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Stephen "boss" Tilden 12/31/41 - 10/14/25 My mountain, my mentor, my best friend. To those who knew him: Steve, father, grandfather, dreamer, dearest friend, creative cheeky powerhouse, joymaker, storyteller, pantsless wonder, worshipper of fierce women, and always the most generous of humans.

Boss took me in at the beginning of my creative life, put me on his shoulders, and held me up to catch all of my dreams from the ether. Through thick and thin he`s been the voice, the hands, the purple sweatshirt wearing smartass that helped engineer the daily shape of my life- with so much charm, laughter, big stretch, and exactly four tonalities of gray paint. Most importantly, in a man`s world, he was the first time I ever felt safe to be truly myself...

As any good mythology story goes,
It was a noble life to the end. Steve lifted me up in my youth. It was an honor to help hold it down in his old age. We didn`t know at the time, but we shared our last pantless dance the day before he entered hospice and our last bourban hour the night before he passed. He lived out his days in his beloved handbuilt studio home, together. When the moment finally arrived, we tender heartedly sent him off covered in flowers I grew in our community garden, one last shot of bad bourbon, and a ratchet strapped procession ride in his favorite beat to hell work van, joni mitchell on the radio, surrounded by those he loved. I can still hear him laughing.

His children and grandchildren, who became my adopted family these 15yrs, all go forward carrying his spark of mischief, warmth, and wonder. They are amazing people, doing amazing things. So many of you have his work in your homes and his stories in your hearts. My own life and work will be forever marked by his influence.

We were so fuckin lucky!
I`ll miss him beyond measure...

I opened a book of poetry and a leaf carving from years past fell into a sunset lit lap. These joy metaphors of light and shadow keep an artists heart aloft amoungst dark days. The poem reads:
What if we told the flower,
"don’t bloom"
and told the birds,
"don’t sing"
and told the petals,
"don’t you dare show your tenderness"
and told the bee
kissing the sweetest
part of the rose’s heart
"it’s uncomfortable to see
love given so freely"
and told the stars
"don’t shine, it’ll make someone scared"
and told the quivering bunny
holding itself beneath shivering winds
"toughen up"
and told the morning sun
shining over slowly waking hills
enlivening everything.
stop showing off"
and told the music within the wind to
"keep its voice down."
These are the messages that have been given
to our souls
and quite frankly,
these ideas
really suck.

-Chelan harken (susceptible to light)