The Creative Crisis

"Let me explain. I have reached what we in a world somewhat different from your own simple round of duties, describe as the creative crisis. It may be described as the crisis at which you want to create something and can't. In most distinguished artists it lasts for a lifetime. It is then called the artistic temperament." -the Poet, "The Surprise" by G. K. Chesterton

This artistic temperament has often manifested itself in the artist as a struggle with depression. I have often wondered why it is that great artists wrestle with such darkness, and in pondering this question, I have reached one thought that I believe sheds light upon the answer.

In creating a work of art—whether it be a painting of the meeting of dear friends, or a poem that speaks of love's pain, or a novel that traces an epic journey, or a play that explores the nature of surprise, or any other form of art—the artist pours forth more of himself than anyone can ever understand who is not an artist. In any other vocation where one is called to give of himself, he receives some return. For instance, a woman who enters a religious order and devotes her life to serving the poor as a sister sees that through her efforts they receive the care they need and the love for which they have longed, and that is fulfillment enough for her. But the artist sees no such reward. It is true that on occasion he may see the popularity of his works or hear some acclaim for his work, but the majority of his time is spent striving away in solitude to create something beautiful, not for himself, but for others, not knowing whether it will ever be cared for, or appreciated, or even whether he shall be able to communicate the brilliant vision at which he aims in his dark labors. This is a task too great for man. Is it any wonder then that the artist should battle so against despondency?

And yet, this task too great for man, is also our common vocation: to give and not to count the cost, even as did our Saviour who died upon the cross. As Christians we are called to deny ourselves, to take up our crosses, and follow Him. This is the path of the artist. So perhaps in a sense we are all called to be artists.

Those, however, who tread that self-giving path—the artist's road—must struggle more forcefully with that deep need to be heard, to be recognized, to be loved.

This is at odds with the way our modern society treats art. When art is regarded as a commercial venture and the artist is valued only insofar as he can produce revenue, it undermines the selfless nature of his vocation. I cannot help but wonder if in the days of old when the troubadours wandered about for the sake of their art, they were happier. I rather fancy that if artists did not need to be so concerned with earning money from their art but instead gave it freely, that they would be happier; and even perhaps that all would be happier then. Perhaps it is a vision too great for this world, but great vision must ever strive for the highest beauty.

What path is left then for the true artist who heeds not the wages of his trade, but creates for love alone?

Aware of his own brokenness, he must either throw himself upon the mercy of the world in all humility, willing to give until it hurts and embrace that pain out of love for his work and for those whose hearts he hopes to touch. Or else, faced with too great a sacrifice, he must withdraw in black bitterness as a recluse.

For the artist's path is the life of a servant. Thus, for the sake of his art, he must become as the least of all, not merely giving his life in service those around him, but pouring out all that he has and is to serve the whole world.