Creating Wellness
“If, when you wake up in the morning, you can think of nothing but writing . . . then you are a writer.” ― Rainer Maria Rilke "Letters to a Young Poet."
I've always written. I've always expressed myself through words on paper but never called myself a writer. I used to paint, as well but didn't like calling myself an artist, either. It was my way of creating beauty that didn’t otherwise exist in my life. Of making something beautiful out of something ugly. But I didn't appreciate what it truly brought to my life; how it helped me through so many of life's difficulties.
Art is a very powerful medium for healthy self-expression. And, it is often used in therapy as a treatment modality, for that reason. Art is a powerful way of expressing our deepest emotions, a healthy coping strategy and a way of losing yourself to help you find yourself. It’s a way of venting; a way of off-gassing and expressing what’s inside you, in a healthy manner. A way of letting it all out; of letting it go.
Art, in whatever form; writing, painting, sculpting, music, photography or acting, allows us to express these deep feelings and send these feelings out into the universe without poisoning those around us. It allows us to take something ugly, and make it beautiful through this form of expression.
Visual art was once one of my main forms of expression; my way of making something beautiful out of all of the ugliness in my life. I used to paint. It was my way of expressing my angst throughout a dark time in my life; of painting over something ugly, to make it look beautiful. Of cleansing it and then sending it back out into the universe, laundered and clean.
Like my writing, painting saw me through a lot of darkness. It helped me cope when things got very dark in my life. At times, art was all I had to get me through. Then, one day I stopped cold. I stopped painting, altogether. Reflecting on this now, I think that I stopped because I didn’t need it anymore, at that point. I had said all I needed to say through paint on canvas. I’d exhausted that medium because it wasn’t giving me what I needed any longer. I even stopped calling myself an artist. I used terms like, “I used to be an artist”, instead of saying, “I used to paint”; the reality being, once an artist, always an artist.
I stopped defining myself and my life in this way for some reason. Just like when I would say, “I write”, but never call myself a writer. As though, if I weren’t published, or if I didn’t have a gallery exhibition, then I wasn’t really a writer or an artist. As though, art to me, had become something that makes you, instead of something that you make; something that others will appreciate, versus something that you need to express, regardless of how others will view it.
I’ve recently started painting again; and I’m thinking that it’s because, even though I have my writing, it seems I once again need this form of expression, as well. I need the visual and the tactile experiences; the feeling of paint on, and the movement of the brush in my hands. Of being able to view and touch something more tangible; something I can hang on my wall and see every day. Something where I can see my self-expression; a visual representation of my journey and feelings about it. Where I can visualize my progress, and see the beauty within the otherwise ugly bits surrounding my journey thus far; where I can see the light that frames that darkness.
I’m finding it even more cathartic than before; when I didn’t feel talented enough as a visual artist. Even though I stopped painting because I didn’t feel I had what it takes to be an artist; couldn’t express what I wanted to, how I wanted to. Because I felt that I didn’t have the skill to make a perfect circle or a realistic looking landscape, and that this mattered, somehow.
Not realizing at the time that it really didn’t matter to the expression, itself. That if I needed it badly enough; like I did now, I’d not be so much of a perfectionist about my painting (like now). I’d put down my paintbrush when I picked up a computer mouse, because I could suddenly make that, otherwise, allusive, perfect circle. But this didn’t make me happy. It wasn’t a form of self-expression, so much as it was a way of making money while being creative. I’d sold out on my art for the purpose of making something, perfectly. Not realizing that this wouldn’t be enough. Not realizing at the time that I’d either grown enough and healed enough to live without this form of expression, for a time; or, that I’d abandoned it for my then, relationship (with J). A way of temporarily plugging the holes in my heart and mind, that abandoning my art had left behind.
Not realizing that I would abandon all forms of self-expression for a mate, and lose myself somewhere in there. Not realizing that I would need it again one day; to help me find my way back to me. To help me find me. That I would come back to it to help me heal from the inadvertent consequences of having abandoned it, in the first place.
That I would once again use this medium of artistic expression as a part of my wellness journey. To take its place on my journey; along with writing and all of the other forms of self-care and healthy coping that I would add to my repertoire of wellness tools. As one of the tools in my wellness toolkit that would see me through this healing process; that would help me make something beautiful out of something ugly.
I used to paint. It was my way of creating beauty that didn’t otherwise exist in my life. Of making creating beauty out of something, otherwise ugly and of finding a light to frame and illuminate the darkness. I abandoned it once because I didn't feel I had talent; not realizing how much I actually needed it and how little talent really meant to this form of self-expression.
Now, I'm painting again. I'm expressing myself again; without worrying about perfection. I am expressing what is inside me; and not worrying about what others will think about the outcome. Purposely creating imperfect circles. I am creating wellness both, with words on paper and paint on canvas. And, I wake up in the morning, and all I can think about, is painting and writing. And that makes me a writer, and an artist. Talent and skill doesn't matter as much as the expression, itself does. And, that's how I know it's working.
