(no subject)
I have this little book of a few hundred artists in alphabetical order, that shows an example of a work on each page along with some contextual information and a blurb about the artist. It's a fantastic book. But for some reason I keep fixating on the deaths of the artists. That's one of the most intriguing parts to me. Suicide, car crash, pancreatic cancer, the plague, at sea.
I think it's because details like how they died really ground these people in reality for me. They're not just concepts, they're actual humans who lived, and loved, and died. And grieved, and were mourned.
I'm very fixated on death in general lately. It's invigorating because I think death is going to be one of my main artistic motivators in life. Creation, destruction, creation, destruction.
What can one really expect, though, when introduced to death at such a young age? It's bound to make an impact. I think that has a lot to do with my huge interest in true crime and the evil in people.
I watched Capote yesterday, in a related matter. Excellent, excellent movie. He died four months to the day after I was born. It made me want to read, and reread, a lot of books. I wish I could split myself off into a hundred people, otherwise I'll never have the time to do everything I want to do. The days for me feel like being in a room with a strobe light, so every glimpse I get of my surroundings is manic and frenzied and blinks out in an instant only to be replaced with something completely different. It's difficult to get my bearings.
I think it's because details like how they died really ground these people in reality for me. They're not just concepts, they're actual humans who lived, and loved, and died. And grieved, and were mourned.
I'm very fixated on death in general lately. It's invigorating because I think death is going to be one of my main artistic motivators in life. Creation, destruction, creation, destruction.
What can one really expect, though, when introduced to death at such a young age? It's bound to make an impact. I think that has a lot to do with my huge interest in true crime and the evil in people.
I watched Capote yesterday, in a related matter. Excellent, excellent movie. He died four months to the day after I was born. It made me want to read, and reread, a lot of books. I wish I could split myself off into a hundred people, otherwise I'll never have the time to do everything I want to do. The days for me feel like being in a room with a strobe light, so every glimpse I get of my surroundings is manic and frenzied and blinks out in an instant only to be replaced with something completely different. It's difficult to get my bearings.