DEATH and art...

[grace divina s. calabroso]

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i'm just curious why most well known artists die a tragic death... u c when we took humanities subj. during college not too long ago, the lives of prominent artists and authors were highlighted...

some died tragically while others just vanished into oblivion...

... Do u think this has something to do with their passion for art which sometimes borders on emotionally stirring themes like death, etc?

[fingolfin]

......................Death is such a wonderful subject, nobody has ever answered quite yet what happens after you draw your last breath. Thousands of theories but still the only time you can answer it is when you die. Death is almost synonymous with mystery, so much of the artists and most genuises tackle that matter, trying to device answers and make their own interpretation and maybe some artists plan their own deaths, to make it sort of an art. .....................

[grace divina s. calabroso]

yep... or they do it so they actually get noticed and their works sell...
or for consistency just like socrates who would not retract his beliefs in the face of death, even if
he had the choice to live, in order to defend his truth...

as for me, kuya, i love the issue of death, (be it novel, tragic or so-so), almost the same as i do with life...
because just like the singular joy we have during send-off parties, swan concerts, or grad. exercises, it
assures me that life though it ends, wasn't lived that bad at all....

iyak man pud ko... (4 more info, ask po ate olive...) .

[grace divina s. calabroso]

maybe that's what keeps their obra best-sellers or masterpieces by mere beings like us, after all...

because we wonder how such works get so much attention and love from their makers...

leonardo da vinci was known for bringing the mona lisa wherever he went at such care and caution... he always kept it close and within range of his senses...

[gareb]

humans have this penchance for tragedy... we are drawn toward it yet we do not want to be*in* it. we look at it from a distance but we dare not touch it. we mill around tragedy and celebrate its sadness, shed a few tears even, but we do not want to stain our lives with it...

i think this is how many artists become great.

it is not a question of "why artists die a tragic death?" but rather "why we celebrate artists who die tragically?"

same is true with heroes and prominent personalities in history or in contemporary times. we see them as flowers nipped off their bud before they can actually bloom...

while neglecting, even seeing those who just fade away slowly, as mundane artists, not worthy of high praise...

there is drama in tragedy. there is rapture in a violent death... rapture that is too sweet not to be romanticized, but just that...

[Bigfoot Oracle]

"Death is just nature's way of saying 'Hello! Your not alive anymore!'" It so happened that artists who died and anyone who died got the same warm greeting.

It is appointed unto men once to die and after this...

[GlassMoon]

Always remember that death is not the end, but only a transition.

Death and art? They're Stevie Ray Vaughan, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Jaco Pastorius, Salvador Dali...all good artists dead at their prime.

[josephdc]

Vincent

Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.

Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of China blue.
Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.

For they could not love you,
But still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life, as lovers often do.
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you.

Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they're not listening still.
Perhaps they never will.

[Suzume]

nice song.

if u really come to think of it, a lot of people die tragically. we just don't know who they are. unlike those famous artists and authors who are very well known.

[abat]

the art of dying is the art in dying...


kill! kill!