The Myth (And Truth) of the Tortured Artist
When I was a baby bipolar, not yet diagnosed and a chaos of emotional swings and creativity, my parents told me that I had an “artistic personality.” In a lot of ways, this was — and still is — true. I wasn’t particularly good at math, I enjoyed writing and art and music (we don’t have to talk about my attempts at theater and the brief time I did commercials as a kid), and didn’t quite fit in with the other kids.
It was a common story that I’ve found a lot of artists experience. We’re drawn to art from a young age, whether that’s splatter painting and poetry or squeaking away on a violin or creating “inventions” out of cardboard.
A quick look at successful artists from history and modern times show an interesting trend — mental illness, or at the very least an overabundance of emotion and introspection that leads either to inspiration or melancholy (or both!). Vincent Van Gogh is one of the most famous examples, with scholars and fans regularly coming up with new theories about what, exactly, was “wrong” with him. Whether it was epilepsy or lead poisoning from eating paints (possibly a symptom of pica due to malnutrition), artists and non-artists alike are fascinated by his tragically young death and the massive portfolio of works he produced in only a few years.
Beyond Van Gogh, there are other curious figures: William Blake was said to have vivid spiritual visions, Hans Christian Andersen suffered from extreme social anxiety and depression, and authors like Ernest Hemingway, Virginia Woolf, and Sylvia Plath struggled with their mental health all the way up until they took their own lives.
There is unquestionably a link between emotional disturbance and creativity. It makes sense — who better to create art than the people who need an outlet in order to anchor themselves? We see it today as well, with actors like Robin Williams, Catherine Zeta Jones, Selena Gomez, Britney Spears, and Carrie Fisher sharing their bipolar diagnosis and how it has affected their careers.
But here’s the question: is it correlation or causation? Do we hone in on the artists who have mental illness because their experience is interesting and gives more meaning to the work they produce? Or is a difference in neurology the direct cause of artistic talent?
The verdict is still out as scientists continue to learn about the genetic and environmental factors that play into mental illness (particularly diseases like bipolar disorder and schizophrenia). There’s some evidence that suggests that having a psychiatric or neurological condition connects to creative ability and interest in various forms of art — sometimes as an outlet, but also because those people experience the world differently. Bipolar mania, for example, can make colors brighter, sounds more vivid, and other sensory input exaggerated in a way that can lend itself well to the creation of art or writing or music. Depression, meanwhile, often leads people to become more introspective, their world simplifying down into existential questions and thinking that serve as beautiful inspiration for poetry and songwriting — or even stand up comedy.
My own theory is that mental illness can inspire art, but it does not always inspire art. And likewise, not all artists have a mental illness. Sure, plenty do, enough that we can’t fully dismiss the possibility that having bipolar, or ADHD, or anxiety, or other neurological differences can cause a person to be more artistically inclined. But the danger lies in the expectation. Telling a young person who is struggling with their mental health that their art is dependent on their struggle is a perfect way of encouraging them not to comply with treatment. It’s a measurable fact that individuals with bipolar often go off their medications because their emotions feel muted, or they feel unable to access the inspiration they felt while they were manic.
The most poignant way of highlighting the danger of the “tortured artist” stereotype is to look at the different outcomes. Those who pursue treatment and stick with it, who have a support system of friends and family and healthcare providers who encourage them, often manage to build a foundation for an enriching life — while still creating art. Even with medication and therapy and careful self-management, they’re able to balance stability with a more sustainable creativity that isn’t fueled by manic highs or depressive lows.
Maybe mental illness has produced some of the most talented, prolific artists throughout history. We talk about genius burning bright but for a short time, that people like Kurt Cobain are destined to create brilliant work but burn out quickly. Maybe it’s true. Maybe being an artist comes with a higher risk of inner turmoil along with a deeper understanding of art and emotion. But maybe it doesn’t have to be that way. If we lose this idea that mental illness is a requirement for a person to become a master of their craft and instead provide them with the support, compassion, and resources they need to survive, perhaps we’d see a generation of artists who draw inspiration from their unique experience — while also finding satisfaction, stability, and fulfillment in their personal lives.
