Sometimes I Think That We Need To Die First To Become Real Art
A friend of mine who recently passed away, whose wake I attended was a person who struggled quite a bit in life.
He quit his full time job as an air steward to pursue music full-time in New York.
I remember him telling me how New York was expensive as hell.
During the wake, his sister stood up to spoke.
She cried about how it was too late to say many things to him.
In particular, she said that she knew it was really hard for him in doing what he was doing.
This really hit home with me because I struggle a shitload as a writer. And most are always ready to tell me that I am crazy and that I should get a job or something.
It just kind of hit me then: Sometimes I think that we need to die first to become real art.
To be appreciated.
To be respected.
To be admired.
To be something which people can actually empathize with, finally.
To be realized as a proper human being.
It’s kind of ironic I guess. It’s sad too. But I guess that’s how it is.
That’s why so many famous art pieces actually become famous and expensive as hell only after the artist dies.
Do we need to die first?
Do we need death to realize how important being alive is?
Is death just a tool to make life an important commodity?
