The Myth of the Tragic Artist

The Myth of the Tragic Artist
One of the most misunderstood professions in America is that of the professional artist. People who want to become artists are always discouraged on the basis of social insecurity, financial insecurity and questionable associations. It is assumed that they are ‘crazy’ or want to suffer. However, the truth of it is that becoming an artist in our society of high unemployment, lack of job security and benefits like health insurance and pensions which were common in previous generations is not really any less secure than entering any profession.
Most people straight out of school just entering the work force and just getting themselves situated in a career have relatively low salaries and no job security. Many have student loans to pay off. The work environment is fraught with treachery and competition and success is not guaranteed. An artist just entering their career is called a ‘struggling’ artist, and their path of getting exhibitions and beginning to sell work at low prices is really no different from anyone else. I wonder why the ‘struggling artist’ has become a fixture in the public imagination.
Throughout history being an artist had a very strict training and apprenticeship phase and when finally ready to go out on their own, artists tended to live financially stable lives. In fact, in order to produce work of a professional quality an artist had to devote all their time to their craft. None of them had ‘day jobs’. They had homes to live in, studios to work in, enough food to eat, clothes to wear and enough money for supplies, which were never cheap. Yet the public ‘romanticizes’ that they suffered, starved and struggled their whole lives. Let me give a few examples of ‘starving’ artists; Picasso lived in his own chateau, Manet grew up in a townhouse in Paris and had a home in Rueil. Delacroix’s home and studio in Paris is now a museum. Monet’s house in Giverny, an extraordinarily beautiful area, is now a museum. While the rest of the world is competing for a seat on the subway Monet’s life was relatively peaceful and productive. Rembrandt’s house in Amsterdam is now a museum. All the artists you read about had spouses and children. So where does the ‘tragic artist’ myth come from?
The one artist not successful in his own lifetime who is now famous, Vincent Van Gogh – there are no other examples of artists whose work was only commercially recognized after they died. Still, poor Van Gogh is seized upon as an example to all the world as the norm for an artist’s life. Why? As an artist myself I think the reason for it comes from the business end of the art world – it is very convenient for them if an artist’s work remains cheap and easy to obtain. A piece of artwork is one of the few investments someone can make that will last for hundreds of years. People will go out and spend $50,000 on a dress they will wear only once, but balk at paying $10,000 for a work of art that they and their families will enjoy for generations. They will blow thousands on a bottle of wine that they might finish in an evening. So why the problem with paying a fair price for art? Why is the artist whose work is prized treated with contempt?
Once a piece of artwork is finished it has an independent life; the artist is no longer of value. . In contrast, an actor must be present for the work to be done, and the production studios treat them like the essential beings that they are. There are no artist unions, like there are for actors or musicians. We have no pricing guidelines or a support system to protect our interests. For actors SAG/AFTRA is there. For musicians there is the musicians union and ASCAP and BMI. One doesn’t hear about ‘tragic actors’, though their lives tend to be much more unstable than artists. Now in particular we hear about all the drug arrests and rehab that are part of many famous actor’s lives. One doesn’t hear about ‘tragic’ concert pianists. In fact, artists’ lives are no more tragic than anyone else’s. Many people have horrible relationships, love in vain, die young, get sick, lose all their money, their jobs, their homes. They open restaurants and shops that sometimes fail. They suffer from mental illness, they commit suicide. They get robbed, their children die or leave them, natural disasters wipe out their lives, they grow up poor, they grow up rich and die poor – all manner of unfortunate circumstances happen to ‘regular’ people. Should we say then that all people are ‘tragic’?
There is a common misconception that artists must suffer to produce good work. Underscore ‘misconception’. In fact, being an artist is a highly specialized way of thinking, of processing and organizing information. It is a special ability, a skill. It requires concentration. It is not a product of suffering. It is not improved by suffering. The value of the work is not increased by suffering. In fact, suffering, as for any person, becomes detrimental to leading a productive life. People who are ill don’t work. People who are treated with cruelty don’t contribute to society. People with no money don’t have the time, energy, stability or supplies to produce art. I myself am a ‘tragic artist’ in the making, so I am well acquainted with the lies that surround it. In a simplified account, I grew up in a family of successful professional artists, musicians and performers. We lived in an affluent, quiet neighborhood in our own house. We had a second house in the countryside. I was Ivy League educated with a bachelor’s degree in fine art from the University of Michigan and a master’s in fine art from Columbia University in New York. I never got into any trouble. I never took drugs. I just spent all my time painting. I got my first gallery right out of grad school and began exhibiting and selling my work regularly.
My prices were too low, but I was young and prolific. I shared a loft with a fellow Colombia University graduate and we started having problems when I began to be successful. He was no less so, but having competition – and from a woman - so close by was too much for him. He started drugging my food. He began a smear campaign to ruin my reputation. I went crazy from the drugs. Thinking it was painting that was driving me crazy I stopped painting. My behaviour was uncharacteristically erratic and out of control. My family stopped supporting me. After an exemplary life, not a single one of them made any effort to find out what was wrong, choosing instead to feel betrayed and to condemn me. My life fell apart. Prior to beginning to paint in college I had always played piano and sung (to myself), wrote poetry and had been in the drama program in high school. In fact I had wanted to be an actress since the age of ten but was too shy to pursue it. Painting seemed a good solution to my stagefright. I started playing piano again and writing songs and taking acting classes.
My mother died soon after. My sister made arrangements to rob the estate and tried to get my body of artwork under her control. I fought her and the lawyer of the estate for years but being on my own I lost. I moved to Germany after that to begin my life anew. Despite that I was no longer producing artwork there was still interest in it from galleries and collectors and a local bank in Freiburg paid for the transport of my work from New York for exhibition. On route over 30 paintings were stolen and that many damaged from poor packing. The insurance company didn’t want to pay the over 300,000€ worth of loss and damage. Every person involved in the shipment contributed to making it impossible for me to recover the lost artwork, to find out what happened or to get an insurance settlement. The shipping company unloaded the container without my being present as required by law. The police never investigated. My agent in New York who oversaw the packing on that end and had agreed to make a statement to support my claim disappeared and couldn’t be contacted. The police in New York did nothing. The insurance company replaced their expert who had confirmed the loss and damage with a second expert who denied it and never paid a settlement. My lawyer never filed the insurance claim, instead condemning me for what might have just been taking a much needed break from painting. I started getting physically ill and emotionally unstable in the same way I had been under the influence of the drugs my loftmate had given me. Long story short, I have been bouncing all around the world since then and everywhere I have gone my roommates drug, ‘medicate’ and poison me, my behavior gets erratic, emotionally out of control, and I have ended up with the reputation for being ‘on drugs’, ‘unstable’ and ‘crazy’ because of this.
In France they take particular interest in the ‘tragic’ artist myth. I think they invented it. My credibility has been destroyed. My friends have all abandoned me. My colleagues from school now all successful shun me. I’m pretty sure there is something embarrassing up on the internet. My career ended with the theft and damage during transport, and despite the good reception to my music and acting work I am told that no one is allowed to buy it or hire me and that I will never be allowed to work in my profession again. I haven’t earned a living in over 10 years. Every new person I meet takes it upon themselves to pressure me to go back to painting and taints my food when I don’t. I still don’t know why. I’m more talented as an actress. When I talk about how awful things are people actually tell me it should be this way because I can’t be an artist if I’m not suffering. Just out of curiosity again, if I never produce another painting, what purported benefit am I getting from post-painting suffering?
Was the '10% inspiration, 90% perspiration' ethic of Picasso (which in my case was 1% inspiration 99% perspiration) that it takes to produce good artwork not enough suffering? Meanwhile this body of artwork still exists and there are many people who expect to profit immensely when they finally kill me off and make it look like a suicide, which is coming up pretty soon. Since I did sell about half of everything I produced when I produced it this life ‘rewrite’ of me being unappreciated until after death is a bit of a scam. I’ve also sang in public to good reception and have been featured in many TV shows, films and in theatre, with peer and public recognition of the quality of my work. Nevertheless, this story has taken on a life of its own having nothing to do with me. At some point you will all hear about this ‘tragic artist’. It is a lie. It was staged. I want only to be able to do my work and earn a living. Own my own home. Play piano. I want the world to know the truth so the perpetrators of this scam can’t benefit from it.