On mourning the passing of an artist

Today, I woke up to learn that Alan Rickman had just died of cancer. Just like when I heard Robin Williams had died, I checked several different news sources for confirmation before I would believe it, and when I finally did, I was breathless with the sense of loss.  To say I am terribly sad would be an understatement, but to admit that I feel a deep, gaping grief for a man I’ve never met and have only seen in movies and heard on the radio makes me feel a bit foolish, like I may have misplaced my sense of what is truly important in my life—and yet…

When we are moved by an artist’s work, that work (and therefore the artist) becomes a part of us, informing or reflecting how we personally see and experience the world.  To lose the artist is to lose a part of ourselves.

So maybe it’s not so foolish after all.