Seven years ago, I suggested to George Forss, one of the world’s great landscape photographers, that he do a Photo Show at the Round House Cafe in Cambridge.

I took the video and called it “Anatomy Of An Art Show, Starring George Forss and Maria Wulf (she was the curator.)

I had just been to Brooklyn to see his amazing photographs of New York City, and I thought the people in our town should see the work that had made him so famous.

He rarely talked about that period, when he was in Time Magazine, on NBC, and in the New York Times regularly. He was a legend in the photographic world.

In our town, he was eccentric George, who sold art, drove around taking pictures, and lived with his half-brother Mickey.

As humble as ever, George insisted that we share the show, his photos, and my equal display.

I was and am not an equal of George’s in any way, but I couldn’t say no. I also thought it would be good for him, most people here had never seen his brilliant photographs, praised by the most famous photographers in the world.

George died two weeks ago, I think he got his wish to be abducted by aliens and taken off of the earth with all of its troubles.

This moved me; I had only been taking photos for several years. George had encouraged me from the first, he said I had a great eye for composition, and he taught me to see things I would not normally have seen.

As George was not capable of telling a lie, this encouraged me and gave me confidence. He meant a lot to me, as a friend and a fellow photographer. We always had things to talk about.

When I posted a photo on my blog, George would frequently call me up to tell me how good he thought it was, what a natural photographer he thought I was, what a great eye I had. His criticisms were always gentle and true.

For all his tough life, George never lost his generous spirit and never acted like the recognized genius he was. Fame not only did not go to his head, it made him uncomfortable.

He never got the poor boy from Brooklyn out of his head.

He loved New York City and missed taking photos there, but he felt safe and at peace in his upstate home and gallery, where most people had never heard of him.

I think he missed the fame and attention, even though it frightened and overwhelmed him and caused him to flee the city for the country. He struggled to find his footing taking photos in upstate New York. The landscapes could hardly be different, and in New York, the city was in synch with his erratic genius and the chaos in his head.

He just knew how to make cameras as well as take photos. George built most of his cameras himself, he loved to take metal parts out of people’s garbage. Photographers like Ansel Adams said they could never figure out how he did what he did.

George told me many of his secrets, but they went over my head and I don’t remember them.

George’s family has schizophrenia running all through it, and he admitted to me many times that he couldn’t handle being a celebrity. He couldn’t take himself seriously enough.

Sharing a photo-art show with George Forss was one of the highlights of my life, and uncharacteristically, I wanted to record it. Maria came to the Round House (a framer and has a graduate degree in art studies) to help George and me choose and set up our photos.

It was a special afternoon, warm and full of love and respect all around. George’s partner Donna came to help. She was in some of his early photos.

Seeing the video was both uplifting and sad. George hadn’t really begun to decline yet, and he has his wonderful sense of humor and irony; he loved to laugh at himself and the odd twists and painful episodes of his life.

It was a great honor to know George and call him my friend. I had never met anyone like him and did not expect I ever will again.

As he began to fail, we didn’t see as much of each other, but this video captures our relationship at its peak. It was hard for me to watch, but I found myself eager to share it.

I remember him kidding about Pete Seeger, Ansel Adams, and Jackie Kennedy, two of many famous figures to enter his life in New York. None of them ever came up here to see him after he left.

What a privilege to share a photo show with him. We had a small but admiring crowd (it was snowing) and we both sold a few pictures.

Bless you, George; I know you are in one of those spaceships writing another manifesto and laughing at the rest of the world.

I spent some hours on the phone with the very gifted Alex Vadukul, a city correspondent for the New York Times. Alex was trying to flesh out George’s topsy-turvy life, including his life-long infatuation with aliens.

Alex did a great job with George’s obituary.

George often told me the aliens got him through the tough times in his life, from living with his impoverished mother to being taken away from her to live in an orphanage to his hard life as a street photographer before he was discovered.

He got more and more eccentric as he got older, people said, but he held his life together, paid his mortgage and taxes,  took care of other people to the end, and never gave up on himself and his plans for his own art center, right there in his gallery.

So come and take a look at our art show.

I’m glad I took the video, I had the sense this ought to be captured for posterity.

It captures Maria’s gift for curating, my friendship with George, and some of his ruminations about his quite unique life. I miss that friendship, George.

I’ll be looking for the bright lights in the sky, and waving to you.