It’s funny how I never much noticed, as I lived surrounded by Haring’s public art in Manhattan, that he even had a commercial presence.

To me, that branding, those funky dancing dogs or what have you, were secondary or tertiary to his oeuvre.

To those of us in Act Up, Haring was something like our patron saint, our artist is residence, even after his passing.

And how many times would I wander lower Manhattan, pass through an alley or by a half-abandoned building and run smack up against an unexpected Haring treasure?

He was something like the Bansky of my generation, always waiting to be discovered, but without the element of mystery.