Van Gogh. Silvia Plath. Virginia Woolf. Kurt Cobain. These renowned artists and writers are widely known not just for their remarkable works, but also the mental illnesses they suffered from, which eventually led to their demise. These gifted yet tragic figures have inspired many fictional “crazy genius” type of characters, from the troubled actor Riggan in Birdman to the mad ballerina Nina in Black Swan.
The notion of the “tortured artist” seems to have been around since, well, forever. In as early as Plato’s time, he described poets as having a passionate and fitful temper, such that they can’t attain happiness and virtue (which can only be found through calmness and reason). The trope of the “starving artist”, who gives up material well-being for creating art, was also seen in the Romantic era in the 18th and 19th century. Today, many films and novels associate artists (and indeed, creativity) with poverty, substance abuse, and mental illness; good art, we feel, must be produced through great physical or psychological suffering.
This association is not completely unreasonable. Creativity does have a neurological basis, and some scientists claim there is a link between a “creative” personality and mental disorders like schizophrenia. But the catch to these findings is that the creative field may simply be more appealing to those with mental disorders. Also, it’s almost impossible to tease out environmental influences that trigger a mental illness, from genetic factors that predispose someone to it.
Still, to some extent, this representation of artists can be inspiring: it shows us that failures or misfortunes are not the end of life, and that something beautiful can be created out of even the most despairing adversities.
What’s the problem with “the suffering artist”?
However, more often than not, the suffering artist portrayed in the media is a troubling stereotype that glosses over the realities of the creative field. Firstly, romanticising issues like financial instability and mental disorders causes us to overlook the pain that the artist actually experiences, outside of the art itself. Whereas in other jobs and areas of life, problems like illnesses and poverty are treated with seriousness and as top priority, when it comes to artists, such problems are less likely to be perceived as urgent — if they need to be addressed at all. Continuously labelling the artistic community as disturbed and suffering, leads to the normalisation of mental health problems and unhealthy behaviours; the notion that artists “should” be miserable, when in reality they are no less of a victim of, say, mental disorders, deprives the artists of the support they could have gotten had they worked in “normal” jobs that ensured their well-being.
What’s more, this romantic ideal of the suffering artist is commonly celebrated by society, which results in the damaging assumption among the general public that, unless artists go through some kind of trauma, they wouldn’t be able to make good art. At times, we may even find ourselves suspicious of an artist who doesn’t suffer in life: what materials could they possibly have to work with?
But this assumption is not exactly true. Johann Sebastian Bach, for example, led a relatively happy life, studying music from a young age, gaining recognition as a local musician in his early 20s and continuing to work in music until the age of 75. History records no major disaster in Bach’s life, yet this uneventfulness does not undermine the tremendous artistic value of his works. We still find enjoyment and meaning from his compositions, even if they were not borne from tragic suffering. Conversely, having physical or mental illnesses pose great difficulties for the artist to produce the work.
More dangerously, though, praising an artist’s work based on their personal suffering might discourage those who are actually struggling from seeking help, for fear of losing this supposed “creative edge”; or worse, it can encourage harmful behaviours such as drug abuse or alcoholism in artists, who want to seek inspiration from the process of “suffering”. In places where the artistic community is already marginalised, this stereotype of the suffering artist distracts people from addressing real, underlying social problems like artists being underpaid, undervalued, or unsupported by the state.
Can artists create without suffering?
Ultimately, art is labour. Although artists can be inspired by abstract feelings that arise from traumatic events, they still need to engage in the process of turning inspiration into art — a process for which their health plays a key role. Perhaps such is the way to reconcile our attraction towards art that is inspired by trauma, with our innate need for happiness. I still remember what actor and songwriter Lin-Manuel Miranda said, in a 2019 interview on Conan O’Brien’s podcast:
“I think that [there’re] two different things: there is accessing what you need to access to create your work, and that can come from the saddest part of you, the angriest part of you; and then there’s the working conditions under which you’re creating this work… you can access that in a safe way if you’re writing about it — you can go there emotionally, you can figure out what it feels like, and then write it down. I think where a lot of artists get confused, they think that they’d have to literally suffer… We don’t have to kill ourselves and each other to make great art like we can.”
It’s an admirable quality of human beings to create art out of suffering, but it’s problematic to assume that art and suffering cannot exist without each other. There are many people who have produced great art in a healthy state of mind, as there are people who go through hardship without making any art out of it. With persistent training and an ever curious soul, we can find inspiration in both extraordinary and mundane events. The artist doesn’t need to suffer.