Time and timelessness is a curious thing. On Sunday it is 50 years ago that Marilyn Monroe died. She has a long time ago entered the realm of myths and legends, so much that sometimes you kind of forget that she was a real breathing person. Even her sorrows and lows in her short life don't change that fact but even enhance her mythical status. I always find it slightly weird that my grandparents saw pictures of her in magazines and her pictures in the cinema when her movies was new and not-yet classics.
For a lifetime she has been gone, and most people just know the photos of the smiling blonde with the sexy walk at best. I have never thought that those studio-photos did her any justice. They were all too polished (my views are the same with today's over-retouched images) and never let her character shine through.
We will probably never know for sure whether her death was murder, accident, or suicide. However, I can't say that I don't understand her if it was the latter. No person can live up to a living legend-persona without problems at some point.
Last year (I think) a book with a collection of her diaries and notes was published, and fittingly called Fragments. The fragments until then had been the photos, films, biographies en masse, and other quite one-sided views about her. Now we had a small glimpse into her mind.
I guess we will always wonder what could have happened if a too-young artist had not died, the same goes for Jimi Hendrix, Amy Winehouse, James Dean, Boddy Holly, John Lennon etc. Would Marilyn have embraced her aging, become braver or more difficult, married, had children?
Could it have been possible for Marilyn to be happy?
From what we know, it seems like she was too fragile and that her life was a candle burning brighter than all the rest - and twice as fast.
Perhaps she knew in a way that her life would be rather short. The continiously growing collection of pictures of her is a rather startling contrast to her short career (I don't really think 14 years is that long). I keep seeing 'new' pictures of her. It is like they compensate for her non-physical appearance, like statues of godesses scattered around old empires.
I have always loved her Vogue-sitting from 1962 photographed by Bert Stern. Especially the images of her more contemplating looks. Her maturity and innocence is captured just perfectly here, and I find that a worthy way of remembering her. I hope that she agrees.