‘No great genius has ever existed without a strain of madness.’
There is a fine line between trying to find meaning in a mental illness, and romanticising suffering. As an angsty, Tumblr-obsessed teenager trying to make sense of my internal pain I often crossed it. I would share Sylvia Plath poems and incorrect van Gogh quotes, feeling linked to these great artists through our shared emotional anguish. Their suffering is immortalised in popular legend, but the question is why? Why is artistic suffering perceived as necessary for true creative expression?
The process of creating art can be painstaking, and many artists torture themselves over perfecting each detail in their work, going without sleep for days, bleeding metaphorically and literally into their work. While there is crossover between this image and the image of the mentally ill artist, it is the latter I wish to focus on as the trope has made its way more perversely into broader media.
When we think of the ‘tortured artist’ trope we think of a creative yet misunderstood genius who lives on the edges of society. An outcast who experiences great mental turmoil, often relying on drugs and alcohol to numb their pain. These tortured artists are often undervalued during their lifetime and celebrated after their deaths. Perhaps that is why so many misunderstood creatives find themselves drawn to these artists: by relating to them we feel less alone in our struggles.
Research shows that mental illnesses often impede a person’s creativity, rather than enhancing it. Although the Karolinska Institute (2013) found that authors had an increased likelihood of having bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, unipolar depression, anxiety disorders, substance abuse and suicide, this correlation does not equate to causation. Many people diagnosed with mental illnesses find solace in expressing themselves through creative means. Perhaps there are so many artists with mental illnesses because of the therapeutic nature of creative endeavours. Despite this research, it is widely supported that decreased creativity is a common symptom of mental illness.
So why is it that people believe in the myth that mentally ill people are more creative than those who are neurotypical? And is this myth destructive?
There is nothing intrinsically beautiful about mental illness or suffering, yet there is the widespread misconception that they are beneficial to artistic expression. As a young writer contemplating seeking treatment for my mental health conditions, I struggled with the concept of an identity unburdened by mental illness. Would I still be able to channel strong emotions into my work which dealt with themes of pain, loss and longing? Would anyone want to read a poem free from these emotions? What else would I be able to write about?
For years I went untreated out of fear that I wouldn’t be able to continue making art with emotional value. I know many artists who feel the same way, as though seeking help would strip our art of what gave it additional depth and meaning. It is only years later that I realise how toxic this mindset is, to both artists and those with mental illnesses.
When I argue that mental illness does not enhance art, a common rebuttal is, ‘Could Edvard Munch have painted The Scream, or Sylvia Plath have written ‘Lady Lazarus’ without their personal struggles?’ But what makes these artists great is not their renderings of internal conflict but their ability to create emotionally evocative imagery that surpasses the generational divide. I will not deny the influence of mental illnesses on specific works of art. However, this has no correlation to their greatness. Their quality is in the artist’s ability to hone in on aspects of the human experience and explore certain emotions in a way that connects to the reader or viewer. This is what gives their artwork value, not the perceived ‘deepness’ of their negative emotional states.
Often, people romanticise self-destructive tendencies, seeing beauty in the desire to escape from reality. This spreads the misconception that an artist’s suffering is almost ‘worth it’ to create something tragically beautiful. It is dehumanising to suggest that a person’s mental illness is what allowed them to create groundbreaking art. It detracts from the artist’s years of practice and patience, and their pursuit of artistic endeavours. It is a destructive myth that suffering is necessary to create great art, but that is not to say that art cannot assist in processing painful experiences.
One example is Frida Kahlo. Many of Kahlo’s paintings were a result of experiencing tragic events, such as miscarriages and an accident which left her physically disabled, but these occurrences did not themselves add value to her artwork. Through her paintings Kahlo expressed her physical pain and emotional suffering: to claim that her art was purely about pain disregards her exploration of identity, postcolonialism and religion. Kahlo painted her own biography, which unfortunately contained an immense amount of physical suffering. If an artist is experiencing mental distress their art can be a physical manifestation and expression of those emotions but equally, if an artist is experiencing positive emotions these can be expressed through art as well.
Pain is not the only valuable emotion. Art is created out of a range of emotional states: happiness, confusion, curiosity, anger, love. The ‘tortured artist’ can transform their sadness into revolutionary works of art by creating beauty from their pain, but the pain and beauty should not be conflated. There is no intrinsic link between pain and the creation of great art; rather, artists suffering from mental illnesses can use art to express and cope with their mental and physical pain.
These so-called ‘tortured artists’ are able to create great art despite their suffering, not because of it.
Maddison Moore is a freelance writer and editor currently studying a Master of Publishing and Communications. She is passionate about social justice, body positivity, and mental health awareness.