Art and Suicide

“The passion for destruction is also a creative passion.” ~Bakunin

True artists are a different breed. They don’t live conventional lives or think conventional thoughts. Their art is inseparable from who they are. Artists, like Robin Williams, have this unique ability to tap into the deepest abyss of the human condition and reveal it to the world. They live from within. They are mad; they have to be. Painters, writers, poets, sculptors and comedians all are. Williams was brilliant, but his art was dying. When an artist like him sees this happening and recognizes that their purpose, their creativity, their art, is dwindling, it’s the end. The final act. Some hang on miserably, or end up in mad houses, or cope with drugs, or, like Williams, grows unbearably weary from the daily rage against the dying of the light. But every man has his reasons for every act he does in his life. Even the last.

With all the outrage and criticisms of Williams’ suicide hurled from simpletons who lack the basic understanding of the complexity of the human being, I’m reminded of a short poem by Charles Bukowski:

Cause and Effect

the best often die by their own hand
just to get away,
and those left behind
can never quite understand
why anybody
would ever want to
get away
from
them

RIP Robin Williams

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