Art too obsessed with suffering

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.”

Casey McCorry

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.