*Fun* Disclaimer: This is not your average blog tour.
Instead of the traditional interview, review, or guest post, Soho Teen has asked over 50 bloggers to get in the spirit of The Unfinished Life of Addison Stone, a docu-novel that tries to get to the bottom of who Addison Stone really was. It's quite obvious that we all don't really know her - that's probably because she doesn't actually exist - but that doesn't mean we can't have fun pretending, right?
by Adele Griffin
Release date: August 12th, 2014
Published by: Soho Teen
Genre: Young Adult Contemporary Drama
Format: Hardback, eBook
Format read: ARC from publisher.
SUMMARY
National Book Award-finalist Adele Griffin tells the fully illustrated story of a brilliant young artist, her mysterious death, and the fandom that won't let her go.
From the moment she stepped foot in NYC, Addison Stone’s subversive street art made her someone to watch, and her violent drowning left her fans and critics craving to know more. I conducted interviews with those who knew her best — including close friends, family, teachers, mentors, art dealers, boyfriends, and critics — and retraced the tumultuous path of Addison's life.
I hope I can shed new light on what really happened the night of July 28.
—Adele Griffin
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| Addison Stone speaking with Max Berger at the Joaquin Capa exhibit, courtesy of Kate Volkmann. |
MY TRIBUTE TO Addison Stone
I was sitting in the studio, trying to get my work situated. Looking for inspiration, trying to draw some motivation, setting up takes time. The room was being loaned to me until the next big thing was found. I was told that Addison Stone was the last person to use it. I didn't think anything of it, at first. Of course I knew of her, how could you not. I was in the middle of cleaning out some shelves when I found some 8 by 12 pencil sketches, they were blurred and crossed out in frustration.
"Those are mine."
I look up, and there's the owner of the most softest throaty voice I have ever heard. However, the girl looked sad and completely drained. I had no idea what was holding that poor girl together, she looked like she was about to crumble over and fall to the floor. I placed all of the sketches on the table and she stepped up and spread them out. We stood there for about 20 minutes. She staring at her sketches. Me staring at her. I had never seen someone not move, barely breathe, but yet, you can feel how alive she was and see all of these emotions stringing through her like a freight train. I wanted to reach out to her, find out who she was, what she was so scared of, what was holding her back. The girl looked like she could use a good meal, some sleep... but more than that, she looked like she needed to scream everything out of her system. She looked so small, and yet, her presence was more than the room can contain.
Eventually she picked up the sketches, and threw them in the metal bin. She then started tearing up the place, pulling out other pieces from hidden places, adding them to the pile. She then squirted some turpentine all over it and then tossed in a lighter. I was frozen in place, I did not want to cross the path that she was wildly walking on. Even when she looked me in the eye and said, "I was never here."
My heart ached for her when I heard of her passing just a few weeks after witnessing some of her madness. Her sadness and my guilt for not trying to reach out to her will live in me forever.
I'm working in a different studio now. I've been inspired...
"Those are mine."
I look up, and there's the owner of the most softest throaty voice I have ever heard. However, the girl looked sad and completely drained. I had no idea what was holding that poor girl together, she looked like she was about to crumble over and fall to the floor. I placed all of the sketches on the table and she stepped up and spread them out. We stood there for about 20 minutes. She staring at her sketches. Me staring at her. I had never seen someone not move, barely breathe, but yet, you can feel how alive she was and see all of these emotions stringing through her like a freight train. I wanted to reach out to her, find out who she was, what she was so scared of, what was holding her back. The girl looked like she could use a good meal, some sleep... but more than that, she looked like she needed to scream everything out of her system. She looked so small, and yet, her presence was more than the room can contain.
Eventually she picked up the sketches, and threw them in the metal bin. She then started tearing up the place, pulling out other pieces from hidden places, adding them to the pile. She then squirted some turpentine all over it and then tossed in a lighter. I was frozen in place, I did not want to cross the path that she was wildly walking on. Even when she looked me in the eye and said, "I was never here."
My heart ached for her when I heard of her passing just a few weeks after witnessing some of her madness. Her sadness and my guilt for not trying to reach out to her will live in me forever.
I'm working in a different studio now. I've been inspired...
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| Addison Stone's artwork. |
ABOUT THE AUTHOR - Adele Griffin
Wow, sounds compelling!
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