"Do you have to be unhappy to create great art?"

I thought for a moment. "I wouldn't think so. Why should being happy or unhappy matter if you're a great artist?"

"Okay," Jimmy continued. "Name someone who's been happy and created a great piece of art. Music, writing, painting, whatever."

I rubbed my chin. Stubble. I forgot to shave this morning. "Well, there's… hmm nah. But there's… oh, wait, he's unhappy too. How about… oh shoot, depressed as a doornail."

"There's no one, right?"

We stopped. All around us was incredible Prague architecture. It was a harmonious yet schizophrenic cacophony of medieval, baroque, art nouveau, renaissance, gothic, neo-gothic, neo-classical, cubist, and modern styles.

"Damn. I guess I can't think of any great artists who were happy when they created their great art. I mean, they became happy later…"

"And what do you think of their later work?"

I look at him. "Shit."

Jimmy laughed. "Exactly. It was total shit."

"That can't be though. That could just be a matter of my limited imagination. I'm sure there's a great artist out there who's happy and pumping out great art."

"I don't think so dude. I really don't think so."

We stood still for a moment in silence. Looking at the architecture around us, with its pointy tops and spires reaching for the Heavens, like open hands waiting to be saved.

"So why do you think that is?" I asked. "Why must an artist be unhappy to create great art?"

He cleared his throat. "Okay, here's what I think. I've thought a lot about this. People like to commiserate with others when they're unhappy. So unhappy songs and stories and art allow unhappy people to feel that they're not alone."

"Ah! Good theory."

"Thanks dude."

"Misery loves company, right? So it seems natural that unhappy people would want company, even if it's in the form of art."

"Right."

We admired a piece of gothic architecture, with its pointed arches and flying buttresses. The walls were darkened by the ages, scarring the building with ash and soot, like a discarded charcoal painting.

"So does this mean you've got to be unhappy to create great art?" I asked.

Jimmy paused. "Yea, pretty much. I did most of my song writing back when I was an angrier, angst-ridden youth. Nowadays, life is good and I don't find myself inspired to write as much."

"That's a shame. That means artists are doomed to a life of unhappiness if they want to be great."

"Exactly. It's tragic."

I stopped and took a picture of a building's spire. "There's almost a beauty in it," I said.

"What?" He looked over at the building.

"I don't mean the building. I mean in being unhappy for great art. There's a melancholy, yet romantic aspect to this theory."

"Oh?"

"Yea. It means artists have to suffer for their art. I'm sure office workers in the rat race hate their lives…"

"Exactly. It's The Man keeping us down!"

"…and wish they could be off creating art, because it seems so much easier. But in reality, it's much harder. Creating great art requires great sacrifices too, because if you aren't unhappy, if you're not suffering, then you won't create great art."

Jimmy nodded. "Well said, man. Well said."

I turned to him. "So I think I should punch you in the face and rob you right now, then leave you here."

"What? Why??"

"So you can suffer. I'd be doing it for your own good man."

"Um, thanks man," he laughed. "I really appreciate your looking out for me. Really. But I'm okay with being happy for now."

We laughed and continued down the dark gothic-lined street, as the ashen faces watched us and crestfallen edifices surrounded us.

. . .

Do you think you have to be unhappy to create great art?