Revolutionary artists are a particularly unlucky lot, in that they typically die twice. First, a biological death, usually penniless and persecuted. Then, second time around, a slow methodical political assassination - wherein they are celebrated as a “creative genius and dreamer out of touch with reality”, appropriated into a “national treasure” and, of course, their creative output commoditized by media corporations into special edition albums, books, posters, coffee mugs and foundations.