The problem wtih *misery* (especially in the context of self-declared "artists"), is that it tends to be self-indulgent...
"Boo-hoo, the sensitive genius, the sensitive genius..."
The call of the creative life calls me people who, frankly, should not answer that call. But since society confers not only rewards but also a form of tolerance upon "artists", there's no shortage of people lining up for the "job".
What I mean when I say self-indulgence is that they have no discipline. Creation, especially important creation, is a difficult painful thing. But it is not the same as plain-vanilla existential angst (Boo-hoo, sensitive genius).
As a result you see a lot of worthless crap getting passed off as "art" because some talentless idiot raised his hand at UCLA that day and said that a steaming turd on a plate is a masterpiece. Fuck that.
For me, true talent is a function of the individual artist's preparedness to persist through difficulty in pursuit of a *form* he has conceived in his mind. This is not the same as "Boo-hoo, my life sucks, so I'm gonna spatter paint on a canvas..." a child could do that.
I admire the writings of Paul Valery on the subject:
"Latent in every man is a venom of amazing bitterness, a black resentment; something that curses and loathes life, a feeling of being trapped, of having trusted and been fooled, of being the helpless prey of impotent rage, blind surrender, the victim of a savage, ruthless power that gives and takes away, enlists a man, and crowning injury inflicts upon him the humiliation of feeling sorry for himself." -- Paul Valery
2hp