It has been a busy week and I didn't really have a chance to rethink my feelings about the loss of great writer and painter, William Wharton, who died last week. Mainly because I - philosophically speaking - am not in peace with death. I find it a cruel solution and a huge joke that we come to this world for few decades and need to give it all up... the art, the beauty, the loves and friendships mainly is what bothers me - the art, the same art which is the ultimate solution, our big NO to the fact we need to go...
Wharton was my spiritual inspiration since...since highschool and 'Birdy'. I remember Cage playing in the film based on Wharton's novel. I remember Wharton arriving to Poland for the first time - and folling in love with the country - just as I was falling in love with his world (mainly based on his own experience and life philosophy), his actual lifestyle (leaving US, choosing alretnative ways of living, close to the nature, in peace with family and still charishing traditional values of work, family, home, etc). I remember gradually growing into his new novels...I remember the sensuality of 'Late Lovers' (one of the first books I actually enjoyed in Hungarian translation), tradedy of true story behind 'Wrognful Deaths' and the beauty of his paintings published in an album.
I cannot help but cry (yes, I am emotional, I have warned some of you) to see 'other' date at the beginning of his Wikipedia entry. I do not want to believe it. I study the photos of him and wonder - did he ever realise how he affected our lives?!
I could go on like this for ever bringing up all the moments of my life where his words actually mattered, but I'd rather conclude - with his words as well, with one of the wisest bit of dialogue (btw him and his daughter) I have ever read:
Kate: “What is love?”
William Wharton:“As far as I can tell, it is passion, admiration and respect. If you have two, you have enough. If you have all three, you don’t have to die to go to heaven.”
He did, and I'll miss him. Terribly.