The Tortured vs Joyous Artist - Krys Siguenza-Limin

When Lorde officially released her much awaited comeback, Solar Power, a good handful of her fans decided that she had lost her artistic touch during her time out of the spotlight. They couldn’t relate to her newfound cheeriness. One fan decided that her comeback was a cheap response to depression. They couldn’t accept her joy; it was almost as if they wanted her to be miserable forever. Works of art and literature codified into classical canon are often tragic, critical, or upsetting. The so-called “greatest love story ever told” is about two teenagers falling into a love so deep that it leads to their suicides. So, what’s the big idea? Why are we so obsessed with the suffering artist? Why are we so sure that art rooted in tragedy and agony is more worthy? Humans are not inherently miserable creatures; indeed we suffer, but our moments of joy have the potential to meet the moments of suffering measure for measure.

Joy and suffering are posed as a dichotomy. In this dichotomy, joy is ignorance and naivety. The joyful artist is content, and therefore stupid. On the other hand, the suffering artist’s work is never finished. They are never satisfied, and therefore always making progress.

As we grow older, the simple joys of childhood are replaced with the painful reality that life is not always fair, people are not always kind, and that good things come to an end. Suffering is tied in this way to maturity; it becomes a ticket to legitimacy. Critics then see the suffering artist as intelligent, aware, and therefore more worthy.

The truth is, Lorde’s Solar Power is a completely worthy piece of art. It’s a record of progress, a promise that depressive moods don’t always last forever. Though the joyful artist is seen as immature and naive, accepting joy and experiencing it in spite of the unfairness of the world is a form of resistance. The joyful artist isn’t just passively satisfied, they are actively happy.

When we calculate the worth of art, we often rely on critics, monetary value, and the quantity of fans. However, we often ignore the factor of individual feelings in response to work and personal enjoyment. A joyful romp of a movie may bring a smile to our faces, or a painful movie with a happy ending may bring tears to our eyes. Though we pit joy and suffering against each other, they work best in tandem because that is the reality of our lives. Art and literature that reflect an understanding of the world that is a balance between joy as resistance and suffering as inevitable are equally worthy to works produced by the tortured artist, which reflect tragedy alone.

So, if the dichotomy of suffering as active and mature; and joy as passive and naive is a false one, then why are we so drawn to the suffering artist? It is not because suffering is truly more mature or interesting, but because suffering is hidden in our regular lives. It exists as an elephant in the room. We may experience financial hardship, grief, depression and upset, but that is not what we perform in public and even some private spaces.

People expose their joys all the time, posting achievements and fun experiences to Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter, and even Facebook. Even if these moments aren’t always honest, most things that people choose to publicize are instances of celebration and happiness. You could look at my journal, read my poems, and suppose that I am the most miserable human on earth. But if you saw my Instagram, you would think me to be the happiest. Rarely do people showcase their sadness outside of intimate company, and even when they do, they pose it as humorous, allowing the veneer of joy to continue. Art rooted in suffering does not rely on this veneer. We experience this art as something we lack in real life: public intimacy, catharsis of pain, and the feeling that maybe we are not alone in our moments of silent sadness. The suffering artist exposes a part of themselves which most of us feel ashamed to reveal. They peel back the veil of joy, the expectation of eternal happiness as success, and reach out to the viewer. They invite us into the most intimate, emotionally raw parts of their psyche, and we choose to accept that invitation because we recognize that same depth of agony within ourselves.

by Krys Siguenza-Limin.