education at Chouinard (a famous art school in LA in the first half of the 20th Century, now the Otis College of Art and Design).
We became good friends. Kay was always there to help, be it reading a script or sewing on a button. When I started working on my documentary (“Women & Fire”), Kay quickly became an important part of the team. We’d bounce ideas off each other on our walks and I could always count on her daily push, asking me, “Whatcha working on?” She earned a producer’s credit for the film—at age 85. Of course, there was a big age difference between us; when I took her to doctor appointments, the nurse would look at me and ask, ‘Are you her daughter?’ I would laugh and say ‘No, I’m her BFF.’
We became good friends. Kay was always there to help, be it reading a script or sewing on a button. When I started working on my documentary (“Women & Fire”), Kay quickly became an important part of the team. We’d bounce ideas off each other on our walks and I could always count on her daily push, asking me, “Whatcha working on?” She earned a producer’s credit for the film—at age 85. Of course, there was a big age difference between us; when I took her to doctor appointments, the nurse would look at me and ask, ‘Are you her daughter?’ I would laugh and say ‘No, I’m her BFF.’
Michelle Jarrett (Court 17): Kay and Deb would pass by on their walks and look in on my garden; sometimes I’d join them. Kay didn’t have plants, so I planted a purple iris in one of the many empty pots in front of her door; before she went into the hospital, we talked about filling her empty pots with plants.
Kris Youngstrom (son): During the late sixties and early seventies, she and her husband Ben Gurule became politically active; I remember she and Ben picketed the Nixon headquarters once; and all of us went to the Chicano Moratorium protest in East LA in 1970, which almost turned into a riot. I was 14.
Lucy Fried (Court 13): Kay and I were congenial as Communication Committee members (she designed the “WELCOME NEIGHBOR” brochure that will soon be in all our mailboxes) but it wasn’t until the last month or so before she went into the hospital that we became friends. Conversations about committee business morphed into conversations about our lives, tales of our childhoods, our kids, our romantic adventures and the political movements we had been involved in – and the astonishing fact that she was still teaching printmaking at age 86!
DA: When Kay was younger she worked as an assistant for Saul Bass (legendary designer for film art and title sequences). She taught printmaking for years at city schools and at SPARC, a Venice art center where she has been their resident artist for years. Walking into her apartment was like walking into a European artist’s flat. Tons of books, tons of art, hers and others’, magazines all stacked up. There was a brown leather recliner tucked in the corner by the window where the sun would pour in, where Kay would sit and read using an old music stand to hold her books and magazines. I called it ‘the Master’s chair.’
MJ: We went on little walks a few times each week. She had jackets with big pockets, to collect leaves, seeds, pods, she found so much beauty in these discarded bits, what the trees no longer needed; she envisioned a new life for them in the studio. I learned to see through her eyes, the perfect Liquid Amber leaf that had recently floated down, still supple, still had memory of being alive.
KY: I want people to remember her Artmobile, the old Volvo she kept up, barely, through the years, big enough to hold tools and assemblies and haul them over to schools and art centers. It was her mobile portable art studio and she did countless classes with it.
MJ: She left behind a ton of empty pots. When she was in Photo: Deb Attoinese the hospital she said to go take them and use them. I’ve taken some to put plants in and give them to her friends, so they can remember her.
KY: She was a special person in the life of my daughter Rachel, 14, but there were a lot of people where that was the case, not only my daughter but cousins, nieces, nephews. At family gatherings Kay would sing and tell stories and read books, connect them to adulthood. We felt lucky. Not everyone gets a person like that in their lives.
LF: The memory I will hold dearest is her joy when I washed her hair, when her broken arm had made it impossible to do that herself and still hold on to the shower rail for stability. She asked; I helped. That’s what friends do.
MJ: We went on little walks a few times each week. She had jackets with big pockets, to collect leaves, seeds, pods, she found so much beauty in these discarded bits, what the trees no longer needed; she envisioned a new life for them in the studio. I learned to see through her eyes, the perfect Liquid Amber leaf that had recently floated down, still supple, still had memory of being alive.
KY: I want people to remember her Artmobile, the old Volvo she kept up, barely, through the years, big enough to hold tools and assemblies and haul them over to schools and art centers. It was her mobile portable art studio and she did countless classes with it.
MJ: She left behind a ton of empty pots. When she was in Photo: Deb Attoinese the hospital she said to go take them and use them. I’ve taken some to put plants in and give them to her friends, so they can remember her.
KY: She was a special person in the life of my daughter Rachel, 14, but there were a lot of people where that was the case, not only my daughter but cousins, nieces, nephews. At family gatherings Kay would sing and tell stories and read books, connect them to adulthood. We felt lucky. Not everyone gets a person like that in their lives.
LF: The memory I will hold dearest is her joy when I washed her hair, when her broken arm had made it impossible to do that herself and still hold on to the shower rail for stability. She asked; I helped. That’s what friends do.
A memorial for Kay will take place January 22 at the Green.
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