Near the end of her career Marguerite Young returned to writing poetry. Asked why she answered "Because I know how to do it." I believe that within the turmoil and passion of a "usual" life much great art has come forth from a mental quietude in the exercize of a practiced proficiency. The work gets done. With or without the documentable agonies of a given life, the art comes forth. And the individual composers differed in their chosen style of being the drama queen at the core of such a purple passion. Beethoven was often quite loud. Chopin was excessively unostentatious. Mozart was a master at hiding everything. Bach always did manage a piety even at his most robust. Handel so consistently sublime. Each had his way of it.
That's my take.
Thanks for giving me this opportunity to address this issue.