~jean michel basquiat ©
i did not know what art was until i found this. him, this, that.
he succumbed to drugs, he died, and i hate him for this.
but as we all know, legends did drugs, and died because of them. not only by overdoses, but because the drugs made them feel so unworthy of anything that they wanted to kill themselves, or just "burn out". to name a few, basquiat, charlie parker, edie sedgwick, janis joplin, jimi hendrix, kurt cobain, marilyn monroe, sid vicious, billie holiday, river phoenix, heath ledger... just to name a few.
this is the idea that many drug addicts who are aspiring artists of all kinds hold onto. this is their M.O. cobain did it, he's still a star, why can't i? or the drugs are my inspiration, without them i couldn't do this. at one point, it was what i held onto, until the drugs themselves contributed to me losing my talent, and even more, almost losing my life.
to this day i will admire the legends for their talent. but, as i once praised them for being able to shed out such beauty through drugs, i will no longer do so. drugs will break you, not make you. and that is why every one of them is no longer here on this earth creating their masterpieces. whether they be art, music, film, or literature.
i look at his paintings now and, where i was once only captivated by them, i am now captivated yet disappointed. disappointed in the life behind the talent. in the emotion behind the color, in the brush strokes.
but don't get me wrong, he is, and always will be my favorite person, period. there was more to him than the drugs, but they took over. they took over every single one of the people i named. that's the fucked up part of it all.
i want drugs to disappear. i yearn for them not to exist.