In loving memory of Wayne Holtz

by Tamara Adira

I remember when I first met Wayne Holtz. He was selling antiques on Fredericksburg Road. It was a smokey and dusty place cluttered with antiquities, furniture, and unidentifiable relics in dark corners. 

He sold me a set of baroque lamps, which I then dusted off and commissioned into quirky campy candlesticks, encrusted with cherubs. 

I didn’t buy anything more after that, but I kept visiting Wayne at the shop just for the company and the conversation. There were a couple of dusty couches we sat on, and a glass table covered in dust and cigarette ashes, which appeared to be the place where deals were made. We would talk about art, things happening in our lives, and life in general. We became friends in that shady antique shop. 

That was in about 2014-15 or so and my rehearsals for Angel of Gravity and Algoritmos were just a few blocks down the street. During my conversations with Wayne, I learned that the couch he was sitting on was his bed, and the dealmaking space was where he was living. The owner let him live there in exchange for the work. He had an air of resigned forbearance with the arrangement, as it seemed good at the time for both of them. But, over time, the arrangement was starting to feel like a trap, as the owner was asking for more than just the arrangement.

So one day Wayne reached out to me and asked me to help him move. We had to move while the owner was gone. I had an SUV, so we packed everything in two trips and dropped it all at a friend’s house, his new home. 

Then, we went to the Cove and had fish tacos and sweet potato fries in the sun. We talked about life. I could tell by his eyes that he saw the horizon of possibilities laid before him. I asked him what he wanted to do. I remember feeling that this moment was magical, electrical, rife with possibility. I said to him, something like, “well, maybe now you just have to be Wayne Holtz. What that means is up to you. But the World is yours.”

I didn’t talk to him again after that for a few months, but I saw him. He was singing in a venue. I had no idea he would become The Wayne Holtz. 

Over the years, Wayne would become a fixture in the indie music scene of San Antonio, performing in clubs on St. Mary’s Strip, Brick at Blue Star, the 529, the Paper Tiger, the Aztec Theater, and beyond. I stayed in touch with him. Soon he got back-up dancers. I saw him with House of Kenzo and asked him if he wanted a flamenco back-up dancer too. So, because of Wayne Holtz, I had amazing opportunities to work in venues I would never perform in otherwise. I even got to open with him for Big Freedia. The Big Freedia who sings with Beyonce.

I had a giant closet dedicated only to costumes. Wayne helped me clear it out and left with a ton of treasures, including a tutu and a bata de cola. I would later see him using these pieces in photo shoot after photo shoot. He saw the poetry in objects and appreciated the beauty in the everyday. He could elevate the mundane into something beautiful, magical, campy, funny, sad, and lovely. He had a way of infusing a dreamy quality into everything. He taught me how to smize, to smile with your eyes but still keep a smokey look. He knew the image. 

Over time, Wayne started working in production. When he offered to help us, we couldn’t help but take him up on it. We came to see the distinct difference between trying to go it alone, or to ride with him. He was a treasure. I worked with him last in March doing Sonidos de Libertad. We flew him down to be our production manager because he was just that good. He did production management for Minha, Mercuria, Contra y Tierra, Confluencias, and more. 

He mentored my kids. And he didn’t believe it, even though I told him this over and over again, but he mentored me.

He taught me the art of the hustle. If you’re talented in something, then use it. Be flexible. Don’t put too much importance into anything. Say yes until you have to say no. It’s only an adventure. Understand when people are taking advantage of your good nature. Be kind. You never know what people are going through. Have fun. Take your work seriously, not yourself. Take care of your people. Be honest with yourself. Get to know who you are. Love until you can’t. 

I will miss you my old friend. When we parted in March, we said, “see you at the next one.” I left with a light feeling, knowing I would see you again soon. 

So, I just can’t say goodbye Wayne. Not yet. So I will just say farewell. Until we meet again on the other side. Rest in peace and power, my friend.  – Tamara