Until the End of Time: Why Your Prince Story Matters
- ecbalazs
- Nov 21
- 4 min read
Updated: 5 days ago
Until the end of time
I'll be there for you
—Prince, Adore, 1987
I wrote this post last week, before the heartbreaking news of Jellybean Johnson's passing. A cornerstone of the Minneapolis music community, Garry George "Jellybean" Johnson was not only an incredible musician, but also someone actively working to preserve Minnesota's musical legacy through his Minneapolis Sound Museum vision. We send our condolences to his family and loved ones, and to all in the community mourning him. His loss this week reminds us why this work matters: the living memory of Prince's era and community is precious and finite. We're losing the voices, stories, and contributions of those who lived it. This makes our collective work to preserve and honor these histories through stories, art and community all the more urgent.
A Chance Meeting Under Prince's Star
I met Lexx and Drae one Saturday night this September under Prince's star at First Ave. They'd left a Twins game early, I was waiting for my friends Becky and Jill to come out the club. The streets were empty in the balmy night. We soon got talking about Prince, and when I shared about the museum Lexx told me about her mom, who was so upset after Prince died and still gets teary now, years later, if anyone even mentions his name. I asked if she might share her story with me—Lexx told me she's too shy, but would ask. Days later, a beautiful story arrived through Lexx from her mom, Angela Adams, of Axton, Virginia. A glimpse:
I will never forget the moment my coworker stood up and said 'He's gone.' I immediately started to cry. Not just some tears but a deep cry of sadness. So much so that I had to step outside.
The Purple Handbag and the Purple Dress
Angela shares her story:
Purple was the color to wear after Prince's death. I went on to wear a purple Dooney & Bourke bag for months in his memory. For years after, I brought it back out on the anniversary of his passing.
This story spoke to me directly. When Prince died, I was in New York City, and was crying too hard to get on the subway to make it to Spike Lee's spontaneous block party. The next day I went shopping for a purple dress and searched the entire city—but there was no purple that season. When I finally found it, glimmering in Macy's formal wear, I wore it every day, in this fierce need to pay public tribute. I began to feel like my 5 year old goddaughter who wore her favorite princess dress for about a year, refusing to ever take it off—that same fierce, irrational devotion. I wanted to chalk Prince’s name and his symbol on every sidewalk, calling everyone to bear witness. I hid out in the dark cinema to weep through countless screenings of Purple Rain which was suddenly playing just days after his passing. I know I wasn't alone in these searing acts of grief-struck tribute.
Angela writes:
The mere mention of Prince or if I simply glance at a picture of him, I am torn up and tears are flowing like I am receiving the news of his death again.
These stories matter. Your story matters.
December Workshops: Share Your Prince Story
We're offering free online workshops this December. We know not everyone feels confident about sharing a personal story. These workshops offer community support for the creative process—a space to explore, share, and create together. We hope it will offer inspiration. Everyone is welcome.
📅 Sunday, December 7, 4-5:30pm CST
📅 Thursday, December 11, 6:30-8pm CST
If you're interested but can't make it, we hope to offer more in 2026.
Information and registration here:
Why We're Creating This Museum
Official archives preserve Prince's music, performances, and achievements. But they can't capture the full story of why Prince mattered so profoundly to millions of people around the world.
The People's Museum for Prince flips the traditional artist museum on its head. Instead of centering the artist, we center the audience—because Prince himself knew that's where the real story lives. Anyone who saw him perform or followed his career understands: the connection between Prince and his audience was reciprocal, electric, essential.
Now Prince is gone, but we are still here—people who saw him perform or followed his life or simply loved his music. People who knew and worked with him. We acknowledge too, so many people who loved Prince are no longer with us, making these living memories and this work even more precious. Our individual and collective experience of Prince matters.
We're building a collective portrait of Prince through the hearts of the people who loved him, through personal stories and art. Your lived experience becomes part of the historical record—not as a supplement to official archives, but as vital testimony that tells truths official narratives cannot.
A photo arrives
I asked Lexx if Angela might share an image to accompany her story. She said she’s working on getting us one of the purple handbag—ideally with her mom wearing it! Right before I posted this, she sent this lovely portrait. Thank you, Lexx and Angela-we look forward to sharing your story in full in the museum.
Angela’s story concludes:
Perhaps it was his empathy, his spirituality, or the way his music uplifted others. Whatever the reason, the 'Prince effect' was and is real. I still grieve him as if I lost someone close.
Can you relate?
We’d love to hear your story and see your artwork. I hope you’ll consider participating in the museum. Please share with anyone you know who might have a Prince story.
For all time, I am with you
You are with me
You are with me
-Prince, Adore, 1987.
(One of Angela’s favourite songs).
💜 Emma
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