The Obsessed Artist

You’ve been exposed to the Obsessed Artist Trope, even if you aren’t aware of it. The term refers to a character driven by a relentless passion, to the point where it consumes their life. This trope can be seen across literature, film, and art, depicting characters who are willing to sacrifice almost everything — relationships, stability, even their sanity — in pursuit of their goal.

Why are we drawn to these types of stories? Why are there so many examples? Today, we’ll be looking at 5 depictions of The Obsessed Artist Trope, and find out what these stories can teach us about our own lives.

Black Swan (2010): directed by Darren Aronofsky

“I felt it. Perfect. It was perfect.”

Nina Sayers, professional Ballerina, has always been an idealist, but when she is offered the lead in Swan Lake, this quirk is amplified in a way that can only be described as the pursuit of perfection.

The part requires her to dance in two different roles: The White Swan (timid, gentle, and graceful) and the Black Swan (angry, strong, and full of fire). The first one she has no problem with — it’s the latter that brings about her descent into obsession. For Nina, there is no choice: achieving perfection in both roles is the only option. And we watch as she faces the limits of her talent and identity.

Practicing everyday under the strict eyes of the director, her intense mother, and the fellow performers, Nina begins to undergo hallucinations, intense paranoia, and bodily harm — all in the pursuit of dancing the part exactly as she desires. She pushes herself beyond her limits, and suffers from constant exhaustion, bloody feet, and disordered eating. The chase to become someone else makes her forget who she is. And the film begins to take on the feeling of a bad acid trip, as now neither the audience nor Nina can decipher what is real.

When opening night arrives, Nina is ready. Her pursuit of mastering both the White and Black swan has forced her to split in two — Nina remains, as well as an alter ego who is able to perform the Black Swan in a way Nina never could. But the other personality has taken on a life of its own, becoming real, or so it seems to Nina. When the curtains close, amongst the applause and bright lights of the stage, we see that despite succumbing to the madness and destruction of her double, Nina is smiling.

Black Swan ultimately critiques the idealization of “suffering for one’s art.” The dark side of obsession, and how the relentless pursuit of perfection can lead one to lose themselves completely. This can mirror our own pursuits of excellence, showing both the drive to improve and the pitfalls of setting impossible standards. It can help us reflect on our own expectations and the need for self-compassion. For its all too easy to get trapped in the perfectionist cycle, the same one that consumed Nina.

Whiplash (2014): written and directed by Damien Chazelle

“There are no two words in the English language more harmful than ‘good job’.”

Andrew Neiman, a freshman at an elite music conservatory, wants nothing more than to become a member of Terence Fletchers’ studio band — the best at the school.

The door of opportunity swings open when Fletcher hears him playing one night on campus, and invites him to join one of his classes. This event kick starts his journey into a relentless pursuit of excellence, even if it means sacrificing his well-being, safety, and relationships.

What makes this obsessed artist story unique is the relationship between Fletcher and Andrew. The teacher acts as a catalyst, intensifying Andrew’s obsession. His style of teaching, which includes verbal and physical abuse, humiliation, manipulation, and intense criticism, pushes Andrew to see perfection as the only acceptable outcome. He teaches Andrew that greatness requires total, unrelenting commitment — even suffering. This dynamic between mentor and mentee feeds Andrew’s obsession, making him believe that his worth is tied to his success as a drummer.

After cutting ties with his girlfriend, family, and friends in order to focus on what is really important, his practice routines become increasingly extreme. He plays until his hands bleed, often until total physical and mental exhaustion. This is amplified when Andrew, while rushing to a performance, gets in a severe car accident. He climbs out from the totaled car, blood running down his face, grabs his sticks, and begins running the rest of the way to the theater. But he is unable to play — his hands shaking too badly, and unable to see with the blood pouring into his eyes from a head wound.

Still on stage, Fletcher kicks him out of the band — causing Andrew to leap into action, tackling Fletcher to the ground, screaming at him. Andrew is expelled. Fletcher eventually fired from the school.

Now we see Andrew as we never have — done with drumming, working in a sandwich shop. And despite the horror of what his pursuit for excellence had done to him, we can’t help but want him to try again. That’s what makes the Obsessed Artist Trope so interesting. The passion is so real, but so are the consequences.

When the two run into one another at a Jazz club, they have a heart to heart about Fletcher’s intentions and Andrew’s potential. Andrew accepts an offer by Fletcher to play in his newest elite band — not affiliated with the school. But when opening night comes along, Andrew realizes too late that it’s a trap. Fletcher has given him all the wrong material — he is on the stage in front of the Judges ‘who never forget’ and he doesn’t know the music.

Humiliated, Andrew is forced to walk off stage. Fletcher has won. But Andrew stops backstage, and turns around. This Obsessed Artist story differs from most, because it’s not just about the destruction which accompanies striving for perfection, where the protagonist is left ruined and a victim of their own passion — in Andrew’s case it actually works out, right? He confidently takes his seat at the drums, cues the band to play the one song he knows they all know, and performs better than he has ever before. His drum sticks blurry from the speed at which he plays.

I first saw Whiplash when it came out in theaters. I was 13. I remember this night very well, but more specifically I remember this last scene — 20 minutes of film, the entirety of which has virtually zero dialogue, and consists of only Andrew drumming. Drumming: something that had never piqued my interest before, but in this case held my attention hostage unlike anything before. I couldn’t have looked away if I tried. I remember the entire audience was silent. People’s hands were frozen in their bowls of popcorn, not one wrapper crumpled. We all sat in stunned silence. We were transfixed by Andrew’s final performance. Everything had built up to that moment.

Whiplash is special, because it doesn’t feel like a movie. It feels like real life. Andrew represents the intrinsic drive we’ve all felt within ourselves. It’s dangerous and harmful, but in this case inspiring. It makes us question whether the pursuit of greatness is worth the sacrifices it demands. For if we all push ourselves to our breaking points, what could we be capable of?

The Queen’s Gambit (2020): based on the novel by Walter Tevis

“It felt good. I never won at anything before.”

Elizabeth Harmon, a chess prodigy who has yet to play the game, already craves a sense of control in her life — and chess gives her the perfect outlet. That, and the state sanctioned tranquilizers given to all children in orphanages in the 1940s.

After a car accident which left her unscathed, but killed her mother, Beth is quickly moved into the Methuen Home. The Christian girls’ orphanage is a very different life from what she has become accustomed to. As her mother, a graduate of Cornell University and holding a PhD in mathematics, insisted they live in an isolated, broken down trailer in the middle of nowhere.

Beth has no control in her life — not over where she lives, what she wears, or what the adults in her life expect of her. That is until she stumbles upon the janitor in the basement playing an odd looking board game.

Mr. Shaibel, the janitor, and Beth begin to play chess once a week in the basement. What originally was a pass time for the older man, becomes a mentorship as he realizes her skillset. Beth spends countless hours studying chess books, visualizing games, and playing against herself to sharpen her skill. Unlike others in her life who will praise Beth for her abilities, Mr. Shaibel always approached her gift with a hesitant sense of worry. And when Beth leaves the orphanage at age 15, adopted by a middle aged couple, he frowns as he watches the car drive away. One can only guess what he’s thinking: Did he help this girl by introducing her to chess, or doom her?

As much as Beth’s obsession with chess is at the center of her story, so is her dependence on benzodiazepines and alcohol. Beth represents the obsessed artist whose talent becomes both her passion and her burden. Her over active, intelligent mind struggles to feel peace, without artificial help. As she gets older, her dependency on both chess and pharmaceuticals spirals into a self-destructive pattern. She pushes people away, including those who genuinely care for her, fearing that they will interfere with her pursuit of greatness. When invited to a party in high school, she opts to steal a bottle of vodka from the parent’s liquor cabinet and walk home.

When she begins playing in tournaments, she sees her victories as validation of her talent and intelligence. For her, losing is not an option. Yet despite this unhealthy obsession, we still root for her to win. Her entire sense of purpose and self is bound to chess, so when she starts playing higher level players in mastery level competitions, every loss becomes a blow to her identity, not just her career. Beth also believes the drugs make her a better player. She often plays chess in her head, on the ceiling, visualizing the pieces upside down spread out on a huge board. She thinks her success comes from the tranquility the pills provide in quieting her brain enough to focus on the game.

After hitting rock bottom due to her substance abuse and isolation, she is forced to seek support from those around her. After years of going it alone, she learns to welcome the support, and allows others to help her study for her biggest game yet. In her final competition, Beth sits across from her greatest rival, Borgov. She’s spent over a decade perfecting her craft, but she’s playing as she never has before — sober — with people in the stands there to support her. Without the pills, we fear she will be unable to visualize the board as she normally does, but as her eyes lift upward, we see her moving around the pieces on the ceiling, planning her attack. And when her eyes lower to meet her opponent — she is ready.

The Queen’s Gambit portrays the highs and lows of artistic fixation and offers a nuanced perspective on how genius can be both a gift and a burden. In our own lives, we might grapple with defining ourselves through our work or achievements. But it’s important to find a balance between who we are and what we do, a lesson Beth doesn’t learn until it is nearly too late.

Breaking Bad (2008–2013): created by Vince Gilligan

“I did it for me. I liked it. I was good at it.”

Walter White, overqualified and underpaid in his position as a high school chemistry teacher, lives a monotonous life, but when he learns just how much money there is to be made in the methamphetamine business, Walter decides to focus his chemistry skills in a different direction.

Walt’s expertise in chemistry and his desire to create a “pure” product reflect his perfectionism. This precision and mastery go beyond making money—his cook is an expression of his identity, and validation of his genius. The more perfect his product, the more self respect he has. The line between Walt and ‘Heisenberg’ blurs, as he becomes consumed by this new identity, which gives him the validation and control he felt he lacked as a teacher.

He justifies his actions by claiming he’s doing it “for his family,” but as his obsession with being the best meth manufacturer intensifies, it becomes clear that he’s driven by ego and the need for recognition. His family, friends, and associates all suffer from his choices, whose lives Walt manipulates repeatedly to maintain control.

Unlike other obsessed artists, we don’t pity Walter — we start to hate him. His descent into violence and ruthlessness, manipulating and killing to protect his business and reputation leave something to be desired. What was once an exciting story of a man proving to himself he’s capable of something larger than life (that he is “awake”), turns into an ugly obsession driven by his desire to leave a legacy. He becomes a victim of his own obsession–his past failures having fueled his need to be remembered as “someone important”.

In the series finale, Walt finally admits to Skyler that he pursued his empire “for me,” not for his family as he had often claimed. This moment of self-awareness reveals the depth of his obsession. He realizes that his need for recognition and mastery over his craft was his true motivation all along. This is like a breath of fresh air for both the characters and the audience, because up until this point Walt refused to acknowledge the real reason behind his actions. This realization sparks feelings of forgiveness for Walter, as we are glad he’s come to terms with why he did all of this, instead of living in denial. Any respect we have left for him is pooled together for this moment — at least he’s not lying anymore.

Breaking Bad is a cautionary tale, as much as a thrilling drama. Walter’s story shows how the need for recognition, legacy, and mastery can push someone beyond ethical boundaries, leading to self-destruction and the loss of everything they once valued. Walter White differs from others on our list of obsessed artists, because audiences are often left on the fence of whether we are looking at the hero of the story, or the villain.

Mr Robot (2015–2019): created by Sam Esmail

“I don’t know… I wanted to save the world.”

Elliot Alderson, computer genius, uses his technological skill set in two ways — the first being his day job as a cybersecurity engineer, helping businesses protect themselves from hackers, and the second being hacking.

On the surface, what may come across as a superhero tale of a vigilante, stealing from the rich to give to the poor, is actually much more than that. Elliot’s story is a deeply moving one about personal demons, loss of identity, and the fine line between genius and madness. Elliot illustrates how a fixation on an ideal can consume one’s sense of self. Elliots fixation being taking down E Corp, a company which he believes symbolizes everything wrong with the world.

Elliot sees his hacking not just as a skill, but as a form of activism and justice. And his dedication to dismantling global corporate power and redistributing wealth to the people drives him to increasingly self-destructive behavior as he tries to bring about radical change.

He increasingly distances himself from any semblance of a “normal” existence — reluctant to trust others, fearing betrayal or distraction from his cause. Despite this, he does acquire a small team, whose headquarters resides within an abandoned arcade building on Coney Island — the original arcade sign spelling out “Fun Society,” now with the “u” and “n” missing.

As his hacks go further and further up the corporate ladder, reaching ‘the ones who play god without permission,’ so do the stakes. Elliots online life starts to spill over into his physical life, as we see the ramifications of his actions — coming face to face with the people he destroys virtually.

Throughout the series, Elliot endures drug addiction, sleep deprivation, and physical harm — all in service of his hacking goals. He seems almost willing to destroy himself if it means achieving his aim of taking down E Corp, because as much as hacking is a technical skill, to Elliot it’s an art form. His meticulous approach to writing code, orchestrating cyber-attacks, and strategizing shows a level of creativity, control, and passion that parallels an artist honing their craft.

Mr Robot is jam packed with psychological twists and turns, emphasizing how obsession can blur an artist’s perception of reality, leading them to question their own motives and actions. At times, it’s unclear if Elliot is driven by genuine idealism, or by a need for control fueled by his trauma. Toward the end of the series, Elliot confronts the truth about himself and his motives. He realizes just how much a need for ‘control’ has dictated his actions. This moment of self-realization is cathartic, as he begins to reconcile with his fractured identity and find peace beyond his obsession.

Elliot’s story is one of both creation and self-destruction. Through hacking, Elliot channels his pain and sense of purpose, but his obsession leads him down a path of isolation and instability. The series ultimately suggests that the pursuit of an ideal can consume one’s identity and that true self-understanding may require letting go of obsession.

. . .

It’s no coincidence that for the majority, the same person both wrote and directed these stories. Creating a story of the obsessed artist requires somewhat becoming one yourself. Nonetheless, there are countless lessons to be found within these characters — especially about the line between striving for your full potential, and getting lost in the impossible pursuit of perfection.