—Lynn Foulkes, artist
Zorthian was a sensualist. He really painted the pink. He was what an artist should be, someone who takes people out of their mendacity and raises their consciousness and spirit. And he did it in his life as well as in his work.
He and Dabney ran a kids’ camp at the ranch in the summers, and he would instill in these people a love of life. He covered every stratum — you’d see him at the Valley Hunt Club, and you’d see him slaughtering pigs up on the hill. He was a fabulous raconteur and a free spirit; friends I introduced to him felt like they’d had a brush with immortality.
—Molly Barnes, gallerist
The first time I met Zorthian was about 20 years ago at Caltech, where I had a show up called “Cloud Chambers,” an artistic vision of physics. This little guy who looked like Puck’s father walked up to me and said, “You don’t know fuck about physics. You should get your stuff together before you pass yourself off as an artist or physics enthusiast.” Wondering who the fuck this guy was, I immediately attached myself to his side like an abalone.
Another time, years later, I was performing at Cabaret X, where the real freaks were. It wasn’t a place anyone would hang out at who wasn’t truly mad, crazy — in fact, there had just been a shooting at the front door. And in the midst of this bizarre scene, I noticed someone holding court in a corner of the club. It was Zorthian, and he was lecturing, telling these freaks that they shouldn’t be so focused, they should be more worldly. Learn to draw! He had everybody captivated, spellbound. He was the freak of freaks, and a great leader — simultaneously.
—Norton Wisdom, artist
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