Not That You Can Choose These Things
Robert Krulwich has an interesting piece on his blog Krulwich Wonders (via NPR) comparing the death of two artists, David Wojnarowicz and Theodore Gericault, both who died young, the former of AIDS, the latter of some wasting disease, most likely Tuberculosis, "the AIDS of that day ".
I find the piece very sad and very moving, but there was something that struck me as...I don't know...unkind...erm...or at least judgemental on Krulwich's part. He feels for Wojnarowicz but the ending of the piece rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it's that "the unlucky one" comment.
Death and dying isn't about luck, and if it's a matter of still being creative on one's deathbed, of being ABLE to be creative on one's deathbed (Krulwich talks about how Gerricault was still painting up until he died) then David was being creative: he was keeping his diary, he was leaving his mark on the world up until the end. IDK.