Take creativity, for example. If I\u2019ve heard, \u201cI don\u2019t have a creative bone in my body. You\u2019re so lucky!\u201d once, I\u2019ve heard it a thousand times. Yet there is always an underlying (or perhaps overlying?) sense that what the person is actually saying is, \u201cI would be nice to draw or sing or play an instrument, but all the sensitivities that go along with all that stuff? Faggedaboudit. Not worth it.\u201d<\/p>\n
I suppose certain kinds of creativity and sensitivity are inevitably linked, and I suspect that stories about alcoholic, drug-addicted, ear-cutting-off artists and musicians and writers have infused our societal and cultural belief systems around such individuals. At the Getty Museum in Los Angeles a few days ago, as I gazed upon Van Gogh\u2019s irises, it struck me, as it always does, that genius is so often inextricably tied to pain, distress, and self-destruction. It also struck me, as it always does, that it often doesn\u2019t need to be that way.<\/p>\n