Rethinking the Narrative of the Suffering Artist (Katherine Redlus)
Why do artists neglect their health? I believe the answer lays in an unexamined narrative we’ve been buying into — largely without question — for far too long.
We all know the trope of the suffering, starving, bohemian artist quietly chiseling away at their sculpture — misunderstood, isolated, and in pain. As a musician, writer, and someone with a challenging and complex upbringing, this particular artist mythology was near and dear to me until I had to let it go for my own sanity and health.
Historically, artists have had an intimate and very complex relationship with pain — and my own story is no exception. While my grandparents generously raised me and did their best to make me feel safe and loved, it was in the music community that I first felt truly accepted, acknowledged and valued. Suddenly, all of my personal pain was relevant — it helped to think more deeply about music and become a more expressive performer. My need to escape from family conflict undoubtedly drove me further into a creative, introverted lifestyle and yet it was this same conflict that made me deeply depressed, anxious, and inept at dealing with the pressures that would later come along with a life in the music industry. During my teens, this quickly evolved into a double-edged sword as I found myself battling depression, which I grappled to understand and cope with at a young age. Thankfully, a very observant and thoughtful music teacher intervened and led me to books on spirituality and mental-health, and taught me that depression was something I could cope with and learn from. This guidance led me to taking the first steps on a long healing journey through the world of traditional therapy and medical guidance, spirituality, mysticism, and meditation. Along this long and winding path, I’ve learned a few things that I hope help others bypass years of needless pain.
There is a very important distinction to be made between using your pain and letting your pain use you. While pain can be a powerful catalyst that pushes many towards the arts, using it as the primary source of inspiration to consistently put out great work can be a dangerous road to travel. This easily leads to allowing new pain and drama in your life in the name of “being an artist” and can unwittingly become a crutch that allows unhealthy habits to slowly take over your life, ultimately preventing you from creating. In a recent interview with Tim Ferriss, Amanda Palmer (the legendary musician and crowdfunding wizard) refers to this as the “fetishizing of pain”. [1] Forcing yourself to stay dysfunctional to make interesting work is like driving your car 80 mph with the emergency brake on — you can drive for a bit, but at what cost?
This narrative of suffering wreaks havoc on all of us at some point. Using pain and unhappiness as an artistic “badge of honor” can lead to you thinking that the pain you feel IS you. While pain might be a few chapters that makes up the story of your life — it is never the entire story. Buddhist and stoic philosophy both embrace this fundamental concept: there is a difference between pain and suffering, and the difference is largely due to our response. Studies prove time and time again that human beings act in accordance with what they believe about themselves to be true. We are determined to have a consistent identity and act in accordance with it. Do you believe you are alone? That no one loves you? You’ll keep creating and participating in situations that prove it. Your mind wants to be right, and it also wants to protect you — even if that means keeping you safe in an identity that is making you miserable. Far from being Law of Attraction mumbo-jumbo, this is simply a phenomenon that psychologist Gay Hendrick’s refers to as the “upper limit problem”. This behavior pattern leads someone who has achieved success into losing it immediately so that they feel “safe” in their old life. [2]
There is yet another human tendency which musicians and artists have happily adapted to meet their own needs: using your identity as an excuse for why your life is in disarray. “I can’t exercise, I have to work overtime”, “I can’t sleep, I have too many gigs”, and the list goes on and on in every profession and life situation under the sun. For years, my personal excuse was quite literally, “I don’t have time for this [therapy, exercise, sleep, healthy food], I have to practice!”. I had an underlying hope that somehow, if I ignored my hurt and pain, my future success would make up for all the negative emotion. What I discovered is that this is a losing battle that roughly equates to procrastinating your own happiness.
When I began working on myself as a young adult, there truly was a part of me that was afraid that if I felt better emotionally, I wouldn’t be a good performer. I now understand that pain and emotional scars fade, but never go away completely. Instead, through therapy and healing we can develop a healthier container to hold pain. It’s like having an ergonomic backpack to carry the same weight in a way that no longer destroys you physically. Going through therapy, reading authors like Dr. Wayne Dyer and Marianne Williamson and developing a spiritual community are all things that have allowed me to be a better artist and work with pain in a more sustainable way. It allowed me to use my experience to write lyrics, music and encourage others, rather than isolating myself for fear of what others might think of my family history. Because I have looked after myself and my own health and well-being, I can now extend my circle of concern to others.
I challenge you to consider whether the starving, suffering artist trope is serving artists, or the audiences that consume their work. Here is a new narrative that I invite you to embrace about yourself and other artists: we are alchemists of pain. We transform emotions, experiences, and fleeting moments into tangible acts of love. The beautiful, poetic truth is that within the context of art we are able to trade our pain for beauty. I believe that personal scars, pain, and loss can create depth of character if thoughtfully and thoroughly processed. I believe art is the closest thing humanity has to actual magic. As the magicians/alchemists/artists we are, we deserve to heal. We deserve healthy food, loving relationships, and a vibrant life in community with others. I believe this can be the future for all artists — now it’s time to act like we deserve it.
— Katherine Redlus
Katherine Redlus is a singer-songwriter, electro-acoustic harpist, and speaker.
1. https://tim.blog/2019/04/18/amanda-palmer-2/
2. Concept excerpted from The Big Leap, by Gay Hendricks https://www.amazon.com/Big-Leap-Conquer-Hidden-Level/dp/0061735361
