The Good Work of Death

Artists are almost always improperly appreciated in their own time. I am quite sure that exceptions can be found, but they are bound to be rare, given the fact that it is almost always necessary to let history stretch out behind a life before passing objective judgment upon it. Artists are particularly prone to the fallacy of being given either too much credit, or not enough, while they live and work. How many painters worked in obscurity, unaware that their real influence would only come after death? How many new and interesting artists become all the rage for a season, only to sink into obscurity and oblivion after they are gone? It is a constant curse of the arts that critics are so blinded by the present. Herman Melville, Emily Dickinson, Vincent Van Gogh - all lauded from the grave. Examples are legion.

Therefore, ironically, death is the ultimate freedom for art, for it is only after death that the worth and effect of an artist's work become measurable. Where too much has been made of a small creator, the applause dies down and the works are forgotten. They are relegated to a footnote of our common story to collect dust. They could not rise above faddism. Death closes the door upon an empty room; the curtain is lowered over a play of no substance. This is liberating, for the art and the artist are revealed, and death is unforgivingly honest.

It also sets free the truly exceptional from the bondage of a merely earthly existence. The artist dies, but her poetry, his paintings, the book lives on! Here it is not a door shutting upon an empty room, but rather a cage being opened wide; the life of the creator no longer limits the value of their own work. It is like the unfolding of a chrysalis, unknown to the one who has gone. This too is necessry, and just.

So the artist (the poet, the writer, the painter, the sculptor, the composer) ought always to welcome death; nothing of substance can be determined until he has come. Behold the coming of the pale horse - will we learn to welcome him? His verdict is inevitable.