As someone who can’t watch any horror movie, let alone anything with too much blood, I know how my title sounds. I’m not saying that it’s important for you to go out and watch movies with blood and guts, read books centered on triggering topics, or listen to music that hurts your eardrums. That’s not what I’m trying to convey. What I mean is that, if you want to further understand the arts, in any form, it is important that you confront some uncomfortable topics, hard to swallow pills, and undeniable truths.
Last summer I read Toni Morrison’s “The Bluest Eye.” I try to make it a point to read books that are considered to be classics, because I’m of the belief that most things are popular for a reason. As I read, I found myself taking frequent breaks to reflect on what I was reading, and finding the story difficult to digest. I can’t say that it was a book that I “enjoyed” reading, and it will likely be many years before I pick it up again, but I think it is important that I read it.
When telling my friend that I had just read a book that made me cry, and that it was a very tough, emotional read, she told me “I don’t know, I just don’t want to read books that make me sad.” I thought then that her perspective made a lot of sense. Why would she read a book if I told her that it was hard for me to get through? Why would she go to an art gallery full of paintings that don’t resonate with her? Why would she watch a movie with a dog on the poster? The dog always dies at the end of those movies anyway.
But it got me thinking, why should she read a book that will make her cry?
I think it’s a little cowardly to not want to feel anything from art other than positive emotions. Now you may be asking, “Aren’t you the girl who can’t watch those natural disaster movies because you think it’s going to happen to you the very next day?” Well yes, but I’m more concerned with avoiding media that makes you think deeper.
I would never watch The Conjuring, because it’s made to scare me and it absolutely will not do anything for me other than possibly give me a heart attack. Despite it being a horror game, a few years ago I watched a playthrough of Mouthwashing, something I would ordinarily avoid, but I had heard that it had a very impactful, interesting story. While I was thoroughly scared (the only thing worse than horror is psychological horror) I thought the story was compelling, thrilling, and emotional. I may have avoided it entirely if I never put my distaste for horror aside.
Remember reading those books that sounded incredibly boring in high school English class only to find out that you were consumed by their stories?
For me, during my junior year I read “The Crucible,” a play about the Salem witch trials. I never would have picked it up outside of class, the idea of trying to decipher 17th-century language made me dizzy, and how interesting could Arthur Miller make colonial America? But as my class discussed every new chapter and reenacted scenes, the book morphed into the Real Housewives of Salem Massachusetts levels of drama. We identified with characters, recounted scenes and chapters, and collectively hated Abigail to the point that the book was something that we had come together to discuss outside of class. A play written in 1953 about the lives of people in a village in 1692 had taken over my brain for a few short weeks, and even to this day I look back on it with deep fondness and amusement.
Watching movies that make you cry at the end, looking at art that puts yourself in the artist’s shoes, reading books from perspectives you may not understand or listening to an album in a genre you don’t like are great ways to grow yourself, your artistic eye, and your empathy. When you only engage with the world as it suits you and your worldview or level of comfort, you are limiting yourself to what the world and to what art has to offer. Not that you can’t enjoy lighthearted, feel good media (my favorite genre of movies is rom-coms, I get it), but to deny yourself human emotions just because it makes you squirm in your seat a bit is doing yourself a disservice.
