03/04/2026
I called him my Boston art and performance uncle. He and his brother Nabil reminded me of my own family back in India as well as my parents back in their current hometown in Ohio. Our cultures matched despite our disparate DNA. I loved his tenacity, his wit, his ability to find the positive through all the muck in this world. He believed in me, he believed in Tom Tipton, he believed in Steven P Asaro, and he believed in the Gallery.
He met me when I came to the Middle East Restaurant 20 years ago, like just about every college kid across Camberville. Thousands of folk in Boston may consider him a best friend, and I am just one of those. But I revered my art uncle, was even a bit scared of him only because I never knew if I was making him proud, and I always looked to him for guidance and support. And he always made time.
So many of us have witnessed his outrageous hospitality, so many of us were in awe of his willpower, so many of us watched him move mountains! How could such a maestro throw his every cent and every breath into the properties him and his family owned and managed but also somehow build his own chairs, fix the roofs of properties with his bare hands, sculpt Zeus-like characters while laughing and teasing all of his friends, and be present in every aspect of his family, community, and personal endeavors.
Joseph provided me with opportunity because he believed in how much I love people, he believed that I loved art and music like it was my own baby, and he believed in collaborating with me and hundreds of other musicians and artists throughout Greater Boston. He scooted across town with a swagger unmatched, and some folks tried to cut into that swagger because they were so daunted by it. But his swagger was never demeaning, but rather full of confidence and the "I believe in it, so I WILL do it" courage.
Yesterday, I left my teaching job with the weight of his passing and I cried and I cried and I cried, my tears mixing with the soft snowflakes that fell from the heavens above. I knew those came from Joseph himself, softly reminding me he is always there... I remember the strife and stress of the City government taking over his building, the Armory, through no wrongdoing of his own. He wanted to fight back, but his family worried the toll that it would take on him. So I decided that I had to fight even harder for my art uncle, as I watched him lamenting but still smiling at the chairs and tables he built himself that provide comfort and rest to all who visit the Armory performance space and cafe. I couldn't bear it when I found out that staff were told to prohibit him from the building he, YES HE, created from an eye sore to an arts palace. They were just daunted by the MAESTRO that is Joseph Sater.
There are people, and then there are giants of people. Joseph Sater is a giant of a person. Though slight in stature, he was also a ninja, a yogi, and I just couldn't understand how he never fell off those roofs he kept tinkering at. Nor could I understand how a gentleman decades older than me showed up at 5:30 every morning at the Armory, scouring the floors, polishing the rails, and intermittently gazing at the rising sun while I hadn't even bothered to run a comb through my hair or slide a toothbrush over my teeth.
He was the first person I told outside Steve when my younger brother passed away, and he made sure I could feel strong and still cultivate the arts and community I ran at such a micro level compared to him. He was my footprint times 60, so I always tried to follow in his way, and when my parents started to spend more time in Boston post my younger brother's passing, both his and my family came together often as a bunch. This made me feel like the most loved person in the world! Not only could I see my bloodline favorite uncle, DhariKaka, in his stature and swagger, but I also saw my father in his dearest and so thankfully still alive brother, Nabil! And the two brothers came to just love my father and always said, "God Bless That Man!" In my mother, Joseph found the elder version of me, with her deliberate mischief and greater than life personality.
I could possibly write a novel about all the ways we all, including me, love our Joseph Sater. A statue commemorating his timeless glory in Cambridge should be a MUST, and I am praying that his family receives the compensation that the City of Somerville took from them and all of their work in the near future. And I KNOW that my art uncle is praying for me now and saying, "Kid, don't worry, you ALWAYS do it. YOU are the Queen!"
And so today is the much anticipated Public Hearing for the arts space JOSEPH created, and certainly not the City or anyone else, and hope I can make him proud. Thank you, arts uncle, I love you with all my heart. YOU will always be the KING of the Arts at the Armory castle. I will try and be a bitty princess and try and carry on your torch! May you always be showered in reverence and glory for FUNDAMENTALLY carving the scope of local art and music throughout Boston!
