Listening to Mac Miller’s posthumous album makes me think about the meaning that an artist’s work takes on after their death. I think it has something to do with the finality of death and how the artist can never make more art. What they have already made is what gets left behind. They can’t return to edit, obsess over, or make any more. They’re dead and gone, and therefore their art takes on an antique quality, like a limited edition baseball card that’s no longer in print.