No, you don’t need to suffer to produce art. That’s a misconception plenty of people have, and it’s a dangerous one. It prevents people from getting help, for one thing. But is it even true to begin with? 

I’m mentally ill. I’m mentally ill because I had a traumatic childhood, and as both a teenager and an adult, I’ve spent time in various psychiatric facilities. Part of that process is daily art therapy, and I suspect that in part, this is where the idea that you have to suffer to make good art comes from. But here’s the thing; while art is a good coping skill, it doesn’t mean that you can do it regularly, or well, when you’re in the throes of an episode. Learning to produce something you can publish while in the grips of untreated mental illness is next to impossible. It’s part of why my first book took eight years to finish, in fact. I started writing seriously during 2020, but at that point the psychosis of the previous year had passed, and I needed an anchor to keep me from slipping back. At that point, I also had a better support system, and many other coping skills besides writing, as well as medicine that works. Writing is a good coping skill, but it can’t be your only one, because if, for whatever reason, you no longer have it, then what are you going to do?  

The fact that mental illness is rampant among authors is something that scientists have studied, and it’s been found that we also have twice the suicide rate than the general population. Also, bipolar disorder was more associated with creative processes than you typically see in other forms of mental illness. Addiction is also a common struggle, and we can see time and again how that’s affected authors. I mean, look at Hemingway. And that’s the problem. Because we associate art with suffering, people who are both creative and suffering might be less inclined to seek help. It’s a common belief that medication stifles the creative process, but I know in my own case, medication has been a godsend. I can’t produce art when I’m in the throes of a depressive episode, and the writing I produce when manic isn’t usable without some heavy editing and revising. Medication gives me stability that, in conjunction with my coping skills, allows me to weather the bad times without succumbing the way Hemingway did, or winding up in the hospital again. But this pervasive belief that you have to suffer to produce art is claiming lives still.  

We can draw on suffering to fuel our art. In my experience, though, it only goes so far, and in certain places. What do you do when the climax is over and you’re writing the resolution? While some resolutions bring nothing but tragedy, that’s hardly every story. What do you do when you get to the end, but you’ve drawn on suffering so long that you don’t know how to write the happily ever after? Not to mention that art is far easier to produce when you’re in a better place. When everything is just darkness, things like motivation are hard to come by, and you find yourself conserving precious resources in order to survive. Telling people they must suffer to produce good art just winds up perpetuating this mindset as a result.  

Because of all this, the idea that suffering is necessary for art is claiming lives. And the lead up to those that complete suicide, or die a different death of despair, is rife with struggles that could be lessened if we allowed people to get help. Because the component to produce not just art, but consistent, quality art, is happiness. When people are happy, it’s easier to do things we enjoy. And I don’t know about you, but I enjoy writing and the other artistic pursuits I engage in. But I can only do those things when I’m feeling like myself. Because both depression and mania are notorious liars, and I don’t need them to create things others enjoy.