Reductio ad absurdum

This is between you, me, and Schrödinger's cat. 
I am much trouble having with ideas, yes?

You respect an artist. 
That artist has died. 
You are melancholy. 
The art lives. 

During the lifetime of the artist, their presumption and creation are staggering, First, because you believe in it, and second, how could any one living soul make these things? Sounds, pictures, arrangements and movement, or otherwise. Once they are gone that art is still staggering, and yet now it is also immortal. It exists within you and will until you are gone, such is the nature and miracle of enduring creation. Perhaps the artist was unsavory; a drunk, a womanizer, a litterer, what have you. This may help or hinder your love of their creation, but odds are it does not destroy it. 
They are dead now, the art is immortal.
While living, perhaps the artist was clean. He or she just plucked along, creating and moving you, seemingly existing solely to endear you. You own them, in a way. They would never betray you. Then they died in a plane crash. They committed suicide. A freak bungee jumping accident, a prop backfire, or bear attack. The mode of departure matters only fleetingly, it will eventually crumble in the face of that eternal art. 
You have found out that artist was a monster. They died for it. 
Can the art be separated from the artist and appreciated freely still? Or does the vessel the art came to be remain of astounding importance? If hands that did terrible things, also created things you loved, can you still love it? Say you decide it's all nothing now; it's not the same, the message is muddled. 
And then pretend you were ignorant again, or had amnesia, and that art has its' meaning back again. So it stands alone then? Your opinion is what changed it, and your perception is undergoing the scrutiny, not the object.
Can you separate it from that who created it? Think if you had created something gorgeous. Could you bear to be separated from it, physically or philosophically? Might that not feel demonic? Like having your child stolen. Or could you reconcile yourself with respecting what came from a depraved soul?
A myriad of inexplicable nuances combine to move us and endear us to that painting, this composition, those passages. One of that number is how you personally feel about where it came from, if you know where it came from. 
But there are innumerable paths when grappling with these ideas. Too many. 
I feel silly now. 

'There is a difference between a shaky or out-of-focus photograph and a snapshot of clouds and fog banks.'