respect the dead like you would respect the living

privacy doesn’t stop mattering just because someone isn’t here to defend it

i’ll never forget where i was when prince died.

i was an 18-year-old senior in high school…freshly admitted to nyu tisch…with a horrific case of senioritis. i was sitting in the library avoiding my homework and scrolling through twitter (back when it was still called twitter and not x) when i saw the news:

PRINCE DEAD AT 57.

it felt like the world just…stopped.

i’ve got a lot of love for prince. my mom’s obsessed with him so growing up, i listened to a ton of his music and have audibly absorbed a solid amount of his catalog. so when he died…i (like so many people) felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.

throughout his life…prince protected his art like it was his firstborn child. it’s inspiring to me how much he really didn’t give a fuck how much it took for him to gain ownership of his creative work: he battled his record label for years to own his masters, wrote “slave” on his cheek in protest, and kept a literal vault of unreleased music that only he could access.

when it came to his art…the dude was not fucking around.

so when i found out he didn’t leave a will (or any clear instructions for how his music should be handled after he died) it honestly shocked me. like…how could someone who was so ferocious about protecting his work in life end up relinquishing all that control in death? it just felt so at odds with everything he stood for.

after prince died it was discovered that his vault held over 8,000 (!!!) unreleased songs…with no instructions on what to do with any of it. naturally…things got very messy and his estate descended into years of legal chaos. eventually…the rights to his catalog were split between his siblings, corporate entities, archivists, and advisors: some trying to do right by him, others (unfortunately) just trying to profit.

and suddenly…prince…this guy who spent his whole life making sure no one touched his art without permission…lost his grip on the autonomy he fought so hard to have. what a regression: the control he worked so hard to keep got handed off to the very systems he spent the majority of his life trying to outrun.

i just know prince was (and could still be tbh) looking down at all of that chaos from heaven, resisting the urge to come back as a ghost and haunt the motherfuckers toying with his shit without his consent.

it’s such crazy fucking work.

it’s so easy to invade someone’s inner artistic world once they’re gone, and i think it’s fucked how quickly people move to monetize, dissect, or publicly share unfinished creative work the deceased intentionally tried to keep sacred while they were alive.

i see it all the time: people publishing the private notebooks of dead authors, releasing posthumous albums, scrapped poems, rough sketches, etc…as if death automatically voids the right to privacy. when it comes to any kind of artist (famous or not) who passes away and leaves behind unfinished work, i still find it absolutely fucking bonkers that publishing it without consent from the original artist is something we’ve just…accepted without a second thought.

i want to be very clear: i think it’s a beautiful thing to honor someone’s art posthumously. not only that, but there is absolutely no denying that it’s a very meaningful way to grieve and mourn the loved ones we’ve lost…but only if it’s consensual. like…if an artist put it in their will how they wanted their art to be handled after they passed…or made an intentional request or there was a collective knowin while they were alive to have something preserved and/or publicly shared on their behalf…then yeah, that’s valid (and that should absolutely be honored). but if that wasn’t the case…and there was no consent in that department…i stand firm in the fact that the art, the journals, the unfinished work someone made while alive is not yours (or anyone’s) to publish.

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i’ve been journaling every year of my life since fall 2015. this fall will mark a decade of consistent journaling: ten years of private thoughts meant for my eyes…and my eyes only: emotional spirals…heartbreaks…epiphanies…shit-talking…manifesting…grieving…and any trials and tribulations a girl could go through from the ages of 17 to 27.

the idea of someone reading them without permission and publishing them without my consent makes me wanna throw hands! think about it like this: would you want anyones grubby fingerprints all your dirty laundry, personal notes, or unfinished art right now…while you’re alive? if the answer is no…why would that be any different once you’re gone?

what really fucks with me is how we normalize it under the guise of “honoring” the person who passed like we know forsure it’s what they would have wanted. but like i said (not to beat a dead horse) unless they explicitly said that was something they wanted…how would you know? like honestly! like don’t spill someones tea like that!

god damn…this is all so morbid! i’m being such a debbie downer here! these are just some scattered thoughts i have for today.

i just feel like it’s important to respect the boundaries of the dead in the same way you’d respect the boundaries of the living.

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