The art of dying

No, not me. Not yet anyway. I’m too busy trying to figure out how to find my “happy place”. I’m pretty sure the first step is to stop wallowing in self-pity. Anyway, more on that later. And in the meantime, I’ll be okay.

So, I came across this story written by a dying art critic named Peter Schjeldahl. I’d never heard of him but I found his insights and reflections quite interesting. Food for thought and putting things in perspective kind of stuff. It’s long but entertaining. Give it a read if you are so inclined.

Me? I’m going to shower up and go drown my sorrows. Such as they are.

4 thoughts on “The art of dying

  1. From the article:

    “Susan Sontag observed that when you have a disease people identify you with it.”

    So, I see the guy has the same hatred of commas that you do. And the editors of The New Yorker were asleep at the wheel as well!

  2. Progress, indeed.

    On to a more substantive comment about the essay:

    Definitely written by someone who has learned to write prose through journalism. The prose is tight and spare, and the imagery is evocative through the conservative use of well-chosen words. It’s got a nice flow to it, and the man’s sense of humor and his self-deprecation both shine through. Very artful. One thing the guy says can easily apply to me and my blogging life:

    “Educating yourself in public is painful, but the lessons stick.”

    The blog is where I let the world see what happens as I learn new things and repeatedly fuck up. Educating yourself in public is indeed painful. Every time I post pics of a culinary failure, for example, I feel this wisdom deeply. Words to live by.

  3. Kev, I’m glad you found the essay interesting. I don’t know why, but while I was reading it I thought of you. I was just going to email the link but then I decided “hell, I can get a post out of this.”

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