Yesterday I went to visit the trees outside Amy Winehouse's Flat, and what a strangely beautiful sight they are. A living organism, forever scarred now by human hand - how fitting a memorial.
I was half sorry to have missed all the flowers and infamous bottles of booze and fags etc, but just couldn't get it together to go whilst all that was there, it seemed too ghoulish in the extreme. People express their grief in different ways, but that has to be one of the most extraordinary and interesting of them, yet somehow oh so fitting. It defines in some strange and unexplainable way what her appeal was, I think.
I enjoyed the album Frank when it came out, and oh lord, that voice - you just knew she was headed for greatness and we were witnessing its entry, but it was still in the raw, at that point. We waited to see what would come next, could the next album live up to it? Then Back to Black was released into the world along with that outrageous beehive, world class voice, enigma the size of a planet and a body almost destroyed with drugs and tattoos. We knew a tainted goddess had arrived in to our lives and I personally fell in love with her.
I was half sorry to have missed all the flowers and infamous bottles of booze and fags etc, but just couldn't get it together to go whilst all that was there, it seemed too ghoulish in the extreme. People express their grief in different ways, but that has to be one of the most extraordinary and interesting of them, yet somehow oh so fitting. It defines in some strange and unexplainable way what her appeal was, I think.
I enjoyed the album Frank when it came out, and oh lord, that voice - you just knew she was headed for greatness and we were witnessing its entry, but it was still in the raw, at that point. We waited to see what would come next, could the next album live up to it? Then Back to Black was released into the world along with that outrageous beehive, world class voice, enigma the size of a planet and a body almost destroyed with drugs and tattoos. We knew a tainted goddess had arrived in to our lives and I personally fell in love with her.
Apart from being a fantastically accomplished album musically, it is a brutal and honest portrayal of a young woman's pain whilst in a destructive and disfunctional relationship, coupled with her hideous descent into drug and alcolhol addiction, and now, very sadly, what accompanies this masterpiece of an album is her 27 year old death.
Why are we SO fascinated by that?
Is it because most people are numb to their truest feelings and the pain in this kind of expression, whether it be poetry, art or music allows us access to a cavernous well of emotions one rarely, if ever, gets to feel? Or do we revel in it because we subconsciously feel smug that it isn't us, but it allows us to feel the pain in short manageable bursts, a bit like a mood changing drug? Why do we love to see, hear and feel the pain of loss in our favourite artists? There must be books written about this and I would love to know of any, as I'm also part of it. (Dearest Blog readers, If any of you reading this knows of any interesting essays on this subject, please let me know).
The graffitti on the trees outside her flat reminded me of her stick thin tattooed arms and legs. I half expected to see the name `Blake' on there, so reminiscent of her limbs were they. The majority of the messages though are written or scratched directly on to the trees with expressions of love, quotes from her songs sent back to her, and rather pointlessly often just the initials of the sender. Some are truly touching, some mundane, others banal, but all grievers have left a permanent mark onto a continuing living thing, as if to say her death will live on, and will be as much a part of her enigma now as her music. We know that will happen don't we, because we want our eternal icons..
A few days ago, three of the condolence covered Camden Square road signs were stolen. Having seen pictures of them beforehand, I can understand why they were. They became pieces of art, really quite beautiful. But but now the haunting empty space left behind is, somehow more so.
Why are we SO fascinated by that?
Is it because most people are numb to their truest feelings and the pain in this kind of expression, whether it be poetry, art or music allows us access to a cavernous well of emotions one rarely, if ever, gets to feel? Or do we revel in it because we subconsciously feel smug that it isn't us, but it allows us to feel the pain in short manageable bursts, a bit like a mood changing drug? Why do we love to see, hear and feel the pain of loss in our favourite artists? There must be books written about this and I would love to know of any, as I'm also part of it. (Dearest Blog readers, If any of you reading this knows of any interesting essays on this subject, please let me know).
The graffitti on the trees outside her flat reminded me of her stick thin tattooed arms and legs. I half expected to see the name `Blake' on there, so reminiscent of her limbs were they. The majority of the messages though are written or scratched directly on to the trees with expressions of love, quotes from her songs sent back to her, and rather pointlessly often just the initials of the sender. Some are truly touching, some mundane, others banal, but all grievers have left a permanent mark onto a continuing living thing, as if to say her death will live on, and will be as much a part of her enigma now as her music. We know that will happen don't we, because we want our eternal icons..
A few days ago, three of the condolence covered Camden Square road signs were stolen. Having seen pictures of them beforehand, I can understand why they were. They became pieces of art, really quite beautiful. But but now the haunting empty space left behind is, somehow more so.
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