My Body is a Mason Jar

Being an artist while being in grad school is challenging. Art therapy students are expected to be empathetic and efficient. Accessible and analytical. Professional and playful. We must do this while we spend every day educating ourselves on how to combat the darkest aspects of human existence using creative energy.

Art therapy students are just that: students. We are students who are in therapy. We are role playing client and patient in rapid cycles. We are learning and making mistakes. We are holding down multiple jobs. We are in unpaid internships. We are friends and daughters/sons and sisters/brothers. We are in relationships. Some of us have children or additional caregiver responsibilities. We are tired. We are passionate. We are driven.

I used to wake up and think I want to make a piece that makes a statement. Because that’s what art is for for me. I make art to have a voice. It is a visible record of my thought processes. It is a physical manifestation of my imagination, passions and obsessions. I make art to show what is meaningful to me. I make art to connect to other people.

“I wish for a heart you can see straight through,
For a voice that glows in the dark
And a few really good friends to skip moon rocks to.”

— Andrea Gibson, "Jellyfish"

I have made art to deal with loss and get through the grieving process. I’ve made art to criticize the way society makes me feel about my body and how it should look. I’ve made art about identity, sexual assault, social media and gun violence. I’ve made art for assignments and for thematic exploration. Hell... I’ve made art about art.

I used to think art was the only way people would be interested in me. I used to hope that my artwork could get someone to understand me. Art (and design) became a way for me to tell a story. Perhaps even my story.

But lately I do not make art. I make jellyfish. I make patterns and visual study guides. I work in abstractions and geometric forms. I do this not because I have lost my voice, but because I am focused on helping other people find theirs.

Linocuts, 2019

Art therapy students end up making artwork that soothes us or is generally pleasing and approachable. The creative process becomes a method of self-care. This is mostly because we are so surrounded by turmoil and trauma that we cannot bear the thought of making work that contributes more negativity to our society. 

We could easily make something about the alarming statistics of suicide or child abuse. We could most definitely draw displays of the battles of PTSD in military populations, or the issues that people with disabilities face. We could paint personality disorders or sculpt schizophrenia. We could create an instillation that showcases the benefits of art therapy on almost any population. We could also create pieces that expose big pharma for the piece of shit that it is. How our education system is crumbling and in need of restructuring. How our society focuses more on an idea of pseudo perfection and happiness in all aspects of our lives than on process, development and experience.

But we make jellyfish.

Art therapy students work in symbols that we can pocket for private reflection. We fight against the recognition of “warning signs” in our own work. We have to try harder to reach levels of deep, unconscious creation because we are now too aware of the assessments and analysis of artwork to approach it in an animalistic fashion. We need to make work that reminds us that we are human. We need to make work to escape reality.

So we make jellyfish. Graceful, transparent entities that can exist in deep, high pressure places. Beings that can change and float and succumb to the surrounding waters. Creatures that can sting while dancing. Creatures that can turn on a light in the darkest places.

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.