Posts tagged Memorium

Point 89: From the Body Piercing Archive, 2019

Dustin Allor

This past summer we lost a most iconic and beloved member of the body piercing community. It is hard to imagine what the landscape of the piercing industry would look like without Fakir Musafar. He was part of the group who brought body piercing into mainstream western culture from underground society in the 1970s. Fakir inspired countless people to become piercers, taught the skill to approximately 2,000 attendees of his piercing workshop, moved many to try suspension and urged us to claim our bodies as our own, especially through body modification. He firmly believed that piercing was sacred, magical, and could be a special moment for all involved. His life was spent spreading that message and seeking the spirit through exploring and testing the limits of his body. This year’s Body Piercing Archive exhibit unfolded many of the lives, hobbies, jobs, and performances of the multifaceted Fakir Musafar.

Walking into the exhibit was overwhelming in the best sort of way. There was so much information—so many visuals—that it was hard to know where to look. Each time I went in, there were things I hadn’t noticed previously. It would have taken me a couple of focused hours to take in all the information. The outer walls were lined with banners. The inner walls had four alcoves with various displayed items. Several banners featured large photos of Fakir embodying his different personas. There were other banners that stood out to me: the timeline that shared childhood pictures, some of influential people in his life, covers of his Body Play magazines, and collages of the group photos from nearly every class of the Fakir Intensives.

Visitors enter the exhibit.
Photo by Marina Pecorino

Then there were the alcoves. One held books and images that inspired and guided a young Fakir to try so many unconventional practices. A few items in particular caught my  eye: Fakir’s  yoga  book from the 1950s and National Geographic from Fakir’s childhood where he got the idea to perform his first piercing on himself at age 14. Another area had masks, homemade eyelets for stretching his nipple piercings, some of Fakir’s septum jewelry, and articles he had written. There was a section that had a bed of nails, a bed of blades, a kavadi frame, a suspension frame, and other inventions of Fakir’s that I’m not sure have names. Most of these devices were featured in Fakir’s early self photography. Having been born in a rural area in 1930, out of necessity he developed a resourceful and inventive ability. A large portion of the objects in the exhibit were things he made at home by hand. Rarely disposing of his creations, the BPA was able to acquire or borrow many of them from his wife, Cléo Dubois. It was fabulous to see classic Fakir photos right next to the actual items he made and was wearing in the portrait.

View of the exhibit.
Photo by Marina Pecorino

There was a screen toward the back of the exhibit playing the Mark and Dan Jury film Dances Sacred and Profane starring Fakir, Jim Ward, and Charles Gatewood. Mirroring that was a second screen dedicated to performances he had  done,  featuring video from one of his European performances. Between those was information on RE/Search #12: Modern Primitives, the publication where so many of us discovered Fakir for the first time.

View of the exhibit.
Photo by Marina Pecorino

The last alcove in the exhibit was the most solemn. The exhibit overall celebrated Fakir’s life, but the last alcove honored his death. Fakir felt that altars were important. He would make one at the end of every piercing class, a place to look to for focus, to display images and objects that had meaning to him and to help inspire a particular mindset he was looking for. The last alcove of the exhibit, with bright yellow and red walls, was an altar to Fakir. It displayed a large photo of him, photos of those close to him who had also passed, images of deities he was drawn to, fresh fragrant flowers, candles, and a few personal items like his chest spears. When he announced that he was sick and had limited time left, Fakir asked that instead of emails or phone calls, that people hand write and mail him letters if they had anything they wanted to share with him. Hundreds of letters came in and he read all the words of love and thanks before he left us. A selection of those cards were strung from the center back wall of the alcove, extending to either side of the door, framing the altar and giving the space a sense of depth, layers, and sentiment.

Fakir’s memorial altar at the APP Conference, 2019.
Photo by Marina Pecorino

Fakir was so many people wrapped up in one. It was impossible to know everything and everyone he had been in his life. Depending on how you knew him, you would connect and learn about different aspects of his personality and interests, hearing different stories of his past. In addition to all the visuals in the exhibit, docents who were personally known to Fakir gave tours. Each had unique experiences and insight on who Fakir was, having known him in a variety of circles and points of his life. Several of the instructors from the Fakir Intensives gave tours, as well as friends of Fakir’s including Allen Falkner and Annie Sprinkle. Each offered unique flavors, new insight and things to learn about Fakir. Hearing their stories really brought Fakir’s memory to life in a vivid interactive way and I wish I could have seen all the tours.

Annie Sprinkle conducting a tour of the exhibit.
Photo by Marina Pecorino

Working closely with Fakir’s wife, Cléo, the BPA team put together an amazing and moving exhibit. Fakir was always touched and awed by the gratitude, credit, and honor people extended to him. I think he would be absolutely blown away and speechless by the beautiful display and celebration of his life that portrayed so much of who he was. To Paul King, Becky Dill, Devin Ruiz, and all your behind the scenes helpers, thank you for all your hard work in putting together such a rich and beautiful commemoration of Fakir’s life. It was wonderful to get to celebrate Fakir’s life together with the bulk of the piercing community this year at the APP Conference.

Dustin Allor & Fakir Musafar

Point 81: Laments for Rick Frueh

Rick Frueh teaching at Camp APP

It is with a heavy heart we acknowledge the passing of Rick Frueh. Our organization and industry have lost a long-term and dedicated volunteer and safe piercing advocate.

In his time with the organization Rick taught dozens of classes over numerous conferences. He was part of the Curriculum Sub committee. As part of the Procedure Manual Update Committee/2013 (completed work) he saw the organizations’ Procedure Manual get a much needed update. His work with the Blood-borne Pathogens Committee helped to create the current online courses many of us have taken. Rick  also served on the Board  of Directors from 2011–2014 as the Medical Liaison. His hard work and dedication will be missed and our condolences go out to all of those who grieve his passing.

Gene Gowen

Like so many others, my family and I were grief stricken when we heard about the passing of Rick Frueh. For Cameron and me, the loss was more personal than professional. Though we both worked with Rick extensively, it was our friendship with Rick that brought Cameron and I together. So in no small way, Cameron and I credit Rick so much, with the beautiful family that we share today.

When I received the call that Rick had passed away, my heart sank. I felt what I can only describe as shame. Shame that I had taken time for granted. That I allowed myself to believe that everything would be ok until the Christmas holiday, when Cameron and I could visit with him. Shame that I didn’t take advantage of the little time that I had with my friend. Shame that I didn’t get a chance to tell him how much I appreciated his friendship and how grateful I was to count him as a friend.

There are definitely people who knew Rick longer than I. There are certainly people who can list Rick’s professional piercing achievements better than I ever could. What I can tell you is that Rick Frueh truly did embody the principle of Forever Learning. Though I worked with Rick every time I did a guest spot at 23rd Street Body Piercing, it was my time living with Rick during those trips, that I learned from him the most. Most nights after work or even on days off, I would return to the apartment to find him on the couch reading Mill Certs, pouring through MSDS manuals, or studying metallurgical reports. Always in the context of trying to learn as much as he could about what mattered most to him.

The days following Rick’s death, I thought about nothing other than what I could do to honor my friend and all that I learned from him. It took me days to get myself together enough to ask if I could contribute something to The Point, in his memory. I spent days crying over blank pages and blank screens, unable to get passed my own personal grief long enough to write anything down. The best I can do to honor Rick’s memory is to share what I learned from him, in the hopes that it helps the next person, as it did me. First, that it’s fine if you’re a stubborn student, as long as you can always remain a student. This is probably where Rick and I shared the most in common, though we might’ve both been too stubborn to admit it.

Second, if you’re lucky enough you may make actual friends  in  this industry. If you do, and you have the chance to, stand tall for your friends. Rick stood tall for me personally and professionally more than a few times. In this industry or in life, that can be a rare thing to come across, even rarer to count on. I could always count on Rick.

Third, it is easy to doubt yourself. Especially when so many make themselves feel bigger these days by causing doubt in others. But when  faced  with  the  trust of peers, coworkers, and clients, trust yourself. Trust your instincts. Trust your dedication. For so long I didn’t know how to do this and  it kept me from ever being able to breath as a piercer. Then one day at 23rd Street, as I was running from piercing to piercing, Rick grabbed me and simply said “I trust you, we trust you. We wouldn’t have asked you here if we didn’t. Trust yourself and you’ll be fine.”

These lessons have stayed with me. I hear them and see them everywhere I go. My life has forever been changed for the better because of Rick. Not because he taught me about piercing, but because he taught me how to be a piercer. Not simply because of his friendship, but because he showed me how I could be a better friend. Rick could see and believed in a version of me that I didn’t know I was capable of. If you’re reading this, I hope you have someone in your life who does the same for you. If not, I hope you have the chance to be that for someone else.

Rick presenting at the APP Conference 2013
Photo by April Thomas
Bethrah Szumski
Waiting for the Expo to open, APP Conference 2016
Photo by Autumn Swisher

It’s hard to write about someone’s passing when you’re having a hard time believing it’s real. Rick was a friend, a really good one. He had a big personality and wasn’t afraid to express his opinion, but he was soft spoken too. He loved feet, the color orange, and cats A LOT. What a weirdo; I loved him so much! All my thoughts about him go back to the personal stuff. The text or phone call I could 100% count on when things were rough. I’m not sure I ever fully understood him, but I really respected him.

People loved to hate Rick for being a dick online, but he was a realist. He wasn’t afraid to put it out there and be unpopular. I often watched that with a combination of admiration and envy. Despite what the critics had to say, he did a ton for the industry. He continually sought to further his education for the benefit of body piercing. He founded the most active social media group for us and that brought the use of good jewelry and the drive to become an APP Member forward light years. I know I’m doing this no justice, but it can’t wait for me to get my head around it enough to be articulate. I’m wrecked over this loss. So wrecked that I’m trying to pretend it’s not real for just a bit longer. Maybe it will be real at that next Banquet dinner where I think about how he would say, “It’s a formal dinner, not a costume party. I’m wearing a suit.”

Rick, Conference 2015
Photo by Autumn Swisher