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Art too obsessed with suffering

Originally Published: 10/14/09 7:52pm Modified: 10/14/09 8:30pm 10 comments

*Casey McCorry*

Casey McCorry

Some of the more appreciated lyrics of our generation are those of Conor Oberst of Bright Eyes. These lyrics include, “I scream for the sunlight or a car to take me anywhere, just get me past this dead and eternal snow, because I swear that I am dying, slowly but it’s happening.”

This from a middle-class man who grew up in Omaha, Neb. Yet this is the nature of art. It must be dark.

Walking through a “dress as something historical” party, I encountered many individuals, including fictional Tom Joad, ’36 Olympian Jesse Owens and the Berlin Wall. Surveying the broad range of those who overcame adversity, I realized something. Our American generation has had a cakewalk when compared with the likes of these, yet you wouldn’t know it from the melancholic art culture we have created.

We have morphed earth’s ancient voice for the creative mind into an outlet for drama queens to whine.

I don’t care what anyone at Espresso Royale thinks, “Requiem for a Dream” is not thrilling. It is not stimulating. I reaped no wisdom from it that I couldn’t get from a “Hugs not Drugs” T-shirt. And Darren Aronofsky fans can pout all they want, but, truthfully, the world could stand to have more elevating art.

Our generation is fascinated by pain, which only goes to show how we haven’t experienced it. I don’t deny that there are many people enduring a great deal of suffering, and this should not be ignored. However, as far as collective pain, the United States’ youth have been quite pampered, and to act otherwise is only to commit injustice to those who fought for it. Most victims of suffering do not want to glorify it; they want to move past it, or use it to guide others on recovery.

I was, and am, a victim of the infection of Elizabeth Wurtzel, writer of “Prozac Nation.” How fun it is to mope around one’s room in dark clothing reading Sylvia Plath’s poetry while melting into the morose bawls of Manchester Orchestra’s Andy Hull. I spent art classes scoffing at any paintings employing the north side of the color wheel. Flowers, sunsets and inspirational quotes abused my precious minutes and I scorned anyone who dubbed them “art.”

As a pretentious English major — and we all are — it took considerable time for the words of John Steinbeck and John Irving to be immersed into my oh-so-elite list of worthy reads as their endings were too optimistic.

I’m not denying the numerous cases of chemical imbalance; I’m merely calling attention to the fact that what you’re surrounded with in life can often be what you become. We must discern wisely.

When I was 6 years old with a keen interest in the use of crayons, my mom decided to rouse the potential “artist” within me and take me to an art museum. It was after seeing the life-size papier-mâché dying children I decided art was not for me. If fascination with pain was required, I was out.

Although the childlike comprehensions of modern art are amusing, no doubt there is some truth to the perceptions in that horrified little mind.

During the past couple of years I worked as an editor for a campus publication of students’ creative writing. This means I read publication after publication of students; writing they deem creative, thought-provoking and inspiring work. Although there certainly are masses of hidden talent within the brains of our students, it became somewhat disheartening week after week to find what kids enjoyed writing about most were suicides, depression, addictions and rape. It would seem our generation has developed an assumption that brilliant art and disparaging sorrow go hand in hand.

What happened to the bittersweet, yet aspiring messages such as “Good Will Hunting”? Isn’t Steve McCurry’s stunning photograph of the Afghan girl more memorable than the countless horrific ones of starving children? Does not Gustav Klimt’s painting “The Kiss” require as much artistic talent as, some would argue, Guillermo’s “dying dog” exhibit?

I don’t wish for all artistic expression of a person’s anguish to be eliminated. I would like to see a renewal of wonder and awe in the beauty and strength of the human spirit.

Richard Rohr, a brilliant priest and writer, describes the pain that is inevitable for all humans at some point in life as he writes, “The best thing we can do is wear our wounds as badges of honor.”

We all have seen great men and women do this through their art. I hope our generation can learn to respect the ability to denounce the power hardships have through a revelation of the beauty of humankind.

Casey McCorry is a State News guest columnist and English senior. Reach her at mccorryc@msu.edu.


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Commentary

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Juan
(10/15/09 9:04am)
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Very well said.


tedman
(10/15/09 1:17pm)
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I’d hit it


Patrick Henry
(10/15/09 1:34pm)
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Bravo, excellent editorial.

It is not this generation’s fault that it was born into unprecedented wealth and prosperity. When people below the “poverty line” can afford big screen TVs, houses, cars, fast-food meals, etc. that society can be fairly described as “affluent”. I see lots of Lexus, Benz, BMWs being driven by students on this campus once upon a time made for “Michigan’s working man”!

But, people can’t help but look up the proverbial Jaguar tailpipe trying to find all the bad things. Is this why there is the whole new genre called “whine” rock?

Not to worry, though. The last few National administrations and MI governors will make sure your bad times will be coming soon.


Medlin
(10/15/09 2:53pm)
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The “pain thing” for some of today’s artists originates largely with an outdated, overdone set of ideas coming out of the European Romantic Movement — roughly the 19th Century. As youth, its not surprising many of today’s new artists are drawn to extreme emotions and feel they must “play the part” of the romantic artist. In other words, it’s often role playing.

Authentic artists, however, realize that art can come from any emotion, great or small — or none at all.

Good article. Like to see more of this discussion.


MSUGrad09
(10/15/09 4:49pm)
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An interesting article; the reason pain and suffering are usually associated with art can be summed up with Tolstoy: “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy familiy is unhappy in its own way.”


espresso drinker
(10/15/09 6:48pm)
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The change is coming around. Politics is still nasty, but Obama managed a “hope” campaign that tapped the inspirations of millions. Prior to this the most common type of protests were disorganized pissed off student against the system but with no consensus or clue of what system should replace it (Looking at you, Chicano Studies protesters).

Art will come around as well as soon. Art seems to lead in movements. Get a bunch of artists, writers, theater folk and others together and share ideas, maybe make a manifesto for better art.

And rather than just rag on Espresso, use their open mic night to inject a little happiness to the art scene there.


re: espresso drinker
(10/15/09 6:57pm)
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One of the baristas was totally playing Christian rock on Tuesday night…It was inspirational.


Cathy Illman
(10/16/09 4:29pm)
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Money can’t buy happiness. Yes, we are a wealthy nation and yes we live daily without burdening fear here in the US. But, the question is WHY are young artists writing about such sad things such as suicide, depression, etc.? Because, like happiness, it is also real. Whether you feel the need to judge other people’s suffering against those in poorer nations is your choice. Perhaps these artists are also looking at the suffering across the globe and feeling guilty or a tremendous amount of empathy. It IS depressing knowing that you are living comfortably while other people just like you are not. The fact is, some of us, whether or not we have a big screen TV, can afford an education, drive around in fancy cars, are walking around this world as zombies. Detached, disconnected to others. Our generation feels admittedly more miserable than previous ones, and this has been documented. WHY? I think, instead of assuming young artists who feel inspired by sorrow are somehow whining, and not REALLY suffering, we should listen to them and give them respect. Some people really ARE depressed, even if you think they have everything they need not to be depressed. It may not make sense to you, or to them. You see it as not being “authentic” because if you were them, you would not feel that way.

I don’t know. I just feel like, we have no right to judge other people’s sorrow. Some millionaires kill themselves while some poverty stricken, disease ridden people fight to live. Everyone has their own emotions and reasons for them. Young people, especially deal with huge anxiety merely because of their body’s hormonal changes. Suicide is a big killer of youth in this country, and we brush it off like it’s just them whining, looking for attention, or being emo. It’s not fair to them, and disrespectful. Why are they looking for attention to begin with? You mention Sylvia Plath while ridiculing yourself. Have you ever read about her life? She put tremendous pressure on herself to be perfect, and we know what happened to her in the end. Many young people these days also feel pressure to be perfect. They act like the world is against them, and quite frankly, it is. That’s my opinion and my experience. This is really long winded and rambling, I’m sorry. Hope you get my drift anyway.


Christian
(10/19/09 1:36pm)
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As someone who went through suicidal depression and was very attached emotionally to artists like Oberst, Wurtzel, and Plath, I want to say that though the struggle of others was always heartbreaking to me, it didn’t change the day by day hell that I had to live in. And i could’ve had all the riches of the world hoarded at my door and i still would’ve felt like death. its a symptom of the modern world—more and more of us are getting lost on the wayside of childhood and really do feel like we were abandoned there.


evan g
(10/20/09 11:31am)
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what i took away from this piece is that because we havent really experienced pain, we are obsessed with it. similar to how we glorify war stories, much to the chagrin of those who actually acted out the stories in battle.