The Dark Side of Poetry: Suffering for your art
They say you have to suffer for your art. There seem to be at least three components to this belief– but before I get into analyzing them, let me point out that there is no evidence that suffering, or that suffering artists, create better art. And no, let’s not get into what makes art “good,” let alone “great…”
Anyway.
Thought #1: Suffering makes the artist better. This is essentially the belief that a person who hasn’t suffered in some significant way cannot create art that speaks to the hearts of others: that art created by such a person is invariably shallow, lacks impact, etc. Stated this way, it’s fairly absurd. There can be no one alive who hasn’t suffered some: so, how much is enough? How do you measure human misery? Who would presume to say that a Somali famine victim suffers more or less than a Japanese tsunami victim? (Speaking as someone who’s suffered far less than either.)
What we’re really talking about here, I think, is the capacity for empathy. One definition for empathy is
the action of understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to, and vicariously experiencing the feelings, thoughts, and experience of another of either the past or present without having the feelings, thoughts, and experience fully communicated in an objectively explicit manner; also : the capacity for this (Merriam-Webster online dictionary)
I believe empathy is at the core of both the desire and the ability to create art. However, the connection between empathy and artistic suffering isn’t so clear. Many people do become more empathic and compassionate after traumatic experiences. Some are simply deadened. Also, there are ways to develop empathic capacity other than by being hit by a truck. One important way is by experiencing the suffering of others– vicariously, through art, for instance.
Thought #2: Suffering makes the art better. This thinking declares that the worth of a piece of art, independent of the character of its creator, is increased by the blood, sweat and tears that went into it. I suspect this arises from a confusion of “suffering” with “effort.” Artists themselves are less inclined to this particular piece of conflation: while most artists speak of the act of creation as hard work, few would characterize it as suffering. Indeed, the language used by artists is reminiscent of that used by athletes: in the “zone,” in what Louisa May Alcott called the “divine afflatus,” the artist feels no pain. Carpal tunnel might come later, but it’s not part of the creative process.
But “effort” may not be a fair measure of the worth of a piece of art either. By any measure, writing is less effort than working in a plastic medium like stone or metal. Does that make it less worthwhile as art? Clearly that’s unfair. But even within a medium, it’s not clear that having worked harder at a piece necessarily makes it better. Some poems that I’ve written in flashes of inspiration and never revised still strike me as better than ones I’ve worked at and polished.
I’m not advocating a toss-off approach to writing; I’m actually a big advocate of editing and critiquing. But I resist the idea that if it’s easy, you’re doing it wrong. That’s a self-defeating approach to any craft.
Thought #3: Suffering defines the relationship of the artist to art. At least, the relationship of a serious artist. If you’re committed to your art, you should be prepared to give up your job, renounce all worldly wealth, and trash your relationships with family and friends. Art as Jealous God; the Muse as abusive partner. Uh huh.
Leaving aside the dysfunctional definition of “commitment” that’s at work here, this view of art is plain unrealistic. How many artists do you know who are actually making a living at it? Doesn’t starving to death kind of defeat the purpose, no matter how shabby the garret?
Nowadays fewer people, artists and otherwise, seem to buy into this myth-complex of the artist as a brooding, tormented loner. It really got started with the Romantics. They sure knew how to work an image. Hmm…
Thought #4: Advice from One Romantic to Another
They say you have to suffer for your art,
to make it great. You need to sob out loud,
to rip the vessels from the bleeding heart
they say you have. To suffer for your art
is de rigeur. So play the starving part
and milk the pity oozing from the crowd.
They say you have to suffer. For your art
to make it big, you need to sell it loud!
