I am an emotional person. While I’ve never been diagnosed as bi-polar, I do have a tendency to go to emotional extremes. As the great poet, Billy Joel, wrote, “I tell you I don’t know why I go to extremes.”
I’m confessing this because we were speaking about an artist’s emotional states in my class about “Signature Tales” (tales that a particular storyteller is best known for), and it was observed that artist’s have a tendency to go to extremes emotions, and that is how they can produce such moving works. The list of examples is endless: Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens), Mozart, Picasso… Would their lives have been happier if they had not traveled to such emotional extremes? Perhaps, but would they have been satisfied? Would their work have been as powerful? Would we have any idea who these masters were if they had proceeded through life in a non-confrontational manner, always keeping rein on their emotions? Might that have been better for them?
In class, we spoke of a master storyteller: Brother Blue. This is man who, when performing (and he is most always performing), he consistently bubbles with an exuberance and joy for life that most rarely find. But no one is always happen, and my professor, Dr. Sobol, once saw Blue drag himself into a subway, the weight of some trouble weighing him down. He was not his typical self, he was hit hard by some sorrow. They spoke, Dr. Sobol tried to recommend some ways to bring Blue up, and I don’t know the details, nor do I particularly care, but this is merely one example of the emotional extremes that artists, in any discipline, can take themselves to.
I wrote all that to say this: I was dumped a few days ago. It was a short romance, and seemingly, from my extreme emotional view, passionate beyond belief. I don’t know if she felt anything similar to the passion, the excitement, the thrill of discovering about a new person; but I’m guessing not. She broke up with me because of my emotional extremes, my over committal, my insecurities, and, intellectually, I can’t say I blame her; there were many pieces about our fling that would make it hard to last (not all my stuff). But emotionally, I yearn for one more chance; one more attempt to see what could be real about our passion.
And so I am left with a puzzle; not about the relationship, that’s over, unless fate or chance intervenes, but the predicament that remains is my relationship with my emotional extremes. The rational person might believe that I should sooth them, not allow them to dominate me; yet these emotions bring out an artistic drive that produces some beautiful work. And the emotional highs, when they are in sync with the events of my life, are ideal; but after the highs, there tends to be a low, a real low low.
I’m at a low now, not as low as I’ve been in times gone by, instead its a self-reflective, at times self-deprecating low. I don’t like my feeling, it’s hard when a dream disappears, but I also recognize I might be able to use this soul-search to find some great art. People talk about “artistic sacrifice,” and I’ve always viewed that as the time, energy, and money artists are forced to use to do and improve their work, and don’t get me wrong, those are big sacrifices, but, as I’m discovering through my classes and personal experiences, perhaps the bigger sacrifices an artist often must persevere is the emotional extremes. The question remains: what is more important, a sense of stability or ones best art? This likely is different answer at different times in one’s life, but it is a question I am currently exploring.
And for those of you who don’t prefer these introspective writings, have no fear, tomorrow I intend to post a poem that I recently wrote… I think it might be the best I’ve written, so check back.
