Create a New Reality

I think everyone can agree that graduate school requires a lot of work outside of class. For me, this is not so different than undergrad since The College of Saint Rose kicked my ass (Seriously though. A shout out to every professor I had there. You all prepared me for this shit. Gold stars all around. And some whiskey. Cheers.) 

Although I believe I can handle the workload, I am already feeling a bit of pressure in terms of balancing school and personal life. My weeknights are completely booked and my days are all freelance design gigs to pay bills and making artwork for class discussions and studying and reading, reading, reading. Oh and writing papers. And observing therapy sessions and mental health events. And reading. Did I mention reading? There’s quite a bit of reading. Also not a surprise... But I just need to emphasize that even though I love to read… there is a LOT of reading. Based on my history, I’m only a few weeks away from sweatpants, no bra, and a caffeine IV drip. Which is cool because that means this hellish summer weather will be gone and I am officially too busy to give a f*** what anyone is thinking. Cheers (again) to the elimination of social anxiety in my quest for a master’s degree.

So now we are two shots deep. I wish this were true in some of my classes, simply because I’d be less guarded. Most class sessions involve everyone basically being in therapy together because all of your professors are psychiatrists, therapists or counselors, and all of the artwork you make has everyone discussing your issues, dreams and feelings. Sometimes a red line is just a red line, folks (Freud would disagree. Hey! I learned something already).

I don’t think it’s weird that I get a bit defensive when people I have never spoken to want to discuss and analyze a dream I’ve had (background information: we had to draw our dreams for our Wednesday night class. I chose one where I am with all my siblings and we are in some type of dungeon in a castle and we cannot escape. I had it many times growing up and it’s still pretty vivid. We had wonderful childhoods. No need to call authorities). Sometimes it’s an emotional, deep, dark, savage hole up there, ladies and gentlemen. This introvert only has so much capacity for smiling, pleasantries and small talk.

Apart from the forced socialization and unwanted discussion of personal thoughts, grad school is fantastic. It’s fast-paced, intense, compelling and inspiring. I find myself consistently making connections to things in my past. Every day, it’s like the next bulb in a string of lights has been repaired. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

For example, in chapter 4 of The Handbook of Art Therapy there is a quote from Melanie Klein, “‘the artist’s aim is always, even if he is not quite aware of it himself, to create a new reality. It is this capacity to create and impose on us the conviction of a new reality that is, to me, the essence of art.’” This idea came before John Fowles wrote The French Lieutenant’s Woman or Ray Bradbury wrote Fahrenheit 451 (but not before Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein). This idea I’ve always been drawn to, this theme of creation and independence from the creator that comes up again and again in novels, is also true in art therapy and art movements and psychology.

“Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there.”

— Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

For some reason, writing (an art form) is seen as credible, intelligent and academic. Drawings, paintings and sculptures… not so much. I will save my rant about how badly our education system needs restructuring for a separate post, but be warned: it’s going to be angry and it’s going to be sad. However, it is essential to discuss this problem in order to understand why art therapy currently is where it is in American society, as well as why art therapy is beneficial to so many people battling with various mental health struggles.

It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement

My first night of grad school consisted of 180 minutes in a course called Theories in Art Therapy and Counseling. There was the usual reviewing of the syllabus and an introductory presentation on the importance of understanding both concept and relevance of various psychological theories. 

What was different from any college experience I have ever had was a short art session in which we were asked to "draw an advertisement about yourself" for an introduction portion of the class. I think my social anxiety coupled with multiple insecurities (Real quick: 1. I have zero knowledge of art therapy; I have a BFA in Graphic Design. 2. I'm new to LIU Post. 75% of my classmates did their undergrad degree here and already have established friends and networks. 3. I haven't been a student in 7 years.) resulted in a missed opportunity to show people what matters to me. The word "advertisement" immediately sent me into my graphic designer mentality. Before I was consciously aware of what I was drawing, I had scribbled out 3 vertical rectangles on the left side of paper.

“ I have been a graphic designer for corporate communications agencies that pride themselves on helping our clients tell their story to the world. And I couldn’t even tell my own. I was, to borrow Holden Caulfield’s favorite term, a phony. And everyone was about to find out.”

Once I realized the shapes I was forming and what they reminded me of, I began to fill in the rectangles with important literary works that have shaped my life. The French Lieutenant's Woman obviously claimed some space (see Post 1: The World is an Organism) as did Bradbury's fantastic Fahrenheit 451. I added a geometric form with a succulent inside it, as well as a few other books. In the upper right corner I drew a corkboard with a few pinned photographs. 

We only had 15-20 minutes to do this. All I could think about for the first 30 seconds was How am I supposed to do this in 20 minutes!? Panic was brewing in my stomach. My hands were actually shaking. My next thought was What the hell am I supposed to say about myself? Social introductions are hard for me. Always have been. I've gotten by my entire life using sports teams as a way to break the ice and create some friendships. And now I was in a room full of talented artists who are very intelligent and observant and probably looking to pick apart everyone's work (okay this was the anxiety talking).

This nauseating wave of uncertainty and inadequacy was launching itself up my throat. I had this overwhelming fear of being scrutinized and judged. I hadn't drawn critically since my junior year of undergrad, and even then I wasn't that great. My drawing looked inexperienced, impersonal and boring. I have been a graphic designer for corporate communications agencies that pride themselves on helping our clients tell their story to the world. And I couldn't even tell my own. I was, to borrow Holden Caulfield's favorite term, a phony. And everyone was about to find out.

I can't say what my small group thought about me. I don't remember what I said about myself. I just remember observing glazed over faces and lack of interest. Everyone else in the group asked each other questions. They wanted to know more about each other. To be honest, I felt the same! I met a girl from Taiwan who came here specifically for this program because her country doesn't offer it. I met a guy from Ohio who loves photography and was taking school portraits to make ends meet. I met a girl who is a full-time art teacher at a local high school while also attending this program. It was a welcome distraction from my own worries. I was more interested in other people than I was in my own internal dilemmas. Next week, we will be broken out into different groups and get to meet more of our peers. Hopefully this time I can relax and produce a drawing that is more playful and open.