The Myth of the Tortured Arteest

Now and again, I hear someone (usually a non-artist) respond to the mental health struggles of an artist by saying:

"Well that's probably what allowed him to make such great work."

I hear variations of it. "Suffering makes great art." "That pain is what made her an artist." "I think it's impossible to really understand light without going through darkness." 

It makes me angry, because these statements aren't just pithy philosophies. My friends are the artists we are talking about, and their suffering is real and personal—not a means of martyrdom for the entertainment of others. 

Artists were never meant to be consumed, crushed for the sake of culture. Paintings shouldn't be drawn in tears, poetry ought not be scrawled in blood, and the bodies of actors shouldn't be slain on the altar of our flat-screen. Yet that notion has become so normalized as to numb us from the horror of it.

The horror being the reality of how much more prevalent depression, anxiety, and suicide are for artists than for other people. 

Now I wish to be clear: for those in pain, art-making can provide a redemptive outlet that transforms their pain into something good. I am so grateful for this, and I've written about how art has proven essential throughout this pandemic and how it takes courage to create; I think it is good and right to observe with appreciation the good news that sometimes, with brave creators, suffering can produce beauty.

But this should not be conflated with the romanticization of artists' suffering as some inevitable enhancer of the creative gift. 

I don't think Chester Bennington needed to commit suicide. I think his death was a tragedy that was not inevitable. I think we had a responsibility to be praying for him as he shared his struggles with millions through his songs. I think the people around him had a responsibility to share meals with him, to encourage him as he gave up alcohol, to offer him childcare, to diminish the stresses of life on the road by spacing tour dates reasonably, to encourage him in his gifts and counsel him in his marriage—and I would see him happy and healthy and still alive today.

I zero in on one person because that's part of my point; talking about it all in stats and hypotheticals is how the myth of the tortured arteest gains power. It's much harder to look at Chester as a person, a whole life beyond Linkin Park, and to justify the flippancy of a comment like: 

"Well that's what made him a great artist."

Healthy people can make great art too. And I think that's what we should be aiming for. 

Artists are sensitive as part of their gift. I believe the Bible shows the role of the artist as one who can sense spiritual realities and translate them into physical ones; such a person would have to be sensitive, would have to be able to pick up on deeper good and evil than the average person by definition. I think mental health struggles are complex, but I also think it tracks that people with that kind of sensitivity are statistically more susceptible to those kinds of struggles.

Are we equipping them to deal with it? Are we helping them when they share about these challenges? Are we praying on their behalf and fighting battles for them in the spiritual realms that they might not know how to fight? 

Or are we just taking from them and letting them give voice to some of our inner pain?

Are we seeing them as fellow humans or as emotional conduits?

This is why I do my job. I want to see artists creating from a place of spiritual health. I want to pour into them as they pour their hearts out for all of us. 

And I pray that the myth of the tortured arteest can dissolve to reveal real people 

—and our real responsibilities to them.