Art, Life and UFOs: Thinking About Budd Hopkins

Art, Life and UFOs: Thinking About Budd Hopkins

(Appearing in the upcoming issue of Open Minds Magazine)

By Peter Robbins

© 2011 Peter Robbins

Word count minus above header 2,958

“How I, a rational, peace-loving artist, ever became involved in something so esoteric as the UFO phenomenon is something I’m really not sure of myself, though one thing is clear; events came to me – I didn’t seek them out – in the beginning, at least.”

Budd Hopkins, “Missing Time” 1981

“The collage aesthetic can be subtly apparent in works that outwardly seem to be quite simple, even “classical.” For example, Brancusi, generally regarded as the greatest twentieth sculptor, is a master of reduction, of clarity and classical calm, three qualities one might think would war with the collage aesthetic. And yet a close examination of Brancusi’s work shows him to be a master of complexity and internal contrast.”

Budd Hopkins, “Modernism and the Collage Aesthetic,” from the New England Review 1997

“The story you are about to read, though true, is virtually unthinkable. In our familiar, everyday world it cannot have happened. Yet it did.”

Budd Hopkins, “Witnessed: The True Story of the Brooklyn Bridge UFO Abductions” 1996

The wide ranging, courageous, and ferociously curious intellect and personage behind the above words was instilled with a lifelong passion for people and their wellbeing, for painting, especially Abstract Impressionism, for politics, history, music, the performing arts, the great city in which he made his home, and so many other real-life matters. He was extremely well read and the library in his West Sixteenth Street home literally bulges with several thousand books. Volumes of art and about art and artists dominate with UFOs a fair second, hardcover and paper editions of American and world literature fill shelf after shelf, as do books on numerous other subjects.

The man who lived here was a highly professional and effective presenter, equally at ease before television cameras, radio hosts, or speaking before live crowds at conference venues large and small. He was a superb debater and at his best when yet another attack on his work might necessitate a thoughtful, highly specific and well reasoned response – this while always retaining the ability and openness to make deep, compassionate contact with the most vulnerable or anxious of individuals needing his time and attention. The wide and varied circle of friends he leaves behind truly runs the gamut, in age, background, gender and profession; involvement in the arts or UFOs notwithstanding. But whatever our differences may be, we all share the sadness which inevitably accompanies the loss of a good friend.

I miss Budd Hopkins.

In the brief two weeks since his passing a great deal has already been written and said about this man and considerably more will follow in the weeks, months and years to come. I for one have put off writing about him for as long as possible. At first because it just felt morbid to write about a friend who was loosing his grip on life yet still with us, then in the completely unrealistic and somewhat idiotic hope that by not writing about him I might somehow, in some universe, contribute to the mysterious, spontaneous medical miracle which would prolong his life. I can dream, can’t I? Letting go of a valued friend is a gradual process and for me, some thinking out loud is called for. So here, in no particular order, is a small collection of memories, reflections and thoughts about Budd, my friend, colleague, fellow artist and New Yorker, and some of what I learned from him and about him. I’ve lifted the title of his wonderful 2009 memoir, “Art, Life and UFOs,” to honor this special book and its author. Art, life and UFOs were always and remain the central things we had in common.

In 1989 Budd Hopkins founded The Intruders Foundation (IF), a nonprofit with distinct four goals: “To provide sympathetic help, understanding and personal investigation for those reporting UFO investigation experiences. To carry our systematic research into the abduction phenomenon though a care study of its patterns and resulting physical traces. To mount an extensive program of public education. To develop a cadre of trained professionals in various fields to carry out all of these projects” Twenty two years and counting later, I feel its fair to say that IF has made a difference in the lives of many of the people who this phenomenon has affected. Advisory Board members will be meeting in the months to come to discuss the future of the foundation and its extremely popular lecture series. You are welcome to visit the IF website at www.intrudersfoundation.org/ and learn more about this unique foundation.

Some feel that the study of UFOs, like art, should be above the fray of politics. Budd’s art work followed this philosophy and his approach to UFO and abduction studies was strictly scientific in nature. This artist and writer was a proud liberal with an astute sense of political realities. He was able to talk politics with the best of them, and with the same facility and understanding of the specifics that he brought to his conversations and discussions about art, UFOs, and the UFO abduction phenomenon. He maintained a particular dislike (and that is putting it mildly) for key members of the Bush Administration, and following the sober diagnosis of stage four liver cancer from his oncologist last year, he told me that his two immediate goals were to live to see his eightieth birthday, and to outlive Dick Cheney. Wish number one came true and Budd’s eightieth birthday party took place at his home this past June 15^th. The fifteen or twenty of us gathered there for the occasion had a great evening together. Wish number two did not come true and I will leave it at that.

A large desk top computer served all of Budd’s writing needs until the past decade when he changed over to a laptop, but he produced his best known works on that old desktop. His writing ‘perch’ was a desk at the far end of the narrow balcony which ran along the east wall of the studio. On it sat the computer, which I used to joke was manufactured in 1931, the year he was born. A boxy, hulking dot matrix printer stood just off to the side. It was quite a day when he replaced that printer, but the computer remained just where it was and article after essay after editorial after book were written on its keyboard. The desk was situated just above my usual work station where I answered letters and attended to IF business.

Budd was the best first draft writer I’ve ever known. His writing per se was always a cut above, but his ability to produce the specific wording he was after the first time around was uncanny. This was never more apparent to me than during the years he was writing “Witnessed: The True Story of the Brooklyn Bridge UFO Abductions.” My job profile included a request to review whatever he was writing when I was in the office, which was regularly throughout this turbulent period. I had earlier established myself as a serviceable proof reader and always looked forward to being the first to read something new by him. Budd had developed the entertaining habit of dropping each page off the balcony as it emerged from the printer and the sheets of paper would float down around me like leaves, the odd one landing right on my desk.

Depending on my mood and level of concentration I would attempt to snag them midair or gather them off the floor for careful review, pencil always at the ready. This was extremely unrewarding as a rule as his first drafts were so often his final drafts. But on those cherished occasions when I actually caught a missing semicolon or inverted preposition or some such bit of minutia, I had the great fun of reacting with self righteous indignation. It was always fun and he always let me know how much he appreciated it. I realize that such memories may seem inconsequential to some, but they serve to underscore Budd’s ever-present generosity of spirit, something which extended itself to even the smallest things.

Like any working artist Budd Hopkins looked to sell the paintings, drawings and sculptures he created, either privately or through a gallery or dealer. In advance of a collector’s visit we would pull paintings to be considered from the storage racks and take some time to review them based on what he knew or felt about the tastes and interests of the collector or prospective collector. The studio was always subjected to an attempted cleaning beforehand with the major works hung on the studio wall or placed on his heavy easel. Drawings and prints were close at hand in their portfolios also ready for viewing. Budd valued the fact that my background as a painter and painting instructor allowed me to talk about the works, and art in general, with these visitors. If things went well and he sold a work, we would sometimes celebrate with a nice dinner at one of the many restaurantsthat pepper his neighborhood. Dinner was always his treat, of course.

It should be noted that throughout the three decades he was involved in abduction research, and often working daily with people who had sought him out from across the country and around the world, he never once asked any of them for a cent in payment for his services, something which I both respected and had a problem with. Like most of us self-employed (or self-unemployed, depending), Budd lived pretty much hand to mouth during the years I knew him, and unlike me had a family to consider.

The nature of the work which he had undertaking was incredibly demanding. There is nothing enjoyable about sitting a few feet from someone who is actively reliving what may be one of the most traumatic times of their life. And spending time with individuals following their regression experiences could also be emotionally draining. In short, from a purely mercantile perspective this was very real work which I felt Budd was well entitled to be compensated for.

When I finally did ask him why he chose to follow the policy he did, he gave me two answers. First, because it did not ‘feel right’ to do so. Second, because he was concerned that if he did charge for such services, debunker-in-chief Philip Klass or any of his minions would immediately accuse Budd of taking advantage of obviously deluded people and only being in it for the money. I understood and respected his decision and practical or not, have followed his lead in always offering my time to abductees and experiencers at no charge.

There came a time when a wealthy supporter’s generous and much needed donation took some financial pressure off Budd and allowed him to pursue his IF related investigations without the usual Damocles sword hanging over his head. An upshot of this was his decision to allot a percentage of the windfall to pay an assistant. As I was already filling that position on a voluntary basis, I was promoted to continuing to doing the same things I was already doing, but now with an actual salary. For the next year or so I earned eight dollars an hour as Intruders Foundation Office Manager, studio assistant, runner of errands, proof reader, filer and phone answerer. Later on I received a two dollar an hour raise, but when the money ran out I simply switched back to volunteer status.

Budd, bless his heart, felt badly about this change in my status, even as I assured him I would still be able to pay my bills sans the big money that had been coming in from IF. But from then on he made it a point to present me a signed copy of most of the foreign editions of his books as they were published. He knew how much I love books, and that I collected as well read them. Not six months ago we were talking about this very subject over a scotch. Budd was a Cutty Sark man and strictly scotch and soda on the rocks. I preferred the glorious single malt scotch (neat, please) which he’d received as a gift from our friends Steve and Janis on their previous visit over from London. Sitting there at his kitchen table Budd wryly observed that I probably had the best collection of Hopkins signed editions anywhere, and I guess it’s possible.

Each of the hundreds of hypnotic sessions and interviews Budd conducted were audio recorded with the cassettes then logged into a ledger under the name of the individual, the number of the session, and the date. Interviews preceding hypnotic regressions could range from fairly analytical to quite emotional, but witnessing actual sessions was something else again. This would only happen at the request of a subject, or Budd, if the subject was comfortable having me in the room. I don’t think I really appreciated how demanding and exhausting this kind of work could be until I began to observe these sessions.

Budd caught me off guard one afternoon by telling me he felt I should consider training and being certified as a hypnotist. Back then he and two other hypnotists had put me under a total of three times to relive the childhood UFO sighting responsible for my deep interest in this unnerving area of study. He had also hypnotized my sister Helen during her exploration of her abduction related memories. I was moved by his confidence in me, but had to tell him I was not interested in pursuing this goal. It took more I sensed that I was willing to give. In this instance I preferred to remain in the supporting role of his assistant and never regretted it.

Budd always read as many of the letters addressed to him as was humanly possible, and personally responded to them as well, but as his reputation grew and his books expanded in readership this became increasingly problematic. Following the publication of “Missing Time” in 1981 he was literally deluged with letters requesting active assistance, intervention, advice and referrals. This pattern would come to repeat itself with the publication of each new book, television appearance and radio interview – the mail would spike and we’d again be overwhelmed with letters. Some of you may know or even be among the thousands of people who wrote to Budd over the years and received a note or call from him in response. Or from me for that matter. But as his stamina began to desert him, he responded to fewer and fewer letters and inquiries. I know he regretted this very much but it wasn’t a choice as much as a given.

In 1982 The Queens Museum invited Budd to curate an art exhibit devoted to the subject of UFOs. The museum is located on the park grounds of the old World’s Fair in Queens New York and close by the ‘UFO’ tower made famous in the film “Men In Black.” Budd, whose knowledge and sense of art history was extraordinary, was a natural for this assignment and the ideal curator for such a show. Over the next months he was able to enroll several dozen appropriate painters, sculptors and photographers and get them to loan work to the exhibit. We ranged from the unknown to the famous and the variety of work was simultaneously enlightening and mysterious. Thousands of visitors saw the show, one of the most popular the museum had had to that date. It also served to stimulate some truly interesting conversations, at least the ones I listened to or was part of. Budd even included his large wood and metal mobile, dominated as it is by a central circular element. His essay for the catalogue may be one of the most unique ever written for an art publication, for it spans the chasm between his, and other’s artist’s nonobjective but suggestive imagery, and the overt, unambiguous visions of representational artists attempting to capture some of the reality of UFOs as well as some of the over-the-top light heartedness which the public has been so well conditioned to associate with the subject.

Throughout most of the Eighties, my regular six night and two day a week job for up to half of every year was as house manager for one of the city’s leading repertory theater companies. I don’t think I ever worked harder, made less money or had more fun than I did working with this wonderful collection of actors. I always received a certain number of comps per season and a pair would always go to Budd who never missed one of them. Like me, he appreciated the camaraderie and teamwork that was involved in mounting and staging the many Off Broadway plays that  The Mirror Repertory Company produced. One of our actresses – a great artist with a great intellect – was genuinely interested in UFOs and abductions and I introduced her to Budd, who in turn helped her with research for a possible stage play about the abduction phenomenon. While the endeavor never made it to the stage, her interest in the subject has remained, as did the high regard they had for each other. She wrote to me last week to express her condolences at Budd’s passing, as have so many others these past two weeks.

Budd Hopkins now belongs to history and to memory. These are a few memories I hold dear. “Art, Life and UFOs: A Memoir” is published by Anomalist Books and is available from the publisher and other online book sellers. It is a superbly written account of an American life well lived and I cannot recommend it highly enough.