Above another Whitney Houston obituary photo that may help express what I was getting at in the prior post: As in the Bodyguard poster, the singer has turned her face away from us, and has gone silent. She has pushed the microphone away. Her posture reveals the light behind her as she seems to search for light within. Her own internal silence may be interrupted and illuminated by our adulation, but our applause and our calls drive her further inward until she escapes them. For the performer, to fall into that chasm is the true motivation; the descent within must be the ever-receding destination of her career. The echo she brought from us grows faint as she departs from us, re-discovers concealment and impermeable solitude in our collective presence, but the sheer nudity of the stage forces her to share even the end of sharing. Yet the silence of the photograph is absolute. It suspends the beat and turns the volume to zero; translates performance into tableau, naked form; transforms narrative in time into a spatial coordination of infinite symbol. Today - that is, right now - that is, forever as ever - the death of the pop diva (Whitney Houston Superstar) is another crucifixion, her every song retroactively revealed as its rehearsal.
That was just her walking away from a performance, I caught a snippet of an interview she did recently, and she seemed much like her old self as ever, might have turned a corner on the way back, her relationship with Bobby Brown, was a serious detour.