Grief

[la_samtyr]

Why we grieve artists we’ve never met, in one tweet

Updated by Caroline Framke on January 12, 2016, 1:50 p.m. ET @carolineframke caroline.framke@vox.com

(found on fb; link at end of article)

David Bowie is dead, and millions of people are mourning.

Any time a revered person dies, the established stages of grief seem to launch into hyperdrive. The second the news drops, final and cutting to the quick, the ripples start to spread. Soon enough, the grief feels magnified, becoming an ever-complicated web of shifting memory, gutted despair, muddled controversy over their worth, stark regret. Maybe there will even be some joy.

But as the deceased begins to settle into the past tense, a couple of questions remain: Why did this person matter so much? How hard are we allowed to grieve, if we're just one among so many?

When I realized Bowie had died, I reached out to the two people I know who loved him most: my college friend M, and my father. They couldn't be more different from each other, but they both love Bowie. "Diamond Dogs" made my dad realize there was life outside the confines of his small Ohio hometown; the video for "Boys Keep Swinging" showed M how to turn gender into art, inspiring her to explore the world of drag. Bowie's relentless commitment to his own space oddity opened their minds, blew them apart, and put them back together again as something a little different. A little shinier, maybe.

When I asked M how she was doing, she responded with a flurry of confused texts: "I don't know," "I just couldn't stop crying," "am just gutted." Then, a little sheepish: "I am more upset than I should be about a celebrity death?"

I immediately told her she could mourn however she wanted, but I didn't quite have the words to convey why — until I saw this tweet:

Juliette @ElusiveJ

Thinking about how we mourn artists we've never met. We don't cry because we knew them, we cry because they helped us know ourselves.
9:19 AM - 11 Jan 2016 (Italics mine)

And that's it. That's it, completely.

Great artists give voice to both the huge emotions that threaten to consume you and the fuzzy ones lying in wait in your periphery, indistinct but just as urgent. Great artists reach into their own hearts, brains, and guts to wrench out what's most vital and hold it out for you to grasp. Then you can decide what — if anything — it means for you.

After Bowie's death, as I scrolled through my Facebook and Twitter feeds (where so many now go to mourn), I saw hundreds of posts dedicated to the Starman, to Ziggy Stardust, to the Thin White Duke. No two tributes were the same.

Even if multiple people posted about the same song, their reason for doing so varied wildly. My friends and celebrities alike talked about how Bowie expanded their horizons and made them feel less alone. They talked about how he created a thrilling, limitless universe they could visit on demand, within the comfort of their headphones. They talked about how much he meant to them — how much he helped them know themselves.

Grieving en masse might intensify the initial reaction, but every single response to a public figure's death is an individual one. We all experience art from our own singular place. That's true whether you're hearing the fierce zip of Bowie's "Rebel Rebel" for the first time, feeling an ecstatic jolt during the chorus of Michael Jackson's "Thriller," clutching your face to keep from smiling too hard at Robin Williams's performance in The Birdcage, giving in to the chills inspired by Heath Ledger's smile in 10 Things I Hate About You, or closing your eyes and letting the smoke of Amy Winehouse's voice curl around you and squeeze, just a little too hard.

Or maybe you don't quite recognize any of these experiences. After all, they're mine. In these moments, I learned a little bit more about myself thanks to people I never met and never knew beyond the art they presented to the world. But I'm still grateful they passed through my solar system, even if their orbits were worlds away — and so, I suspect, are you.
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http://www.vox.com /2016/1/12/10755600/ celebrity-death-grief?utm_medium=social&utm_source=facebook&utm_campaign=voxdotcom&utm_content=tuesday

Comments

[perkyandproud.livejournal.com]

Thank you. This was very timely as I have just learned of Alan Rickman's passing as well :(

*hugs you*

[elfscribe5.livejournal.com]

Thinking about how we mourn artists we've never met. We don't cry because we knew them, we cry because they helped us know ourselves.
How very wise. Yes. Thank you for this lovely essay. Really spoke to me.

[cairistiona7.livejournal.com]

Those are very wise and true words. David Bowie's death didn't impact me quite as much because I've never really liked his music--I appreciated his contribution to music but didn't feel any connection to it myself. So for me that tweet applies more with Alan Rickman's death, which *did* impact me, and pretty doggone hard at that. I guess my own sorrow for artists largely comes from the loss of all the wonderful things that might have been made in the future that now won't be. It's a similar sorrow I feel at the end of an amazing book. The last page has turned, the cover closed. Sometimes I'll cry about that even if the ending of the story is a happy one. I do find tremendous comfort in knowing that I can always re-read the book... and re-watch the performances and re-listen to the music... as many times as I want, and it will, in no small measure, keep the artist alive.

[keiliss.livejournal.com]

Yes, that sums it up really well. Thanks for posting this.

[kenazfiction.livejournal.com]

Thanks for posting this.