So I’ve been thinking . . . about David Bowie and Alan Rickman, which led me to think about creativity. They both shared their unique gifts and talents with the world. Kind of feels like we got the best end of the deal, right?
I’m so grateful for what each created: Bowie and his music, his songs, his theater, and his films inspiring us over the years; Rickman and his wide range of talent, from evil bad, make-me-scared guy to sensitive romantic, make-me-cry guy to witty funny, make-me-laugh guy. There’s nothing more I can write about them that hasn’t already been said or will be said, so I will leave you with these thoughts.
About David Bowie . . .
Belgian theatre director Ivo van Hove, who worked with the singer on his Off-Broadway musical Lazarus, noted: “Bowie was still writing on his deathbed, I saw a man fighting. He fought like a lion and kept working like a lion through it all.”
Bowie’s producer Tony Visconti wrote: He always did what he wanted to do. And he wanted to do it his way and he wanted to do it the best way. His death was no different from his life – a work of Art. He made Blackstar for us, his parting gift. I knew for a year this was the way it would be. I wasn’t, however, prepared for it. He was an extraordinary man, full of love and life. He will always be with us. For now, it is appropriate to cry.
About Alan Rickman . . .
Emma Thompson noted: “What I remember most in this moment of painful leave-taking is his humour, intelligence, wisdom and kindness. His capacity to fell you with a look or lift you with a word. I couldn’t wait to see what he was going to do with his face next. . . . He was the ultimate ally. In life, art and politics. I trusted him absolutely. He was, above all things, a rare and unique human being and we shall not see his like again.”
And watch this, another gift from Alan Rickman.
I’ve been reading . . . Woman at Point Zero. I wanted to like it but it was disappointing. Am now reading two books: All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr (yes, finally) and, at the strong recommendation of my special niece G-girl, When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead.
I’ve been watching . . . The Newsroom. Just started watching this original HBO series and wow. Check out this clip, labeled as “most honest three minutes in television.” Hell, yeah.
This show makes you want to believe in real journalism and news integrity. I love the line in the second episode the Executive Producer says, “We’re not doing television, we’re doing the news.”
I’ve been listening to . . . James Morrison’s new album, and I will write in more depth about it next week. This week is all David Bowie.
I became a fan at a young age. But I never would’ve heard of David Bowie if it weren’t for my two brothers. (Thanks guys!) My oldest brother brought home an album of Bowie’s—I think it was Ziggy Stardust—and I thought, is this a woman or a man? At first, I made fun of him. Come on, I was only 7 or 8 years old. But then he was on Cher’s show and that sealed the deal for me.
He wasn’t like other musicians. He didn’t just sing and play an instrument. He was theater. He was an artist. He paved the way for being creatively free. And, on top of all that, his music was great. We cranked up the volume, played air guitars (with our tennis racquets) and air keyboards, and danced around in our basement to “Suffragette City,” not caring what we looked like. In that moment, it didn’t matter whether it was cool or not for my 15-year-old brother to hang out with his 8-year-old kid sister. We didn’t care—we just rocked out.
So, thank you David Bowie for the music, for great memories of jamming in my basement, for your artistry and innovation, for constantly creating, and for taking us to places beyond our imagination. You are a true artist and visionary, and your legacy lives on.
My heart goes out to his family, friends, and loved ones. The stars indeed look very different today . . . David Bowie (January 8, 1947 – January 10, 2016). Rest in peace.