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I am very sad to report the passing of one of the gallery’s greatest collectors and friends, E.A. “Tres” Basse III. He was laid to rest in a beautiful service in San Antonio yesterday, and while I’m still in shock, I need to pen a tribute.
I was always so excited when Tres would drive to Houston. It wasn’t usually to look for photographs because in the last 15 years or so we did almost all of that online, with the exception of special things I’d put aside for his next cameo in the gallery. He’d be picking up the pieces he’d already chosen, usually exciting contemporary works of Shiprock, motorless boats, aquatic animals, the Chrysler Building, and the occasional portrait of a legend like Willie Nelson. And while going through his new photographs was always fun, his main focus was on where we were going to eat, oftentimes someplace with cuisine “as hot as possible.”
Those lunches would always be full of catching up on his children and grandchildren, movies he’d seen or rewatched, politics, trips to his “ranchito” in Colorado, bad jokes, and, of course, fine art photography. He loved to talk about his time in Carmel, California and his store there (which, for anyone who knew Tres, was much more hippie-dippie than one might expect!), his time at ASU, Mary Virginia Swanson (who first recommended the gallery to him), and classes with Ansel Adams. The bohemian in him loved Neil Young and all sorts of 60s rabble rousers, while the Texan in him once told me nothing in life was better than blowing something up with a grenade launcher.
I’ll never be able to see a Hawaiian shirt without thinking of Tres. I’ll never be able to see Basse road in San Antonio, a skiff, a diving helmet, a Tommy gun, or even glance at the Chrysler building without thinking of Tres. I’ll never be able to think of Thai food or the New Deal without thinking of Tres. I’ll never be able to open the doors of the gallery without thinking of Tres because his support over the years is one of the reasons those doors still open.
I wasn’t the only person in the fine art world he impacted. A very successful photographer told me once that he was at a real crossroads in his career. His studio had been destroyed, and he thought it was time to throw in the towel on photography in general and specifically fine art. That’s when he got a call from me saying I had a client who wanted to purchase a literal stack of work from him. He told me it changed the entire trajectory of his life. Tres did that for too many artists to name.
I could go on and on about all the people Tres helped or the organizations he supported. Rest assured that list is long; much longer than Tres would want this post to be. I’ll miss you, Tres. My life is so much better for having known you, even if I never got to see your magic skills that I heard at the funeral were as goofy as you could be. While I’m sharing a fancy-dress picture of Tres (one of his happiest times was getting his daughter, Caroline, ready to be Queen of Fiesta, so Tres could absolutely pull off fancy), I also want to share his longtime Facebook profile picture to show the Tres I knew better.
Rest in peace, Chief. I won’t call you during your nap.
Love,
Catherine
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I am very sad to report the passing of one of the gallery’s greatest collectors and friends, E.A. “Tres” Basse III. He was laid to rest in a beautiful service in San Antonio yesterday, and while I’m still in shock, I need to pen a tribute.
I was always so excited when Tres would drive to Houston. It wasn’t usually to look for photographs because in the last 15 years or so we did almost all of that online, with the exception of special things I’d put aside for his next cameo in the gallery. He’d be picking up the pieces he’d already chosen, usually exciting contemporary works of Shiprock, motorless boats, aquatic animals, the Chrysler Building, and the occasional portrait of a legend like Willie Nelson. And while going through his new photographs was always fun, his main focus was on where we were going to eat, oftentimes someplace with cuisine “as hot as possible.”
Those lunches would always be full of catching up on his children and grandchildren, movies he’d seen or rewatched, politics, trips to his “ranchito” in Colorado, bad jokes, and, of course, fine art photography. He loved to talk about his time in Carmel, California and his store there (which, for anyone who knew Tres, was much more hippie-dippie than one might expect!), his time at ASU, Mary Virginia Swanson (who first recommended the gallery to him), and classes with Ansel Adams. The bohemian in him loved Neil Young and all sorts of 60s rabble rousers, while the Texan in him once told me nothing in life was better than blowing something up with a grenade launcher.
I’ll never be able to see a Hawaiian shirt without thinking of Tres. I’ll never be able to see Basse road in San Antonio, a skiff, a diving helmet, a Tommy gun, or even glance at the Chrysler building without thinking of Tres. I’ll never be able to think of Thai food or the New Deal without thinking of Tres. I’ll never be able to open the doors of the gallery without thinking of Tres because his support over the years is one of the reasons those doors still open.
I wasn’t the only person in the fine art world he impacted. A very successful photographer told me once that he was at a real crossroads in his career. His studio had been destroyed, and he thought it was time to throw in the towel on photography in general and specifically fine art. That’s when he got a call from me saying I had a client who wanted to purchase a literal stack of work from him. He told me it changed the entire trajectory of his life. Tres did that for too many artists to name.
I could go on and on about all the people Tres helped or the organizations he supported. Rest assured that list is long; much longer than Tres would want this post to be. I’ll miss you, Tres. My life is so much better for having known you, even if I never got to see your magic skills that I heard at the funeral were as goofy as you could be. While I’m sharing a fancy-dress picture of Tres (one of his happiest times was getting his daughter, Caroline, ready to be Queen of Fiesta, so Tres could absolutely pull off fancy), I also want to share his longtime Facebook profile picture to show the Tres I knew better.
Rest in peace, Chief. I won’t call you during your nap.
Love,
Catherine
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