By | 5:28 PM 1 comment

This is my tribute to one of the best in my opinion black contemporary/neo-impressionist artist Jean-Michel Basquait. He died in the quentissential drug related death of an artist at 25 I believe, from what I know. He got his start in Newyork as a graphiti artist and moved onward to painting whatever came to mind, which reflects his inner and seemingly confused state of though. Many could pass him off as mentally disturbed from his art style or under the influence of the heroin that took his life, but I see him as a visionary. He defied everything and rivaled Warhol, who loved him dearly. He had a future, but gave it away for drugs. It makes me angry that such talent and time can be wasted and never return, only to leave behind the things that they did for others to look apon carelessly. It puzzles me entirely, almost to the point of madness to see that's how he wasted away, O.Ding on heroin. It would have been different if he died of natural causes or in a relatively tragic accident, but it just proves what you can do with your life is always in your own hands until something else takes it. Death is unweilding, and everyone is it's favorite. I wish he were still around so that maybe in my childlike sense, befriend him and ask him on his philosophies of the things around him. I'll never know him or what he was all about, nor his thought process. He only leaves behind puzzles that aren't meant to be solved.