Art as Sublimation of Death Drive

I've come to think that the dialectical flip side of art as Nietzschean life affirmation is the sublimation of Freudian death drive. Adorno claims somewhere that you can tell the world is still broken and miserable because art still exists (paraphrase; from Aesthetic Theory, I think). I would push this further and say that, at the individual level, you can tell someone is broken and miserable because they make art. It does not matter how much they smile. It does not matter how much they think themselves happy. Inasmuch as art is wish-fulfillment, the truly happy cannot make art, because they lack the misery that gives birth to wishing. Adorno (again) claims elsewhere that every work of art is an uncommitted crime. Yes, and also, perhaps, an uncommitted suicide. What every artist receives in making art is the chance to destroy themselves and the world and remake both on their own terms. What every artist receives in witnessing the reception of their work is the experience of attending their own funeral. In the interest of full transparency and critical self-reflexivity, I must admit that there is in this theoretical position an element of projection.