She lived to critic the tragic of others while tragedy took a grip of her life.
A woman who was perceptive to and able to stand the horrors of societal events and her private arena. A woman who could be excited by the uncomfortable scenes of drugs and death with a mind of a sharp observer. A woman with diginity and elegance infront of the storms from the start to the end. The scene where she cut the brims of bread was subtly moving, where comforting things in life resided to be found in those daily details. Opposite of the musicians at her party, she was a reporter, journalist, critic with that typical objective, attentively detached personality yet maintaining sparks of talent of her own. Fierce, independent, scholarly temperament with a glamorous aura, and maybe even a bit otherworldly -
She brought personal reflection to the superficial side of magazines, and then gradually catharsis emerged in her writing. The desire to write started with a unconspicuous notebook, and while her success was culminated in writing for America's wild public changes, a return to narrating the events of her inner world was inevitable. Writing, as a form of making sense of one's psychological experiences, or as a form of commenting and excavating the outer, wider happenings.
The two became one and the same for her, or did they？
HD
