In 2003, I stepped into my first college class, and there he was—Douglas Fiely, my instructor. From day one, he called my last name like it had an Italian rhythm to it, never faltering, as if he knew something about me that I didn’t yet know. That little detail felt like an unspoken bond, one that only grew deeper over time.
Doug was more than a teacher. He was a beacon of life advice—one that came unexpectedly my first year. “Drop out,” he said, “and chase your music.” So I did. For four years, I played music professionally, and in the background of that chapter was Doug. He wasn’t just an instructor anymore; he became my longest client, my first real connection. I built his first website, handled his store, his gallery, updated his endless stream of new paintings—he had multiple new ones nearly every month, and each one seemed more alive than the last.
I went to his home, painted beside him, soaked in his encouragement. Our relationship grew beyond the canvas, beyond fine arts. It became a friendship. We’d sit and listen to Willie Nelson, his music filling the gaps where words weren’t needed.
Doug gave me a painting for my wedding—a piece of him that I’ll carry forever. Every meeting, every conversation, always felt like the first time—full of inspiration and something new. The world feels a little emptier without you, Doug.
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