Picasso was dead and Warhol was on the Love Boat. So Giger was the Star Wars generation’s first taste of living, breathing fine art. Of course, we already loved Frazetta and the Hildebrand Brothers and lots of other fantasy illustrators, but they were physical, escapist, and fundamentally dumb. Giger’s psychosexual biomech was steeped in the Surrealist tradition and deeply rooted in your own unconscious mind and body. That he could continually connect his personal vision to mass produced pop culture was one of the great gifts of the 20th century (fox). Alien might have made him a Famous Monster, but he became a human being to anyone who read the text in the Necronomicon via tales of his childhood, the suicide of Li Tobler, and an unobscured explanation of his techniques and creative process. Plus, he just looked so cool in those scarves, open neck shirts, and all-black outfits. Even as a little kid, I knew that Giger was an Artist; maybe the only one I felt I knew. And now, I just wish there were lots more like him.