More Than Ocean Water Broken

In session two of my art therapy group last night we began to examine how poetry and visual art can work together, inform each other, encourage expression, etc. We started by doing a couple of warm-up drawings. The first was an exploration of colour, letting our hands move across the page, bringing together colours chosen from the table in front of us. I started with an oil pastel on it's side and loved the texture of each stroke as it moved across the surface of the table, which was slightly bumpy from splattered paint and overzealous usage of glue. I drew a leaf/seed-like shape in lime green, and from it came a splash of yellow and orange rays of sun (or a mane/mohawk?) then covered the background in magenta and finished with four dollops of teal, like little stones or pools under the arching figure of the green teardrop-yellow ray combo.

The second "warm-up" we closed our eyes and drew a "scribble drawing", letting our hands guide the pastel across the page until we felt it finished. Then we opened our eyes and coloured in shapes to our liking. I found myself quite drawn to a pinky-peach colour, a mustard yellow, teal and turquiose. When I first examined the result, I thought it looked something like a mess of tangled ribbons. I really liked the method of closing our eyes, somehow it felt a bit less conscious, from deeper within and so I was quite drawn to this little abstract piece.

Soon we were onto the main project for the evening. We closed our eyes and the therapist read aloud 3 poems. We listened and waited for feelings or images to emerge in response, then gathered art supplies and created an image that related to one of the poems. I chose the following.

Once by the Pacific
by Robert Frost

The shattered water made a misty din.
Great waves looked over others coming in.
And thought of doing something to the shore
That water never did to land before.
The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,
Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes
You could not tell, and yet it looked as if
The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,
The cliff being backed by continent;
It looked as if a night of dark intent
Was coming, and not only a night, an age.
Someone had better prepare for rage.
There would be more than ocean water broken
Before God's last put out the light was spoken.

This poem was so powerful that we all chose this one as our subject for the evening, but our masterpieces were all quite different. Some used collage, or mixed media. Others tried water colour or pastels. I created a painting using acrylics. When the poem was read I envisioned curling dark clouds of grey and black obscuring a warm mustard yellow sun/moon with splashes of angry red in the sky above a turbulent sea of crashing waves in blues and greys like Van Gogh's starry night (one of my all-time favs) gone mad. It turned out a little like that, although I must admit that I again ran out of time, feeling as if it wasn't finished. Through the creation process, a strong angular cliff emerged in violet-brown and I liked the definity of it as it held firm against the crashing waves. It felt like a message of strength in rocky times.

In order to reflect on our work we dialogued with our pieces, asking specific questions then writing the answeres with our non-dominant hand, which wasn't easy to do but I understand that it is useful in bypassing the conscious/logical/on-automatic brain. I found it amazing what came out on the page! If you try this exercise, ask your artwork, "Who are you?" "How do you feel?" "What made you feel this way?" "What can (your name) do to help?"

Happy creating!

Love and Peace XX

Start Where You Are

I had my first art therapy women's group today and I have mixed feelings about the experience. Wow they are an interesting and lovely group of women, but I didn't feel like I really got deep into it. Perhaps it will take time since I am so distant from my inner-self, caught up in the tasks of daily life. I felt self-centered, selfish in my need to share, slightly closed to others and others needs, a head jumbled and unclear, a little frazzled.

Some years ago I did a dance therapy workshop and was able to get deep into it quickly (& I even had some prophetic visions while there) but I was much more switched on at that time, spending a lot of time on my own and with supportive spiritual-types. I was meditating, painting, dancing, running, and unattached. That class also began with a candle-lit meditation. Now my head is messy, obscuring my true self and it was harder to connect to my inner guide and to the present moment, especially in a brightly lit studio after rushing to prepare for the babysitter, and making my way across the city through rush hour.

Our first task was to pick an image or figurine that spoke to us about how we feel right now and then write about it, later we decorated our portfolios with images meant to represent ourselves, an introduction of sorts. The first project was easy, I chose this painting by Miro of a woman who looks stunned, disheveled, in the midst of housework, alone, wide-eyed as if she is saying "help!", looking into the distance as if for someone or something, and yet her feet are big and sturdy, grounded, and the cat at her feet is smiling, purring, there is somehow happiness in her home. I was able to write a page full of words describing the heavy feeling that was in my heart when I arrived and how it related to the image. That felt good.

For the second project I wanted to pick images that were lighter, happier, about me and where I have come from. However, I got caught up in looking for images with meaning that spoke to me, and then didn't have enough time to arrange them in a meaningful way. My end result was ugly, messy, rushed. It didn't feel right. I looked around the room and the other women's projects were all beautiful, original, intriguing. Some focused on colors or shapes that were appealing, others created images out of images that told a story. Some were simply words, and some grouped images into where they are and where they want to go. Mine felt boring, uninspired, a mish-mash of things that reminded me of my past, my home town, my family, things I like. I looked at it and wondered how I will ever be able to call myself an artist. "This isn't art", I thought. Of course one of the game rules of art therapy is not to judge ourselves, or compare our work against others since it is about the process, but I couldn't help but think, where am I? This isn't me, my creative, wise, connected side! This is rushed and messy, thrown together. But as I write this post I realise that that is where I am at the moment, rushed, messy, head full, disconnected, thrown together, disheveled like the farmer's wife. So I have found some insight tonight and the project result is perfect. As Pema Chodron says, you have to start where you are! Hopefully as the group continues I will emerge less hurried, less messy, more clear and able to create from that space, but here I am now and actually I feel much lighter than I did earlier this evening so the process has begun. I will keep you posted as we go along.

Love and Peace XX