In Memoriam Kirk Stoller [M.F.A. 2004]
A year ago today, on April 29, 2020, our beloved and respected alum Kirk Stoller passed away after a year-long battle with brain cancer. In his time, he built an impressive body of work which is both joyful, inventive and deeply thoughtful as it addresses the “great blank of what’s next”. His close friend and cohort member, Molly Springfield [M.F.A. 2004] shared her remembrance with us to honor his life and work.
Kirk Stoller visiting a NYC gallery in 2019, Photo: Molly Springfield
My dear friend Kirk Stoller—a fellow member of the Art Practice MFA class of 2004—died a year ago today of brain cancer. In the midst of this year filled with both collective and individual grief, it’s comforting to reflect on the meaning our friendship has had on my life and art practice.
When I met Kirk in the fall of 2002, he was in his early 40’s. He had been making art for many years but had decided to make it his full-time pursuit. At the time, 20-something-year-old me was impressed that someone his age would embark on a completely new path in life. Now that I’m in my 40’s, I have a much deeper appreciation for the courage and vision that choice required. At a time in life when most people are settling into familiar patterns, Kirk opted for the uncertain life of a professional artist.
Kirk’s determination in crafting that life was built on a foundation of generosity that I will continue to hold as an example for my own practice. Kirk was the kind of person and artist who defined success as much by what he could help his friends achieve as by what he could accomplish himself. He created professional opportunities for his fellow artists. While in grad school, he quickly became someone I knew I could count on to tell me the absolute truth in the studio. At times these truths were painful—Kirk didn’t mince words—but I always knew that they came from a place of love and support.
Kirk took real joy and pride in his friend’s successes but he would never let you whine about defeats. In 2016, I had to have surgery on my dominant hand due to overuse in the studio. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself and feared that I might not be able to draw again. Kirk refused to let me wallow in self-pity and doubt. He helped me remember that I wasn’t an artist because I could draw well. I was an artist because I have ideas that need to be expressed. And if I couldn’t do it by drawing, I’d surely find another way.
Kirk ultimately found his way with sculpture. His later work is made largely from found materials elegantly combined in humble forms that feel both decisive and precarious. Kirk was a deeply intuitive artist who could create alchemic poetry from an old board, a rusty pipe, and a bit of old wall paint with seemingly little effort. When I get stuck in the studio, I hear Kirk’s voice in my head telling me to not overthink it.
Looking back at the remembrances people posted on social media immediately after his passing, I was struck by how many people recounted feeling a deep connection to Kirk after only briefly knowing him. Kirk was not one to suffer superficial interaction—anyone who was fortunate enough to receive one of his heart-to-heart hugs knows that—and I feel blessed with good fortune to have experienced his unreserved friendship. All friendships are special, of course, but the ones we have with our fellow artists have unique resonance. They are the friendships of shared experiences and unsaid understandings.
The last time I saw Kirk, we said it wouldn’t be the last time we saw each other. It was July 2019 and he was preparing to move back to San Francisco from New York. I came up from D.C. to help him start packing up his apartment. Despite his illness, he wanted to make the most of our time together, so we also ran around the city looking at art. I snuck a picture of him, looking sharply at the art in one gallery. I wish now that I’d gotten one of us together. But my memory of that last visit is clear: He was hopeful. It was good.
–Molly Springfield, April 29, 2021