The Curse of the Crazy Genius?

This is an old trope that resurfaces in various incarnations. It’s the absolute certainty that’s expressed this way: “Of course he’s crazy he’s a genius.” It’s an assumption that high intelligence or extraordinary talent comes with the burden of insanity and sometimes it presupposes superior insights in people coping with mental illness.

There’s a difference between causality and convergence and the gap gets papered over in familiar stereotypes. The connection is often made with a lack of facts and a big dollop of: “You can’t have it all. Aren’t you glad you’re normal and not a crazy genius?” I call it the curse of genius and it crops up both in fiction and in the interpretation of historical figures.

Back in September, I went to one of the two big interactive Van Gogh Exhibits. Yes, there are two of them making their way around the world and both were in New York City at the same time! I’m serious about ART and most of my arty friends weren’t excited about these shows. One reviewed it on social media with the suggestion that we all skip the ‘high-tech shit’ and head directly to the Museum of Modern Art, to see ‘Starry Night.’ I won’t say she was entirely wrong, but… I was curious, largely because back in the early 1990s I worked for a virtual reality applications company; and I couldn’t resist the lure of a favorite artist as the center of an “immersive experience.”

Another friend organized a little group. We dined outside (very 2021) and headed inside masked & hand sanitized for our timed entrance. Like many contemporary Art-related exhibits, it was top-loaded with EDUCATION. Lots of information with dates and names to be read on poster-sized placards hung adjacent to objects related to the artist’s life, reproductions of famous works, and near life-sized dioramas inspired by paintings. It didn’t take me long to realize that the “education” was dumbed down. The overall message was: He was a genius. He was crazy. It’s so sad that he killed himself before he became famous. The quantity of words didn’t mask the lack of actual insights.

The only part of the experience that I liked—and I really enjoyed it—was the immersive section in which animated renditions of Van Gogh’s paintings were projected on the walls, ceiling, and floor of a large room. It was “trippy.’ Lay on a rug, sit on a chair, watch the sunflowers bloom, and listen to the music.

We took a walk around lower Manhattan after the show. The night sky, the river, it was beautiful. I wound up taking to my friend’s brother—an intelligent man who found the exhibit repetitive and sad. I filled him on some of the missing pieces NOT included in that endless stream of words. One, before his death Van Gogh was attracting the attention of other artists and would soon be considered an inspiration. Key collectors were taking note, too. And two, unlike most people suffering from mental illnesses at that time, Van Gogh had the continuous support of his family. He was lucky.

Was his talent, his genius, somehow connected to his debilitating mental illness? We can’t know. We shouldn’t pretend to know. Speculating is fun, but it diminishes his achievements when you reduce him to the crazy genius stereotype. Let’s retire the curse of the crazy genius once and for all!