Sometime in the mid-90s, I had the opportunity of a lifetime to visit Harlan Ellison and his wife Susan at their home in Thousand Oaks, CA. I tagged along with my buddy, Mark Zug, who was working on Harlan’s illustrated screenplay for I, Robot, because the adventure seemed too good to pass up.

Harlan was such an interesting man.

Much has been written about him and his volatile nature, but I can only say that when I met him, he was sweet and funny, a really likeable guy who at once scooped the chickpeas from his salad into mine because I said I’d eat them. Goofing around with Susan, he swept her up on her toes in a bear hug until she admonished him that he shouldn’t be doing that so soon after his open heart surgery.

He remained a benevolent, gruff, avuncular (and infrequent) figure in my life until he passed away a few years ago.

What I remember of Harlan’s west-coast craftsman-style house was that it was a veritable rabbit warren of rooms full of books, beautiful handmade furniture, antiques, and artful tchotchkes arranged on gorgeous wall shelving, and salon-style floor-to-ceiling illustrations and artwork. The many Hugo awards were lined up on the mantel.There was a library with a small, round oaken Hobbit door, inset with a round stained glass window. Lots and lots of books were stacked everywhere, 50s-era toys and rockets dotted every surface, indicative of the writer’s deep, catalogical mind of unique experiences and thoughts.

What I remember most though was the quartet (or was it a quintet?) of large Gargoyles heads perched above his garage door, protected by a few loops of razorwire to keep random Visigoths from pillaging the art. (I took a photo of these but I’m unable to locate its whereabouts.) Harlan told me that these noxious countenances represented certain politicians from the 70s and 80s. In the middle was Nixon, his unmistakable bloated face suspended in frowning arrogance, sporting bared teeth and horns. The other faces also had similar signifiers of despicableness. Harlan was downright pleased with them and what the artist had done.

Of all the amazing things I saw at Ellison Wonderland, the gargoyles loomed at the forefront of my mind and were a big highlight of the trip. Perhaps it was Harlan’s comments about them that made them even more significant to me. I was deeply affected by the presence of these large sculptures with their sneers and scowls and wondered about the artistic act of capturing sentient nuance in a single facial expression.

When I returned home, I bought some dark brown Della Robbia clay and excitedly began to sculpt a few gargoyles of my own. I built hump forms and draped clay over them so the sculpture would be hollow in the back. While working on them, I felt as if a safety valve was releasing some of my emotional pressures. The malleable faces of anger, frustration, worry, and sadness activated my mirror neurons. The clay, absorbing my negative energy, was siphoning away my anxiety and calming my mind. As I experimented with making different expressions, my understanding of people greatly evolved. My empathy grew with each one.

Thank you, Harlan, for sweeping me into your world of stories and letting me see firsthand how to be so intensely fascinated by people and their lives.