On Making Art in the Bad Times

There’s a thing you hear when bad things happen: “At least they’ll make great art about this.” And, idk, man. That doesn’t feel like enough right now. To hear that your suffering, the pain endured by the ones you love, the degradation of the things you believe in will result in great art doesn't help. It’s the kind of statement a friend of mine calls “a thought-terminating cliche.” A thing to stop a conversation, to stop a line of interrogation, to stop considering how bad it is. How bad it might get.

It’s hard to look the world full in the face right now. It’s hard not to blink. Not to look away. Not to pick up my Steam Deck or find a show to binge. It’s hard not to feel that it’s too much to think about. It’s hard not to shrug and say, “at least they’ll make great art about this.” The ones that survive will. The ones that live. The ones that don’t get deported. The ones that don’t get their meds taken away. The ones that don’t suffer under the boot of tariffs and inflation and rampant inequality.

Sure. Someone will make great art about this. Not because of the suffering but because someone is always making great art. 

Here’s the thing – you don’t need suffering to make great art. Art is rooted in curiosity, in exploration, and in empathy. Great art can arise from moments of deep pain but it also arises from joy. I think, actually, most great art is rooted in a passion and delight in the world. Often that’s tempered by the pain and suffering we see around us. But moving from a place of joy and curiosity can make art that engages with the difficulty of the world in an unflinching way, in a way that connects us to our own grief and the grief of others, to touch the mind and the spirit.

But that requires not looking away. As the prophets say, “The poet does not avert their eyes.” To make art in these times, we have to see. We have to understand. But understanding is not acceptance. We don’t have to accept that the suffering of others is worth the art we will make. We don’t have to accept that you must be miserable to survive.

Joy is essential even in the hard times. Especially in the hard times. By protecting and nurturing your joy you make space for yourself to thrive so you can do more, accomplish more, fight more. You make space for others in your life, to share what you have, to build community. Joy flourishes in community. It grounds us. It helps us stand with our feet firmly planted so we can move with power and with intention when we need to. It allows us to make a difference. To speak out. To make the kind of art we need. Not so that later generations will appreciate our suffering, but to make a difference in the here and now.

I believe art and storytelling are some of the most powerful tools we have to effect change in the world. It’s why I do what I do. It’s what I’ve made my entire life about. And I think we can make great art in the good times and the hard times equally. Because the capacity to do so isn’t in the world around us; it is something within us. Something internal, ingrained, deeply held and deeply felt. I think it’s about having perspective and empathy. And I think perspective, a true engaged curiosity about the world we live in, no matter how hard it is to not look away, will give you something to say. Something worth saying. Something worth hearing.

So protect your joy. Love your people. Recognize the suffering around us. And do something about it in whatever way you can.