It’s official. Death in Cruel Summer 2009 has ravaged every demographic and generation. If you’re like me, and your interest fields overlap, it’s been pretty merciless on you too. Dash Snow, artist and Downtown legend, died on Monday night in New York of a drug overdose. He was 27.
WORDS: ADELE AUSTIN
I can’t give you an outline of his life and artwork and pass off a pretentious assumption that I knew him and what he was all about, because I didn’t, but he was fascinating and an intriguing expressionist at the very least. There’s a lot you can say about someone who has succeeded self-afflicted homelessness, dabbed in violence, survived prison stints, and police chases down L.A.’s 101. All while building up an art resume that documents an unfiltered look into the Downtown NYC art scene from photography, to collages, and before that, graffiti. He gave his parents the biggest flipoff by breaking loose of his wealthy roots, and living on his own at 14. But what about the Polaroids? Those infamous Polaroids? He didn’t innovate the idea of taking candids with Polaroids at night, but damn it was he good at it - and not in a selfish ‘look at all this cool shit I do’ way, but as a legit mean of remembering where he had been the night before. Then came the notorious Fuck The Police series, where authority-hatred was newspaper extracts plastered in semen. Basically, Dash Snow was the fucking MAN:
Dave Schubert
