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| June 19, 2009 |
Associated Press
CASTLETON, Vermont. Patrick Farrow a sculptor and local fixture in this college town, killed himself at his art gallery, state police said Wednesday. Farrow, 66, died of a single gunshot wound to the head late Monday night in his studio, a converted church.
Farrow and his wife, Susan, regularly walked along the main thoroughfare in Castleton, Vermont.
Tom Conroy, a communications professor at Castleton State College, which is located just behind the Farrows' home and art gallery, said he took a freshman class to see Farrow's sculptures every October. "It's hard to think of Castleton without them," Conroy said. "They were a part of the town and they were a part of the campus for a lot of us."
Patrick and Mia Farrow are the children of director John Farrow and actress Maureen O'Sullivan.
Farrow a professional sculptor for more than 35 years, and a fellow in the National Sculpture Society, has received numerous national awards; including those of the Allied Artists of America and the National Sculpture Society. The Web site for the Farrow Gallery is http://www.farrowgallery.com/
The gallery was quiet Wednesday.
Community members said they'll miss Farrow.
"He and Susan both are very integral to this community," said Meg Fitch, one of the librarians at the Castleton Free Library, just down the street from the Farrows. "They're just very friendly people, very warm people. I don't even know how to express it. I just felt such grief yesterday when I heard the news."
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Rutland saddened by death of local artist
Wednesday June 17, 2009
Nina Keck
Rutland, Vt.
People in Rutland were saddened to learn about the death of well known Castleton sculptor Patrick Farrow, who police say took his own life Monday night.
One of Patrick Farrow's best loved sculptures is a fixture in downtown Rutland. It's of a dog tied to a parking meter by an invisible leash. You know there's a leash because the dog is straining with all his might to get away. Today, there was a yellow ribbon around the statue with a note that read simply goodbye Patrick. At the nearby Chaffee art Center, Rutland artist and children's author Mary Crowley says Farrow's death hits hard. "It's an incredible loss, for the family, for the grandchildren, for the art community, for all of us."
Friends describe Farrow as a very complicated, very talented man who loved to talk about politics and current events and felt deeply about his community. Patrick Farrow, who was 66, is survived by his wife of many years Susan, three daughters and five grandchildren.
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Jun 19, 2009
Rutland, Vermont
YVONNE DALEY
Remembering Patrick Farrow
The painting has moved around the building. Sometimes it was in their gallery, sometimes in their dining room. Susan had painted it in their early years together. In it, Patrick is all head, the head huge upon the canvas. The eyes were dangerous, hypnotic, intense. Patrick really looked at you. He could be impish. He loved to tell stories, but he often started them in the middle, leaving you to rush to catch up.
The painting is so true, not only in resemblance, but in capturing the way that everything about Patrick was entirely original. His jaw in the picture already has that clenched shape that came to dominate his face in recent years. He was so handsome. He dreamed up improbable creatures, part animal, part machine, that he brought forth in metal or the most graceful jewelry, like the sterling reader balanced on a swing that I've worn around my neck for a decade.
His sculptures were all about balance, about risk and freedom. They were also about trust. Two fluid trapeze artists dangle from just one of their ankles in "Circus." And they were about uncertainty. In "Earlier that Evening," two humans, their bodies characteristically elongated, freed of gravity, are connected at hand and foot, loosely forming the empty shape of a heart as each steps into the abyss.
Patrick's head needed to be huge. It held that abyss and also an encyclopedia of odd and useless information, historical data, conspiracy theories, odd combinations of current events, motorcycle statistics, the number of civilians killed in the Gaza Strip, not to mention opinions. He could be blunt. He could be mean. But he was immensely generous, both personally and globally. Thank Patrick and Susan for no Vicon. All the while, hours alone, creating something fabulous in the true meaning of the word, the machinery of his head took in the news of the world, dissected his childhood, grappled with demons and left us, confounded, angry, sorrowed, still loving, enough love to fill his huge, beautiful head.
The painting has moved around the building. Sometimes it was in their gallery, sometimes in their dining room. Susan had painted it in their early years together. In it, Patrick is all head, the head huge upon the canvas. The eyes were dangerous, hypnotic, intense. Patrick really looked at you. He could be impish. He loved to tell stories, but he often started them in the middle, leaving you to rush to catch up.
The painting is so true, not only in resemblance, but in capturing the way that everything about Patrick was entirely original. His jaw in the picture already has that clenched shape that came to dominate his face in recent years. He was so handsome. He dreamed up improbable creatures, part animal, part machine, that he brought forth in metal or the most graceful jewelry, like the sterling reader balanced on a swing that I've worn around my neck for a decade.
His sculptures were all about balance, about risk and freedom. They were also about trust. Two fluid trapeze artists dangle from just one of their ankles in "Circus." And they were about uncertainty. In "Earlier that Evening," two humans, their bodies characteristically elongated, freed of gravity, are connected at hand and foot, loosely forming the empty shape of a heart as each steps into the abyss.
Patrick's head needed to be huge. It held that abyss and also an encyclopedia of odd and useless information, historical data, conspiracy theories, odd combinations of current events, motorcycle statistics, the number of civilians killed in the Gaza Strip, not to mention opinions. He could be blunt. He could be mean. But he was immensely generous, both personally and globally. Thank Patrick and Susan for no Vicon. All the while, hours alone, creating something fabulous in the true meaning of the word, the machinery of his head took in the news of the world, dissected his childhood, grappled with demons and left us, confounded, angry, sorrowed, still loving, enough love to fill his huge, beautiful head.