I drew this in 2011 to accompany an article I wrote for Tor.com (here). I can’t really describe how much Bowie meant to me - of all the artists whose work I’ve immersed myself in, he was one of the most inspirational - at different times of my life, too. Plus he’s a fellow Capricorn. That doesn’t mean anything at all, and yet it does, because everything about Bowie was personal. He soundtracked my teens and early twenties, his sound and vision was like no-one and nothing else and yet totally accessible and he helped me see the world in new ways.

If I had a TARDIS right now, I’d go back and see him on the Station to Station tour. Like Doctor Who, he kept changing and battled scary monsters and super creeps. Like Laika, he sat in a tin can far above the world.  Fixing you with that uncanny eye contrasted with that blokeish grin he was inhumanly cool and yet seemed to have some near-mystical insight into humanity as it busily works its way up the hill backwards.

I was lucky enough to see Bowie live during his Serious Moonlight world tour at Milton Keynes which I attended with my mates, Caspar, John and Rufus. I deconstructed his lyrics and discussed the two-way flow between him and Scott Walker with Ed. He was my youth, my keys to so many friendships (hi Bridgeen, hi Steve, Charlie, Kevin, everyone says ‘hi’)… He was a way of finding confidence in being a bit weird and different.

When I came to live in New York City, one of my first thoughts was, “Bowie lives here, too.” I think he resided somewhere on Lafayette Street, which I’ve walked down many times. Whenever I ambled around that area, at the back of my mind was always the fantasy that I’d bump into him, and we’d go for a pint and discuss being Englishmen in New York. On Dollar Days from his final album Blackstar, he was still running for those English evergreens – as you do. And as I write this, I’m listening to that and I’m finding it devastating and poignant in a way that I’m at a loss to properly describe. But, Dave, you always somehow had that effect on me; I suppose I’m just greedy for more because I can’t believe you’ve gone. You can’t give everything away, but you tried to – you gave so much. You’re an inspiration to anyone with an ounce of creativity in them, a touchstone, and always will be.  You’re one of the greatest artists of my lifetime. For my money, you’re one of the greatest artists that ever lived. Thank you forever.

As my wife woke me at 4am this morning to tell me the news (she’s a bit of an insomniac and listens to the radio via earplugs), I looked out at the night sky over Manhattan. It was almost clear, bright, cold, just a few scattered clouds. I half-expected to see a shooting star, floating over Coney Island, its trajectory tearing skywards, not falling to Earth.

David Bowie has left us. Long live David Bowie.

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