The Art of Grief

In some of my previous columns, I’ve made the assertion that art is successful when it makes us feel something. Some of our deepest feelings come from grief. This year I dealt with some losses that hit hard, and in parallel, I’ve attended some performances that have had me contemplating the ways grief is communicated through art.  

Earlier this year I saw a play on Broadway called Every Brilliant Thing. It is a one-person play about the character’s journey from childhood into adulthood living with a parent suffering from depression who, after more than one attempt, commits suicide. It travails the challengers of struggling through despair to find hope and meaning in life. In spite of (and because of) the heavy content, it beautifully incorporates humor and closes with life affirming optimism. 

More recently, I attended two very different concerts, that together had me delving further into the topic of how loss and grief are portrayed in art, and how that art helps us process our own grief. 

I am a long-time fan of singer-songwriter Sara Bareilles, and I went to her show at the Fox Theater a couple weeks ago. Her most recent album, Good Grief, released on the same day I was attending a celebration of life party for a friend who left the planet way too early. This timing made it even more impactful for me. The album is the culmination of what she has described as a multi-year exploration and processing of her own grief, through the death of her best friend at just 40 years old, fertility challenges, world affairs and other life events. As part of this project, she and her team recorded individuals sharing their own personal grief stories, some of which were carefully woven into the show. Hearing these random strangers sharing their stories of loss had many, maybe most, in the audience, men and women, wiping away tears. Sharing an emotional experience in a theater with about 5,000 strangers is powerful, and life affirming. 

The other concert just happened – Rush in Denver. (I’ll be seeing them again when they come to Atlanta in November.) I was looking forward to this for months. If you aren’t familiar, Rush was the same three musicians for over 40 years. I have been going to their concerts since the mid-80s. About 20 years ago, drummer Neil Peart lost his only daughter in a car accident, and then lost his wife to cancer less than a year later. The band stopped and it seemed that would be the end of Rush. A prolific writer and lyricist, Neil chronicled his loss, grief, and his journey to finding a new life, in his book Ghost Rider and in many subsequent songs. 

Neil wound up remarrying and had another daughter. The band released multiple additional albums and continued to tour for years. He managed to find healing and joy prior to his death from glioblastoma in 2020. And again, the end of the band. Until this year, when Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson invited a 43-year-old German drummer, Anika Nilles, to join them. The concert is carefully crafted as a tribute to Neil rather than simply a moving-on-without-him. Anika brings a new life to songs that were released prior to her birth. Yes, I shed a few tears during the show. Wiping my eyes in theaters (and lots of other places too) has become a regular part of life this year. 

Music has long been a medium to explore and process grief. Think of the many requiems, songs about break-ups, and all the other things that can make us sad. Yet, grief happens when we lose something. That means we had something. And there is joy to be found in the memories. 

These experiences were equally about human resiliency and our at-times unfathomable ability to continue living and loving. Keep on, keeping on. 

“What I realized is that grief must be witnessed. You must share it. It doesn’t heal on its own.” – Sara Barielles