Last night’s member’s preview of Keith Haring: The Political Line at the deYoung was a very emotional experience for me. Stepping into the exhibit was like traveling back in time to a period of angst, rebellion and freedom: The Eighties.

The exhibit brought the 80s back in an avalanche of images, Haring’s and my own. It had an immediate and visceral impact on me from the first chamber. I didn’t focus on any one piece in particular but rather was enveloped by the mirthful joyfulness of Keith Haring’s visual world. It made me smile. It made me happy. The vivid colors and the minute hieroglyphics were overwhelming and frenetic. Hypnotic possibly. I did feel physically transported back in time.

Remembering there was a time when the world was dark and dreary (Reagonomics) but the graffiti artists, rappers, the rebels, just did their thing. It was great to see the footage of Keith Haring grafitti-ing the subways. Fast. Would finish it before the next train arrived in the station. (I suppose the subway drawings in the exhibit were from those private uptown collectors that tore them off the walls when Keith got hot.) Without backing, a gallery or even a studio space, you just made your art and, in doing so you could, maybe just maybe, make a living. But that didn’t matter as much as putting it out there for art’s sake. It was inspirational. Street art and street style. Everyone was an artist or had the potential to be one.

And it was all so joyous. Until it was not.

In 1987, AIDS was ripping apart San Francisco, especially in the Castro where I was living at the time. Keith Haring was diagnosed with HIV around then as well. His work takes on a different meaning looking back on it now. It defines the era, the movement, the “vibe.”

Early that year I went to an AIDS benefit at DV8 in San Francisco. Keith Haring was the star and was there doing his thing (I finally found it listed online — a mural). Everyone was there. So much so that sometimes I think I made it up. I know Sylvester performed. All the NY artists were there. I remember trying to catch Andy Warhol’s eye in the VIP lounge (I said to my friend at the party, “I should meet him now, he doesn’t look very well,” to which my friend replied, “He always looks like that!”). The event has been seared into my memory by the fact that I was moving back to Italy for good the next week. And then Warhol died a few days after I arrived in Florence.

But the importance of Keith Haring’s work was made clear to me by a friend in Florence, Giovanni, who was recently diagnosed with HIV. He told me about Keith’s work in Pisa and how his art was making people aware of AIDS and how that this activism had helped him cope with being seriopositivo. From then on I had a new respect for Keith Haring and his work. No longer were they just fun drawings of barking dogs and radiant babies, but Art that brought joy and hope to those who needed it.

Keith Haring: The Political Line at the deYoung until Feb 16 2015.