I’m no longer satisfied by the explanation that there is no correlation between great art and great pain. I think that Vincent Van Gogh deserved to feel better and to be happy, and I think that he would have gone on to create many more beautiful paintings. But I take comfort in the idea that his art was about survival, that every beautiful thing he created was an affirmative commentary on the question, “Why live?”
The world hurts so goddamn much and I am so sorry. I don’t think pain makes artists great and I think that great artists got that way because they worked for it, but when I say that I mean they wrestled for the things they bring to light in their art, grabbing on tight to the miraculousness of light and sunflowers and living like they were drowning, because they were. And I mean that Van Gogh’s paintings all feel like they’re trying to save my life. This is beautiful, and it’s important. Beauty is important. Life is important. Light is important, and irises are important, and the color yellow is important, are you listening to me?
Pain doesn’t make artists great, but I think great art is always trying to respond to the question how can we stay alive? I think that’s an important distinction.
Depression will rot your soul in a way that will make you forget what beauty is and how to see it. When I was 17, I made a list of reasons to live, and it was like wading through deep mud. It fought me with every step. That heavy, aching numbness. It felt exhausting to write them down. Fireflies. The kindness of strangers. Libraries. Small birds. And if you understand the feeling I describe, you know that if you want to survive, you must become someone who sharply experiences the goodness of life. You have to dig your fingernails into it and drag it out of its hiding places around you.
This is about survival. Like when I say that this is great art, I mean that you can tell that there is something that is so so so important here, and that important thing is something like look, existence is beautiful. I can wish that Van Gogh had a chance to live a much longer, happier life, and at the same time be...cognizant? grateful? that his work doesn’t communicate Today I will paint cypresses but instead Today the world is beautiful, and I will live in it, and I will show you.
I don’t know how I got on this topic or why I’m so emotional. I can’t even tell most of the people that have saved my life; they are long gone. Thank you. For showing me.
