Thursday, February 17, 2005

Why did they have to die? Warhol, Basquiat, Haring... Who's left?

What is it about art, that inspires the truth within us?
That evokes such emotion?
It ruins lives, destroys relationships, it even kills people.
It’s so dangerous
Like a love affair, it can turn on you and bite you right in the ass
True art lovers don’t buy art
They don’t linger on it, they don’t hang it on the wall and stare at for hours every day
It’s like time, it passes, but it still there
A trace still remains.
It never really disappears

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Love know no gender.