Dec 29, 2025 7:00 PM PST

I am in a strange place both literally and emotionally.

A friend died last night in a motorcycle accident and I found out about it while I’m in what is basically a glorified nursing home.

I am not stuck on writing this. I just want to be careful in the way I write because of the fear of making this about me somehow.

I’ve known Tim Lowman since 2005 while he played for a band that opened for Transfer once (I mention this to note I was not there to see his band). I caught a few more shows before there were personnel changes then eventual break up of that band. This is around the time I started taking photos while he played which then turned into proper portraits later on down the line. I mention the photos only to make the point of an artistic collaboration that lasted a long time.

While we were not exactly the bestest of friends over the last 20 years, we never really lost touch but sadly the last time I had a short conversation with him was at a show at the Whistle Stop in the Summer of 2022. I followed his posts online and meant to reach out and hang out and shoot again. But there was always time for that, right?

I’ve been through something like this before. I think maybe some of us have been through this before. A great person with so many friends and even closer family makes us feel like we might be something more like an acquaintance instead of a friend.

But he was a friend.

When I was living away from our little San Diego artist circle, he made it a point to reach out to me while I was living in Arizona.

One time while on one of his visits to Phoenix, we went out to one of my favorite low key bars. We were winding down a day of hanging out and shooting at different places.

When we arrived, we saw this amazing 1970s van parked outside the bar. Soon enough we found the owner and Tim asked if he wouldn’t mind us taking some photos using his van as a backdrop. The owner for some reason could not be happier and opened up the van to allow us to shoot inside as well shag carpet and all.

A long while back we found ourselves at the Brick by Brick (I believe) and watched this band from LA open the night. They weren’t half bad if I remember and the singer was a little adventurous. He stepped off the stage, found Tim, and jumped on him out of the blue. Seemed so surreal to me and I was just this side of sober to take photos of it unfolding.

Little moments like these are something I share with someone who I only saw occasionally but yet somehow marked a specific point in time in my life.
While grieving and mourning a friend may seem obvious to some, it was something that I struggled with the last time a friend like Tim passed.

Was I allowed to grief? If so, how much? Or not at all? Was I close enough as a friend? Certainly there were people closer to him that deserve the heavy burden of grief and loss.
Who am I to be allowed to mourn a friend I did not see for years let alone daily? Can I express this grief somehow?

What I am trying to say is that despite not having the closest friendship with Tim I am truly affected by this beautiful man’s passing much more than just some sort of John Donne explanation of a connection to all mankind. It goes a little deeper than that for sure.

I think this is what happens to a few of us who were anywhere near Tim’s aura. We all feel the terrible absence.

I think this is the true measure of a life spent being gracious and loving to all who come in contact with you. You can affect even the furthest of friends with your absence and leave a hole one never knew they’d have without your spirit on this plane.

There is tremendous void and sadness I feel with a lot of other people I’ve never met which in turn brings about some sort of alleviation from the sorrow.

Truth is if you knew Tim Lowman even in the slightest, there is no need to ask for whom that gorgeous Silvertone with the amazing tone sings for. It sings for thee.