I was delighted last week to finally get my copy of the late playwrite Sarah Kane's complete work in the mail. Upon setting the small box in which the book came on the table, I promply grabbed scissors and tore into it. Even just looking at the cover I could tell that I was about to delve into a rather dark world, but I was excited to do so.

As soon as I read about Sarah Kane in a now forgotten article, I looked her up. Being the immense Virginia Woolf fan that I am (thank you Michael Cunningham), her story mesmerized me. A tortured genius almost, one that commits suicide only to have her work lie in that shadow forever. I've read articles about her by people that were close to her, and all of them say that her art is considered suicide art, and that people don't delve beneath that fact when reading her plays. She even said herself that she didn't really understand why her plays made everyone so sad, because, to her, if someone can make something beautiful out of sorrow, it gives her happiness.

Her art motivates me everyday. As soon as I ripped her book out of that cardboard, I tore into it. I read each and every one of her left behind masterpieces, let myself at first be surrounded by the darkness inherently in them first, but then delved the light equally as vital to them. If you have never heard if Sarah Kane, and have a love of art in any form, look her up. Read her work, read a about her work, and read some stuff about her. You won't regret it.