The picture you saw last week, when the artist was supposed to live is not the same (albeit the same canvas) that one sees this week, after learning he is dead. Since that time, everyone will see the box that you saw this week. The box last week has died with him. This may sound too metaphysical. But it is not. Only the result of the gift-or the need we all have, of abstract thought. While the artist is alive, although the picture is clearly over, we see it as part of a work in progress, as part of an unfinished process. We call it: promising, disappointing and unexpected. When the artist dies, the box becomes a part of a definitive work. The artist did. Has left us. Change what we think or say about the picture. What I say will no longer directed to the artist, even absent an artist who presumably will never have the opportunity to address personally we think or say will be just for us. What comment will not be the unknown intentions of the artist, their possible confusion, their hopes, their ability to stop persuade, to change, what comment is the use we can give the work he has left behind. The artist died, we went through to be the protagonists.
In: A lucky man
