![]() ![]() Then-he seemed to hesitate before telling me this-“I was flying forwards. Next thing I remember, I was flying backwards.” I remember a flash of light coming out of the phone. The phone was a foot away from where I was standing when I got struck. There was a little bit of rain, thunder in the distance. He still remembers every second of what happened next: “I was talking to my mother. He went to a pay phone outside the pavilion to make a quick call to his mother (this was before the age of cell phones). It was pleasant and breezy, but he noticed a few storm clouds in the distance it looked like rain. One afternoon in 1994, he was at a lakeside pavilion for a family gathering. Tony Cicoria was forty-two, very fit and robust, a former college football player who had become a well-regarded orthopedic surgeon in a small city in upstate New York. “TREE SONATA” (1999)/ROBERT AND SHANA PARKEHARRISON / JACK SHAINMAN GALLERY After the accident, he was inspired, even possessed, by music. ![]()
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