When does an artist’s vulnerability cross the line into trauma dumping?
I’m really convinced that great art comes from this spot where people are being as vulnerable as they can possibly be without crossing this line of going so far it ends up doing harm.
The difference between a truly vulnerable performance versus an unhealthy episode of oversharing can sometimes be paper thin. There are a ton of variables that affect where that line gets drawn, from time and distance, to genre, to culture, and it’s often a blurry line.
That said, it’s still a line I believe in. So many great pieces of art that I’ve loved, and some of my favorite things that I’ve made seem to have come from that position. It’s like a fertility vortex for creativity.
This is the topic I take on in the latest release of Creative Changemaker. Out now!
A vulnerable performer is a great performer, an improv teacher once told me, and once I started seeing all art and performance that way, I started seeing it everywhere. Not just improv.
Great musicians put their heart into their music. Those authors who write books that are beautifully devastating and soul crushing? Totally vulnerable. On the other end of the spectrum, awesome stand-up comedians sometimes dig into their vulnerability to the point where you’re like… do you mean to be telling us this?
By the time we reach maturity, we get really accustomed to having our guard up, so most artists need to relearn vulnerability. Learning that spot is a messy process, though! And occasionally you see people run into the zone of oversharing, and it’s not pretty.
With how thin the line is between vulnerability and potentially harmful oversharing can be, it’s easy to step across it while learning to access your vulnerability. And you can learn a lot from those instances. It’s a hard enough line to recognize anyways. It’s blurry. It can move up and down depending on your audience, the setting, expectations, and relationships.
But when you get into the realm of trauma dumping, you run the risk of it becoming self-serving. An act that seeks catharsis rather than connection with people. An act that people watch out of voyeurism rather than value. And something that could threaten to sabotage your own healing journey.
Here are a few things I’ve learned about how to make vulnerable art without trauma dumping:
Make it for somebody else!
Diving into the trenches of your soul to bare it all is vulnerable, but if it isn’t done carefully, it can also become a really ego-centric exercise. The deeply personal nature of this practice can be balanced out by reminding yourself that this isn’t just for you.
I believe art isn’t ever really just for you or not for you at all. It’s usually both for you and for an audience you have in mind.
But when the work turns especially personal is when it’s a good time to think of how much sharing your experiences and perspectives could help out somebody in an analogous position right now.
To make vulnerable art, make it for a younger you
What can be more vulnerable than ourselves? Our younger selves with a little less experience and wisdom!
Making art for a younger version of yourself is similar to the practice of reminding yourself that your work isn’t just for you. While making something for your past self might technically still be making it for you, it’s more likely that somebody out there is in a similar spot to where you once were, and having gone through that you might know best what reminders would’ve been helpful back then.
Create from your scars, not your wounds.
Surely you’ve heard this expression before, yeah? It’s one I always find so useful.
While both are marks of pain, there’s a difference between something that’s completed a process of healing and one that’s still raw. When you create from that unsettled place, you often lack the perspective needed to create something that goes beyond catharsis.
Even worse, trying to create using inspiration from an ongoing issue in your life could create unnecessary pressures around that thing, derailing your ability to properly heal.
What is the risk for fallout?
One thing about sharing our stories is that they rarely involve just ourselves. They interweave our relationships, you know? Those complicated things.
I don’t need to strain too hard to explain how a story painting someone in a less than favorable way could damage a relationship.
Of course if another person harmed you in a way that you just need to name, that’s one thing. But it’s another when your audience feels like they’re trapped listening to one side of an unresolved argument.
And careful around sharing stories that might not be yours to share.
You can always call up a person and see if the creative process might be inviting some relational healing, if you want to go the route of seeking their blessing.
Or, you know, you could just come up with an alias for them.
The funny thing about these “rules” is that I’m not exactly a hardliner for any of them.
Some great art has been made with the artist keeping themselves as the center of focus. I can think of albums I’ve loved that were made so close to personal tragedies that they probably weren’t made from scars, but wide open wounds. And that thing about trying to fix relationships or seek people’s approval before using them in your story really doesn’t apply when they’ve made the decision to be abusive or cross other lines.
But I think those are the exceptions and not the norm.
I’ll say it again… the line between vulnerability and trauma dumping is blurry. The same creative product that strikes somebody as raw, honest, vulnerable, and relatable may seem like a whole lot of bellyaching to another person. There’s a reason why country music is so popular while a large part of the population thinks all of it is about being left by your wife in a pickup truck.
But, as you practice, and even as you step a bit too far beyond that line sometimes, you’ll gain command over this vulnerable space of artistic expression… and that is a great spot to be.