Live Through This: On Creativity and Self-Destruction
Edited by Sabrina Chapadjiev
Seven Stories Press
$17.95, 240 pp.
I began reading this book with an academic mind. In college I had taken a course on female psychology, and the readings that stood out more than others were often those examining the uniquely painful nature of growing up female. We studied development, sexuality, abuse, neglect and the paths women took to live through it. This coursework helped me understand cutting and other forms of self-harm or self-destruction, and with a nervous timbre in my heart I began recognizing words, terms and stories that put my own pain in perspective. It was science, I thought, something I was meant to feel, something perhaps unavoidable. At that time I felt so grateful to turn away from the inner tunneling of my thoughts, and see the greater picture of this shareable female experience: the many nameless women who hurt similarly.
So I opened Live Through This and believed it would be a text about the origins of, and alternatives to, self-destructive behaviors. Obviously I didn't do my homework. The collection is instead a variety of verbal and visual essays by artists of all kinds: writers, musicians, photographers, cartoonists, dancers, and beyond. It turned my outward gaze back in, to the personal stories of successful creative women, many of whom I recognized and admired. Here they describe their sometimes lifelong struggles with emotional injury and depression, and when successful, offer a glimpse at reconciliation.
Chapadjiev addresses this reconciliation as a goal in her preface, wanting to make it very clear that the book is not a judgment, and it is also not a glamorization of "damaged women." She and the artists included are trying to tell a different story. What I love about this book is how the stories included are so relatable, and yet, rarely the ones which are told about women. Bombarded throughout my life by examples of tragic, floundering female characters and the histories of creative but overpowered women, the message is clear: don't scratch too hard at the surface of things, or you risk becoming another classic example of a "damaged woman."
But why can't a woman be brilliant and serious and crazy and provocative without being consumed by despair and/or death? The artists represented here are exploring ways to achieve this. Their shared message seems to be that as an artist, you must look honestly and vulnerably at yourself, experience the pain, accept the destruction you receive and cause, use it, and then somehow: survive it. Don't let it consume you; it is only one part of your experience.
Live Through This recognizes some of this destruction as told through stories about addiction, eating disorders, cutting, and other forms of self-injury, but does not examine it beyond stating that it exists, and can even sometimes help you overcome the source of the pain. Here's where this collection is burdened with a difficult task. It wants to familiarize the experiences of so many women, prove that we are not alone in our suffering and artistic efforts, while using insight from wildly different perspectives. Some of the contributors recommend embracing the grief, and they find their strength in the acceptance of that or the control they have over their lives, bodies and art. Others realize they have to give up control, to rise above and avoid getting caught in the undertow. The varying stories when read alone are powerful, beautiful, harrowing, encouraging, diffusing and humorous. When read together as a collection their messages sometimes confuse or contradict one another.
The best pieces in my opinion did share common themes. Daphne Gottlieb, Fly, Elizabeth Stephens, Annie Sprinkle, Bonfire Madigan Shive and Eileen Myles laid out their trauma, but practiced healing as a daily thought process. Create a wellness plan, plot your escape route, get a second opinion, celebrate your pain with love and connection, and take care of your body. Self-destruction has its connection to creativity, but so does healing and moderation. Art and expression do help tremendously, but they alone cannot save your life.
Yes, this isn't a perfect book. At the same time it's difficult for me to analyze its faults because the strong points really shook me up. While I found some stories to be more interesting and well-written than others, the variety presented may be a great advantage because it can cast a wider net. I think for anyone drawn to this topic there will be a story or two that seem familiar. There will also be at least one essay that opens a new window, providing the tools to move forward and celebrate the whole messy, terrible and sweet experience of being.
The important thing to take away is that these are stories of survival. These are rare voices that describe alternate routes for navigating trauma and introspection. Stephanie Howell says it well: "It is the struggle and tension, the love and appreciation, the self-doubt and pressure to be skinny that allows me the opportunity to explore, engage in reflexivity, and create my art."
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