The Unfinished Canvas: A Tribute to My Friend Ace Frehley

by Chantell Van Erbé

I met Ace through Lara, his fiancée at the time and my high school friend. From the beginning, our connection was rooted in art and creativity, and it grew into a genuine friendship built on mutual respect and understanding.

Ace often talked about wanting to pick up a paintbrush again. It had been years since he last painted, and he would laugh, calling himself a lazy artist. That was never true. He was the embodiment of living art. His imagination was always there, shining through his stories, his humor, and his way of seeing the world.

A planetary computer rendering by Ace Frehley, circa 2007.

When he was a teenager, one of his watercolors was displayed at the Museum of Modern Art among other student works, only to later be stolen. He thought it was funny, but I always found it poetic. Even then, his art refused to be contained. He once showed me a drawing from when he was sixteen called The Magician. It reminded me of the Rider Waite tarot deck, and it suited him so well, a visionary channeling the unseen.

Ace painted the watercolor behind him. It was displayed at the Museum of Modern Art with 99 other top student works from the five boroughs. He never got it back — someone stole it. Even his art had a way of disappearing into legend.

Painting may have been his first love, but music gave him his world. Both came from the same sacred place inside him, where imagination met faith. He was endlessly curious and always experimenting with sound, color, and imagery. Even when he was not painting, he was still creating, always finding inspiration in the energy of life itself. He used to tell me he was surrounded by angels, and I believed him.

I never saw him through the lens the world did. Beneath the legend, the excess, and the noise, I saw a man with the heart and sensitivity of a true artist. He carried the potential to be a remarkable visual creator, someone who could translate sound and spirit into form and color. To me, that side of him was just as compelling as the one that filled stadiums.

“The Magician” - by Ace Frehley, 1967. Mixed media (rendered at age 16).

He had a great laugh and could lift your spirits with one comment. He often spoke about my work with genuine enthusiasm and teased that I needed better handlers because the world should see it. That was Ace, funny, kind, and generous in the most genuine ways. His humor could be irreverent at times, but it never came across as vulgar. There was something old-fashioned about him, a kind of gentlemanly charm that made everyone around him feel at ease.

I had the honor of being at his seventy-second birthday celebration with Lara, surrounded by those who loved him most. For that occasion, I gave him a bracelet called The Feng Shui Time Traveler. He adored it and never stopped reminding me how much it meant to him. It felt made for him, a man who seemed to move through time guided by creativity as his compass.

“Elvis TCB” by Ace Frehley. Digital rendering, circa 2000’s.

Later that year, Ace and Lara came to my best friend Ani’s New Year’s Eve party, which also happened to be my birthday and Ani’s daughter Natalie’s. He arrived with albums in hand, signing them for everyone as party favors. No one expected that. He was generous and thoughtful, always wanting to make people smile.

Before the party, he called to ask what I was wearing. It turned into a playful shoe competition. I wore boots similar to his old Spaceman costume, and he wore colorful Italian loafers. He laughed and said I won, but really, we both won. That night he performed magic tricks and had everyone laughing. His gift to me was unforgettable. He handed me a bag with a card and something wrapped in tissue paper and said, jokingly, “Before you open it, I have to tell you it is illegal.” Inside was a black pocketknife, which I will treasure illegally forever.

He left his reading glasses on the table that night. I always meant to bring them back to him but never had the chance. They will stay in my studio as a quiet homage to him.

The remnants of New Year’s Eve. His glasses came home with me that night and now rest on the shelf in my studio.

I also had the honor of being in the studio with Lara and Ani while we listened to early versions of 10,000 Volts. I had hoped the first single would be Cherry Medicine. Not too long after, Ace texted me, almost apologetically, explaining that it could not be the first release because of popular demand for another track. That small gesture said everything about him, thoughtful, humble, and always aware of other people’s feelings, even when it came to his own work.

Ace Frehley & Chantell Van Erbé in his recording studio, listening to early mixes from his last album, 10,000 Volts.

The last painting Ace ever saw of mine was Fate. He called it “beautiful, but slightly disturbing at the same time” and said he liked the contrast. Then he added words that felt almost prophetic. “Time is short, shorter than you perceive. Love and faith are the only road at this juncture.”

On September 25, he fell in his studio. According to him, it was a minor fall, but it was more serious than that. True to who he was, he still reached out the next day to let me know he was alright. I told him not to fall again because we needed him, and he replied with his usual charm and grace, “Yes ma’am.” Those were his last words to me, simple, kind, and full of heart. Even in that brief exchange, he showed the same humility and decency that defined him...right to the very end.

“The Demon” by Ace Frehley. Digital rendering. Circa 2000’s. (made specifically for Gene).

In the weeks that followed, I reached out to him but did not hear back. That silence told me everything. I knew it was the end because he had always been so kind to respond.

I later learned from Lara that Ace had saved some of my artwork on his phone and would proudly show it to people. He spoke kindly of me, calling me a brilliant artist and telling others how much my work inspired him. Hearing that from her brought both tears and comfort.

Our conversations, his laughter, and his encouragement changed me. The way he saw art, life, and people left an imprint that will never fade. His presence strengthened my own creative fire and reminded me why I make art in the first place.

He once asked me to write something for his 10,000 Volts album, a little write-up and critique, as he enjoyed my writing style. Alas, that never came to be. So this is for you, Ace.

March 28, 2024 — Sony Hall, New York City. The artist, Chantell Van Erbé wearing Ace’s actual jacket from his 10,000 Volts video.

Ironically, a few years earlier, I had been featured in Edge Magazine NJ for an art piece that ended up being titled Space Invader. The title wasn’t my choice, it was selected by someone on the magazine’s staff without the author’s consent. Tova Navarra, who wrote the article, wasn’t pleased about it, but I’ve always felt it was meant to be. Looking back now, it seems fitting, almost prophetic, that the piece shared a title with one of Ace’s songs.

“Spaced Man” by Ace Frehley. Digital rendering, circa 2000s.

A few of his favorite movies were The Wizard of Oz and Star Wars, and I hope that somewhere beyond the stars, he has found his Yellow Brick Road home.

I like to think the brush kept moving, just beyond the edge of where we can see.

Forever grateful for our friendship.

June 11, 2022, Ace Frehley performed at the Palladium Times Square in New York City. Shown here, backstage with Chantell Van Erbé.