his was a life characterized by sadness and immense inner struggle, and it is what defeated him in the end. but within that sadness, between the bouts of fractured being, he created. he emoted in his brushstrokes, he found catharsis in color, and those together have endured far beyond his short life span. I don’t suffer in the same ways that he did, but I do hope that during my dances with sorrow, or whenever I find myself lost within my own identity, that I, too, will create as ardently as he did; that I will compose beauty from within the unharmonious ache, emptiness, or void. it is no secret I love his paintings, but I love so many of words, too. and perhaps the ones in which I find the most hopeful purpose in are these: “I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart.” //
