A Dream in Motion

I am beyond excited to share that a long held dream of mine is now being realized!

My new art therapy, creative practice & mindfulness space,
The Space Between, is now open for groups and workshops, at The Bower, 248 Cabot Street, Room 217 (2nd Floor) in Beverly, MA! 

I have envisioned this space as a place where people can walk in and immediately feel held by a warm, inviting atmosphere and an array of enticing art materials that spark curiosity and creative play.

Curious about the name of this space and business? Check out my past blog post, The Space Between to explore the roots and metaphors that inspired the name.

What is The Bower?

The Bower is Montserrat College’s brand new community arts space and creative hub – a vibrant, three-floor building that brings together creative professionals, artists, and students. It’s a place where visual and performing arts, innovation, community programming, and creative energy all meet under one roof. I feel so fortunate to be a part of this community.

The Space Between is a place to create, connect, and simply BE.
A welcoming studio for exploring art therapy, therapeutic writing, somatic practices, mindfulness meditation, creative transition rituals, staff mini retreats, and more.

I began offering some free soft opening creative arts therapy workshops in January and have been so inspired by the excitement and  connections that are already forming.

You’ll find group and workshop listings and offerings here on my site and in a monthly newsletter. In addition, The Bower will be holding open studios from 5pm – 8pm on the second Friday of every month. Unless I’m out of town, I will plan to be there with an open art therapy studio to welcome you in. Join me to explore, create, and connect with others.

I would love to see you there and share this long dreamed of new beginning with you.

The post Big News! The Space Between appeared first on Art Therapy Spot.

“Music is the space between the notes.” (Claude Debussy)

Orbeez, Oh Boys

This morning, my ten and twelve-year-old boys were at the kitchen island, their school bags and snacks yet unpacked as I glanced at the clock. Instead of preparing for school, their hands were submerged in a bin of water filled with vibrant, rainbow-colored Orbeez balls.

I felt a familiar internal conflict. One part of me, the guardian of the morning schedule, felt a surge of frustration. But the other part, the advocate for play and curiosity, won the internal toss-up that day.

They invited me to join their tactile exploration, and I smiled as my hands moved through the cool, gelatinous sea of beads. Once my hands were immersed, I understood their delayed start to the school routine. My son Rohin then proposed a playful challenge: “Mom, see if you can find a clear Orbeez ball. It’s invisible, but you can find it by looking for the space between the colorful balls.” Softening my gaze at the bin of vibrant orbs, I trusted my intuition and submerged my hand. I was delighted when it emerged, cradling a small, clear sphere. This simple act felt profound; I had discovered a treasure by simply paying attention to the space between.

Cellular Space

Sometimes, the universe seems particularly playful. When a metaphorical theme captures my attention, it’s inspiring to witness how the message manifests in different places, with different people, and in various moments. Just an hour after the Orbeez-filled morning, I found myself at a craniosacral appointment. As my friend and craniosacral therapist, Maura, worked with me, she shared an intuitive thought. “Many people don’t consider this,” she said, “but there is space between all of our cells. We often focus intently on what’s wrong with a specific area of the body. However, I have a feeling it would be beneficial for you to spend some time tuning into the space between your body’s cells. This intercellular space is where our potential resides, much like the space between the notes in music.”

Lying on the table, trusting her gentle adjustments and energy work, I was deeply moved by her words. They resonated profoundly. I began to visualize the inner cellular space within my body. A sense of softening washed over me as my jaw unclenched and my neck muscles relaxed. There was something significant about consciously engaging with this intercellular space (which, I learned, is an actual scientific term!). I felt more spacious mentally and emotionally, and a quiet calm descended.

The Space Between Notes

As a musician, my earliest memories of learning an instrument revolve around understanding how to count the silent beats between the notes. Without this space, music would devolve into a jumbled, indistinguishable noise. Initially, I relied on a metronome or the insistent tapping of my foot to keep track of these silent intervals. But with practice, the space between the notes became intrinsic to me, the instrument, and the musical piece itself.

As I write this, the acoustic cover of “Blank Space” by Megan Davies & Jaclyn Davies has just started playing in the background. I can’t help but laugh at the perfect timing of this song title in relation to our theme.

I first encountered composer John Cage’s famous “4’33” piece in high school band, many years ago. Our music teacher introduced it without any preamble. We sat in near-complete silence for four minutes and thirty-three seconds, waiting for the music to begin. It never did. Cage’s piece gained notoriety precisely because it is a meditation on silence and the space between sounds. However, it isn’t truly about the absence of sound. In fact, within the noteless high school music room, subtle sounds that are usually overlooked began to fill the void: the rustle of clothing against chairs, a soft clearing of a throat, the chirping of birds outside the window.

Complex Times & the Importance of Space

What does “the space between” have to do with anything? I believe it has something to do with everything, especially now, during this pivotal time in our society. Space, particularly mental space, has become an increasingly rare commodity as our lives grow more complex and noisy. The constant barrage of dings, notifications, text messages, and emails all vie for our attention. Many of us rush from one scheduled appointment or meeting to the next – work obligations, errands, children’s activities, and other commitments. Even the routines that support and nourish us require space in the form of dedicated time and energy.

When we factor in social media, our inner lives can feel even more fragmented. We might pick up our phones with a specific purpose, only to realize that an hour or more has vanished without our conscious awareness. This cumulative time spent scrolling rarely rejuvenates us and more often leaves us feeling depleted.

Here are some creative ideas for incorporating space into your day and week:

• Schedule “Nothing Time”: Choose one or more times each week (even if it’s just for 20 minutes or an hour) to schedule absolutely nothing. Treat this time as sacred, as important as a meeting with the CEO. Block it off in your calendar with a fun name like “Inner Space Meeting” and resist the urge to fill it. Use this time to simply be. You might observe a sunbeam, meditate, engage in a small creative activity, or take a slow, uninterrupted walk. Regardless of how packed your schedule is, I believe we can all carve out at least 20 minutes a day or week for this experiment. If you’re struggling to find the time, consider where you might be spending time on activities that drain you (like mindless phone scrolling).

• Declutter: Countless articles and resources address the topic of decluttering, and I am certainly not an expert. However, I know that simplifying my physical environment, even by clearing off a shelf, brings a sense of calm and renewed energy. Decluttering can also become a meditative practice. Before you begin, set an intention, such as “as I clear physical clutter, I release emotional clutter too.” If you have children, involve them in the process. For items that are no longer needed and are suitable for donation, choose an organization beforehand and deliver them promptly to prevent them from re-entering your home.

• Embrace Silence: The other day, I was in my studio listening to a podcast while painting. I realized that I almost always have a podcast or music playing in the background while working on art, other tasks, or household chores. While I adore music and podcasts, I sometimes find myself over consuming both, especially podcasts. They offer new ideas and perspectives but can also distract us from our inner experiences, similar to television or video games. Constantly hearing others’ thoughts and opinions can become a form of overstimulation and distraction when excessive. When I paused the podcast, I admit I immediately missed the familiar voices. But I stayed with the quiet discomfort. I opened the studio window and began to notice the sounds outside: birdsong, passing cars, overhead airplanes, and the rustling of leaves in the wind. Painting without the podcast or even music heightened my senses. I noticed the feel of the paintbrush in my hand, the texture of the paper, and the way the color spread across the canvas.

• Single Tasking is the New Multitasking: Did you know that multitasking is largely a myth? When we say we are multitasking, we are actually just rapidly switching between multiple tasks. “Switch Tasking” would be a more accurate term. While we can often perform automatic tasks simultaneously (like walking and chewing gum), engaging in complex activities simultaneously divides our attention. Trying to listen in a meeting, check emails, and scroll through Instagram simultaneously means your mind cannot be fully present in any of those activities. This attempt at multitasking can lead to errors, poor concentration, and increased stress. The alternative? Intentional single-tasking. When writing an email, try to be fully present in the act. Feel your fingertips on the keys, notice the satisfying clicking sounds, and appreciate the way sentences form and appear on the screen. Engaging your five senses in any task can enhance your presence and focus, making the experience more enjoyable.

The Aesthetic of Space in Art

In art and other visual mediums, negative space, sometimes called white space, refers to the empty areas surrounding the main objects or focal points within a composition. You might recall drawing exercises where instructors emphasized paying close attention to negative space as a technique for creating dynamic artwork. Similarly, in Japanese art and aesthetics, the concept of ma describes the intentional empty space around an object or objects. Imagine a Japanese brush painting depicting the tips of single-stroke trees enveloped by an implied fog – a soft white space. In such pieces, it is the very absence of brushwork that imbues the actual strokes with energy and life.

In my own artistic journey, I have often struggled with leaving visual space untouched, gravitating towards filling the entire surface of a canvas or paper. While this maximalist approach is sometimes part of my aesthetic, there are other times when I wish I had allowed for more “breathing room” within a piece. One of my ongoing challenges as an artist is discerning when a work is truly complete. The temptation to add just one more element, one more layer, often arises when a piece feels close to its final form.

Lately, I’ve found myself increasingly inspired by artists who deliberately incorporate space and untouched areas into their work. I’ve always been particularly drawn to sumi-e, Japanese brush painting, which beautifully connects the artist’s breath and energy to each brushstroke while intentionally cultivating the white space around it. In my studio, I’ve been experimenting with slowing down my painting process, pausing in the spaces between strokes to thoughtfully consider whether the artwork truly needs more or less.

Soulful Simplicity

A few weeks ago, I attended a Soul Collage Workshop for the first time and was immediately captivated! Initially, I found it challenging to select specific photo images from the array of colors, textures, patterns, and evocative imagery. However, as soft music filled the room, I began to gather the images that sparked the most excitement: a snapshot of colorful fish moving through an aquarium, a mountain climber clinging to the edge of a cliff, a little boy with an elaborate hat blowing bubbles.

Typically, when working with collage (or any art material), I lean towards maximalism – the idea that “more is more.” However, on that day, the concept of “less is more” intrigued me. I challenged myself to use no more than three magazine images per Soul Collage card. This deliberate simplification in the process compelled me to be highly intentional about which images to include and how to arrange them to create a cohesive whole. I noticed that I was leaving more visual space between each image. This allowance of space fostered a unique synergy and dynamic interplay between the two or three visual elements. Each time the final image fell into place, I experienced an internal sense of completion for that individual card. The space between each visual element created a dynamic visual interplay that amplified the power of each image.

Art Therapy Space

At the beginning of almost every art therapy group, especially when new members are present, I share a brief introduction. One key message I convey is, “This is your time and your space to pause, to take time just for you to get curious and reconnect.” The theme of the space between is particularly relevant to art therapy work because the group (or individual session) truly provides an intentional sanctuary within the often-frenetic lives of my clients. To further cultivate this therapeutic space, I ask clients to turn off or silence their cell phones, take a few grounding breaths, feel their feet on the floor, and set an intention for our time together. These small prompts are vital for supporting the group’s sustained attention and presence.

Over the past fifteen years, I’ve led groups in countless locations: next to noisy boilers in shelter basements, in crowded lobbies, in a bustling children’s hospital room, at bedside, on picnic tables in urban gardens, in classrooms, and even over Zoom. While the physical spaces have varied greatly, the importance of creating psychological and emotional space remains constant.

Many of us find it increasingly difficult to find the space between the demands of daily life. So, here’s a simple suggestion before beginning an art therapy session: simply state your intention aloud. Yesterday, before an art therapy group, I asked everyone to pause before engaging with the art materials. I invited each person to share what they hoped to gain from our hour and a half together. While each response was worded uniquely, a common theme emerged: a desire to pause, to find community and connection, to deliberately slow down and prioritize the space between their stressful appointments and schedules. The fundamental need to be with others, to be seen, and to be heard permeated the entire room. As we began exploring the art materials on the table, I noticed the shift almost immediately. Shoulders relaxed, deeper breathing became audible, and genuine smiles spread around the table. All of us finding rest in the space between.

The post The Space Between appeared first on Art Therapy Spot.

I love beginning a new post with a favorite poem or quote. Here’s one from the numinous poet Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, that bubbled up to the surface today at just the right moment:

Unresolution

Because after all these years

of focusing on the goal as if

happiness is a thing I attain

or a place I might finally reach,

now I thrill when I see through

the myth of arrivals.

I see where I have grasped

and clutched and clawed

and scrabbled to be somewhere

not where I am. Not that I regret it.

The memory of grabbing

helps me feel how beautiful it is

each time the hand opens

like a morning to what is here,

opens as if the opening itself

is what I am here to do.

___

A Glimpse at my 2024

In many ways the past year has felt like a layered blurry cake of emotions, experiences, and changes. As a mother, wife, artist, art therapist, and friend – these aspects of self have danced together, sometimes in unison and sometimes taking turns as the lead partner. At times I’ve approached life head on, and other times I’ve crept around the corner and retreated a few steps. There have been moments of stillness and somewhat chaotic or frenetic moments. 

In 2024, my work as an art therapist continued to evolve in meaningful ways. I continued my work at Lifebridge, providing art therapy to unhoused individuals at their primary Salem location. I also expanded my work to offer art therapy groups at their new women’s shelter and at the Cabot Apartments, where I engage with long-term residents.

Making the difficult decision to step away from teaching at Emmanuel College in Boston was not easy, but it was freeing for me to be closer to home and avoid the challenges of Boston’s rush hour traffic. I deeply miss the school and the art department, and I’m grateful for my time there—it was where my journey as a professor of art therapy began. However, this year, I had the pleasure of teaching a Jung & Creative Arts Therapy course at Endicott College, and I’ve deeply enjoyed collaborating with colleagues and co-creating with students each week.

In my art therapy consultant business, I’ve continued to work with incredible organizations and individuals, bringing therapeutic art workshops to diverse groups. I’ve maintained a strong focus on our “Create & Connect” workshops, which support professionals such as therapists, nurses, doctors, case managers, directors, and teachers. These workshops offer both professional development and mental health support for those who are often in the role of caregivers themselves.

One of the highlights of my year was an August collaboration with rabbis from Hebrew SeniorLife. Together, we offered a two-day expressive arts therapy and trauma-focused Zoom retreat called “Refresh,” aimed at supporting rabbis and chaplains in Israel following the October 7th attacks. In November, this same remarkable group of rabbis came to the north shore for a week of healing and reflection. We engaged in trauma centered care, personal narrative practices, reflective listening, and expressive arts therapy experiences designed to support their ongoing healing journey, and share practices that can be brought back to their communities in Israel.

Another highlight of 2024 was my collaboration with the incredible leaders from New Profit, where I had the privilege of being a keynote presenter and workshop facilitator at their annual school director gathering. The event was held in a stunning atrium at the New England Botanic Garden. As we began, it was pouring rain, and the soothing sound of raindrops against the glass created a peaceful, meditative atmosphere. Halfway through our art therapy workshop, the sun broke through, and we all basked in the light while searching for rainbows to match the vibrant, mixed-media artwork we had created together.

In 2024, I spent time in my studio, but I also found myself creating small pieces of art throughout the house. I’ve continued to leave little stashes of art materials in accessible corners, and as I reflect on the past year, I realize I created something—sometimes as small as 4×4 inches—every day. I followed the same creative advice I share with my art therapy clients: little creative moments add up. Never let a lack of time hold you back. Even just two minutes of art is better than none at all. And with that, remember to give yourself grace, trusting that the art (or music, or writing, or any other creative practice) is always patiently waiting for you to return when you’re ready.

Intentions versus Resolutions

This year, I didn’t set a “resolution.” I didn’t do it last year either. Instead, I chose to create an intention for 2025. Actually, I set several. For me, intentions feel different from resolutions. They are more open and flexible, like inner compasses that can be adjusted along the way.

One of my personal art making intentions is to challenge myself in the studio this year, exploring new surfaces, styles, and color palettes. Today, I spent some time in the studio, working with bright fluorescent acrylics and experimenting with layering and uncovering hidden depths. It felt like a fresh start, and I’m looking forward to what comes next.

In my art therapy practice, I’ve set the intention to experiment with new materials in my groups. While my personal work has largely focused on 2D mediums like drawing, painting, and printmaking, I’ve felt a strong pull to expand my offerings to clients, providing a wider range of options for self-expression. To be fully transparent, I’ve had some anxiety around 3D materials and techniques since my younger years—perhaps influenced by a few unkind 3D college professors in the past. This year, I’m challenging myself to explore at least one new 3D art form and gradually incorporate it into my groups when it feels right. 

In 2024, I set the intention to integrate my mindfulness and meditation background more deeply with my art therapy work. I had hoped to offer at least one “closed” mindfulness-based art therapy group, either in person or online. However, something held me back, and while I spent a lot of time daydreaming about it, I didn’t move forward as I had planned. So, for 2025, I’ve set a clear and focused intention to make this group a reality. I’m excited to share that I’ve already received approval to offer a six-week closed mindfulness-based art therapy group at one of my Lifebridge/YMCA locations, and I can’t wait to see it come to life.

And as I type, I’m moving forward in another 2025 intention! I intend to write more this year. Writing fills me with joy and a sense of purpose and also helps me distill my own lived experience in my personal and professional life. Many times my inner perfectionist would stop me from hitting the “publish” button. I’m hoping to shift my relationship to that perfectionistic part, and remind her that it’s more important to share my passion than wait for the “perfect” words to spring forth. So here is my imperfect (but wholehearted) offering to myself and to you – the reader!

Your Turn

Do you have any intentions for 2025? Perhaps one – or perhaps a few in different life areas? If you’re not sure where to begin, here are some ideas I’ve come up with that might be intriguing and helpful. 

Mind/Body/Spirit triad

Open a fresh page in your journal and write the words “mind,” “body,” and “spirit,” leaving space beneath each one. Then, close your eyes and settle into stillness. Imagine the shifts you’d like to see in each area of your life. Start with what’s already working well—it can be a powerful foundation. For instance, if you’re already good at staying hydrated, give yourself credit under “body.” If your sleep habits could use some improvement, recognize that, too. This practice can help you focus on both growth and gratitude.

To bring this concept into the visual realm, try experimenting with interlocking mandalas (also called a mandorla), where each of the three parts has its own circle that connects and overlaps in the center. You might want to write “Self” or “Me” in the center point. Use colors and marks in each circle that feel connected to the words you’ve written under mind, body, and spirit. Let the colors and shapes reflect the energy or qualities that emerge for each area.

If you’re interested in further mandala inspiration, please visit my 2016 blog post on on Intention Mandala creation.

Meditation Cards

I frequently use different meditation cards in my personal and professional work. I have several decks that I adore, and there are some clear favorites amongst my clients. I let them know that they are not tarot cards – meaning they are not about predicting their future. Rather, they are tools for reflection. As Bruce Lee once said, “Absorb what is useful, discard what is not, add what is uniquely your own.” 

For deck inspiration I love any deck created by artist Kim Krans. I have the Wild Unknown Archetype Deck and the Animal Spirit deck. I also love decks by artist Alana Fairchild and have her Kuan Yin and Rumi deck. 

There are so many ways to work with these cards, but a simple way is to ask the deck a question such as “help me focus on a heart-centered intention for today” and then shuffle the deck, spread it out face down, and draw one card. Once you have the card, notice your initial gut feeling about the card. Does it immediately resonate or does it confuse you? Does the message connect or do you need to dig a bit deeper to unearth it’s magic?

To go further, I suggest journaling about the card. Try stream of consciousness writing for a few minutes. Or create a response piece of art to the card and then engage in a creative dialogue with your art piece.

You can pull a new card each day, once a week, once a month, or even pull one at the beginning of each new year.

Intentions on the Move

Yesterday, during my art therapy group at the women’s shelter, one of the women stood up after drawing and said, “Now I want to put on some music and dance around.” I encouraged her, sharing that one way to think about emotions is as energy in motion.

To infuse your intentions with energy, if you can, try going for a walk. Leave your phone and music at home so the textures of the world around you can serve as a temporary soundtrack. Before you lace up your sneakers, pause and ask yourself, “What is my intention for today?” Then walk your way into that intention.

I recognize that physical movement isn’t always accessible, so as an alternative, try gently swaying if you’re seated. You could also try subtle head rolls, circling your wrists and ankles, or taking slow, mindful breaths—drawing in the air and then releasing it—to help move the energy within.

Back in 2021 I wrote and shared an intention-centered poem. I’ll reshare it here, and hope that it brings you some inspiration as we move into this new year. And I love hearing what’s on your mind and in your heart, so please feel free to leave comments about your intentions, ideas, and 2025 creative musings. 

May you…

Have the Confidence to follow your heart, 

The Calmness to breathe through challenges, 

The Creativity to sculpt and compose each day, 

The Clarity to discern what matters most, 

The Curiosity to explore and play,

The Courage to follow your internal compass, 

The Compassion that includes both  yourself and others, 

and the Connectedness to know your true belonging in this world. 

The post Arriving in 2025 appeared first on Art Therapy Spot.

“The mind of the beginner is empty, free of the habits of the expert, ready to accept, to doubt, and open to all the possibilities. It is the kind of mind which can see things as they are, which step by step and in a flash can realize the original nature of everything.” (Shunryu Suzuki)

To Be Bored or Not To Be?

You’re not going to believe me. But I don’t recall being bored for a single moment in my life. My husband tells me that I’m the only person he’s ever met who has never been bored. He says it’s a superpower. I happily take the compliment. And then I pause to ponder, how could anyone ever be bored in this life?

Waiting at the DMV for 3 hours, I can’t help but people-watch. I love trying to figure out what each person might be thinking or feeling. Where did they come from and where are they headed? In traffic, I catch glimpses of cloud formations in addition to interesting facial expressions on the drivers crawling along at a snail’s pace beside me. Walking in the woods with my children, I am delighted at the textures, smells, and colors surrounding me as the children scamper in and out of the path. An art therapy client is telling me the same story again and expressing frustration over their failed relationship. Although it’s the same story, I’m noticing slight variations on the theme, a slight sparkle in their eye, a new pacing in their telling of the story. 

If I’m alone, my mind keeps me very entertained. I notice when I slide into an internal story about the past or future. I tune into sensations in my body. I observe the subtle changing of the light across the wall as the day progresses. If anything, sometimes I become overwhelmed by the sheer amount of things that life keeps offering to the senses!

Perhaps I’m never bored because I’m wired for “beginner’s mind.” It didn’t occur to me that people could become bored, but friends and family assure me that it’s possible and at times my children complain they are bored. When my children are bored I play the waiting game. I listen, rather than supply an immediate idea. When the boredom grows big enough – they tend to get very inventive! A cardboard box becomes a temporary fort, they revisit a tub of forgotten Legos, or they head into the woods to check on their favorite stream. 

Beginner’s Mind

It’s hard to be bored when you see everything with fresh child-like eyes.  So what does my monologue about non-boredom have to do with life and art therapy work? Well, my first intention is usually to help client’s cultivate “beginner’s mind” or shoshin in Japanese. Beginner’s mind is a phrase often heard in Zen Buddhism teaching. It describes a quality of mind that is open, eager, and ready to meet life as it is, rather than filtered through preconceived notions. It’s the opposite of being bored!  Shoshin can also help us meet difficult feelings with a sense of curiosity, rather than judgment.  You can observe this non-judgmental and open-hearted way of living with most young children. They naturally live in the beginner’s mind realm. They run around the yard in wonder as they point out different bugs, flowers, and rocks. They greet the elements of the yard with beginner’s mind and a lack of pretense. If you go on a walk with a child, the walk will take you twice as long. However they will help you notice things you have always missed before.

Art therapy clients come to my groups with many preconceived ideas. Their heads are often spilling over with concerns, self-judgements , and resistance. In many ways it is the opposite of a beginner’s mind. They often say things like “I’m no good at art” or “I’ve tried before and it’s not my thing.” They have defined themselves and their lives in a certain way over time. I do this too! Most of us do. The stories have wrapped around them like an overstuffed snowsuit, which leaves no room for free movement. With so many ideas taking up mind real estate, it’s hard to have space for new ones! 

Empty Surface, Empty Mind

An empty canvas or paper is a striking metaphor for beginner’s mind. There are endless possibilities. An empty surface is exciting for me as an artist, however part of being an art therapist is honoring the anxiety or other feelings that an empty surface can bring up for clients. There are many ways to hold space for these feelings. 

I encourage the beginner’s mind approach in art therapy work by reminding clients that they have permission to explore and play with the materials. I am there as a secure base and supportive person to accompany them. I remind them that the focus is on the process right now, and that the product will take care of itself. I notice which materials they might be eyeing, or if there is a specific color they are reaching for – and I encourage them to follow through with that instinct. Over and over I have seen how the first marks on the surface are hesitant, but become increasingly playful and confident as the person and the piece evolves. 

Since most of my clients have not used these art materials, or have not in years – the materials and process naturally help them shift into a beginner’s mindset.  They don’t have a preconceived idea of what the material will do if they’ve never used it before! Again, this can initially lead to some worry. However in all of my years as an art therapist, I’ve never worked with a client who didn’t eventually find their way into the exploration process.

Soap to Sculpture

I’ve worked with men and women after being released from prison. They are some of the most creative and resilient individuals I’ve ever known. With almost every one of these clients, I’ve noticed a pattern in creativity. Most prisons don’t offer anything in the way of art, art therapy groups, or other visual outlets (although some do and hopefully more will too). 

The lack of access to traditional art supplies never seems to have stopped these clients from creating. Years ago at a homeless shelter in Brooklyn, I had a new client join me who had just transitioned from the prison system. I had a large table overflowing with art supplies in all mediums for my open studio group. He looked somewhat uncomfortable as he sat down. When everyone else was beginning to make art, he held back. I asked him if there was a material he was looking for or if he wanted a little direction. He smiled and said,“If you had a plain bar of soap, I could show you how to carve a sculpture.” He went on to describe his time in prison and the alternative materials that he found to create art with during this time. His stories inspired the other group members and me. 

This vignette is a beautiful example of beginner’s mind. Most adults would look at a bar of soap as something that we used to clean ourselves and leave it at that – however this client saw the sculptural and creative potential in a bar of soap. He didn’t have the same limited view of the soap as many of us do on a daily basis. Next time you look at a common household object, practice beginner’s mind by asking yourself “what else could this become?” 

Beginner’s Mind Inspiration

Here are some playful ways you might invite “beginner’s mind” into your own life or work with clients. 

• Create art with your non-dominant hand. This requires a certain amount of letting go. It can feel strange at the beginning, but often becomes strangely liberating over time. 
• Take a slow walk around your neighborhood. Photograph 10 things you see that you’ve never noticed before. If you feel inspired, use one of those photos as inspiration for more artwork at home. 
• Blind contour drawing. Draw an object without looking down at your paper. (It’s helpful to tape the paper down)! Go slowly and try not to peek until you’re done. If you’re looking for inspiration, Elizabeth Layton was an incredible artist who began doing contour drawings in her 60’s as a way to heal from severe depression. Also a great example of “beginner’s mind” at any age! 
• Try an art material you’ve never used before and just experiment. Or, if you usually prefer two dimensional work, try three dimensional work or vice versa. 
• Squiggle art. This is one of my children’s favorite games and we often do it at restaurants while waiting for the food. One person makes a scribble on the paper and the second person makes something out of the scribble. It’s a drawing version of finding images in the clouds! 
• Choose a color you would normally avoid on the palette. Perhaps you’ve never tried that neon orange tube of paint? Then create a painting only using that color with white, to see how many hues and layers you can make. 
• Choose a piece genre of music you don’t normally listen to and then pick a song. Create art while listening to the song and see where it takes you. 
• If you normally make art on smaller surfaces, challenge yourself to work large! And vice versa. 
• Work in a series. Choose one object from your house (such as a mug, piece of fruit, etc). Then create 20 or more small pieces about that object. Each one will be different. It helps you to see the same object with beginner’s eyes each time. 

I’ll leave you with a quote from Byron Katie, one of my favorite spiritual teachers. 

“The gentlest thing in the world is an open mind. Since it doesn’t believe what it thinks, it is flexible, porous, without opposition, without defense. Nothing has power over it, nothing can resist it. Even the hardest thing in the world – a closed mind- can’t resist the power of openness. Ultimately the truth flows into it and through it, like water through rock.”

Let your mind move like water my friends. And see if you can cultivate a form of beginner’s mind every day. 

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Making Space for Grief

One of the places I work is a respite care center for medically fragile adults who are experiencing homelessness. The center provides living accommodations, food, case management, and a medical care team. Unlike the bustling larger homeless shelter that I begin my day at, this location has a quiet and subdued energy on most days. There are fewer clients and the art therapy group takes place during “quiet time.” Anyone who does not participate in group spends time napping or relaxing in their rooms.

Last month I sat across from a new group member at the table. She was in her 70’s, with untamed white hair, piercing eyes, and a tense facial expression. I had been inviting her to join the group at the table for a few weeks now. She would often make a noncommittal sound and turn away or amble out of the common area when we began. So today I was inwardly happy that she had chosen to join me. I was very curious to see how the time together would unfold. As it happened, most of my regular members were away at medical appointments, so it was just the two of us.

Her grey blue eyes darted around nervously. I noticed that her body was angled away from me, as if she had a greater chance of escape if things became too intense. I slowly and methodically laid out my art materials: watercolor brushes, cups of water, brushes, washable markers, watercolor pencils. She commented on the array of materials. I smiled and said “this is a little art buffet for the day.” I demonstrated how the different materials interacted with the water. She was especially intrigued by the watercolor brushes.

Despite her interest she expressed some anxiety and said,”I’m not an artist. I can’t draw.” I replied that most people who came to group had said similar things. I encouraged her to just choose one of the watercolor brush pens and see if she could make some marks with it on the paper. It was perfectly fine to just focus on the feel of the materials and experiment.

As her hand began to shakily move across the page, the rich silence settled around us. The gentle water rhythms of the fish aquarium behind us was the only noticeable sound. I didn’t rush to fill the silence. It felt nourishing to me and I wondered about her experience of the quiet.

After a few minutes she began speaking. At first she spoke so softly that I had to lean in to hear her fully. She told me that her daughter had died a few years ago. I heard the catch in her voice. Her daughter had a medical condition that worsened. But her death had come as a surprise, and the client felt that it had been needless and due to medical negligence. As the woman spoke, her voice grew a bit louder and was tinged with understandable anger. She continued to speak about her daughter and all of the things that made her daughter unique and lovable. She peppered her sentences with the occasional swear, especially when voicing anger and disappointment. I occasionally asked a question, but mostly just listened with my full attention.

At one point she took a deep breath and said, “Everyone else has told me to just move on. That it’s been a few years now and I should be feeling better. But it hurts every day.”

I looked her in the eyes and said,

“If someone tells you there is a correct amount of time to grieve and a certain way to do it, they’re full of shit.” 

Her eyes widened. And then she gifted me with a teary-eyed smile. She said “No one has ever said that to me. Just let me grieve. Without trying to fix it. Thank you.”

As the session unfolded, she continued to work with the watercolor markers. She began drawing a sand dollar in the bottom corner of the paper. She said “I have no idea why I’m drawing this” but stuck with the image. As it took form she told me a story about her beloved father, and how he would take her to a certain beach as a child. The two of them would collect sand dollars for hours. It was one of her fondest memories. She missed her father and his presence. The grief she felt for his loss was wrapped into the loss of her daughter and other people in her life. She kept expressing surprise that the sand dollar had emerged on the page. I spoke to her about the intelligence of symbols in our art and how they tend to find a way out when needed. Together we held space for both the special memories and the grief.

Shared Grief

About a month later I was quietly sitting with my own grief at the art therapy table with this woman and a few other group members. She had become a weekly regular and was often heard telling other apprehensive clients that they should come to group.

As we sat there, my heart felt heavy. I had recently lost two very special people. My cousin and my best friend from college had both died during the same week. They had been my age of 42. A couple days after learning of their deaths, I had gotten Covid for the first time. I spent the first 5 days in quarantine, wrapped up in blankets and grief. I would look out the window and wonder how everyone else could be bustling about their day, when the world had lost these two incredible people. I felt intensely disconnected from myself and the world around me. Having Covid added a surreal layer to my mourning.  I wanted to be held and close to others, but needed to maintain physical distance as I made my way through Covid. Even though I knew the quarantine period would not last forever, I knew that the sense of loss would be a companion going forward.

The theme of loss happened to emerge in group that day as the woman and other members shared stories. It was a cohesive group of people and everyone was invested in the art before them as we spoke.  I decided that a little self-disclosure in that moment might be supportive of the group process. I told the members that I had recently lost two close people. That even though we all grieved differently, I was appreciative of this group and our support of one another. As we sat there making art together, they offered me their condolences and appreciation for being vulnerable with them. They were able to offer me the same quiet open-hearted space that I had offered to the woman weeks ago. I had the feeling (that I so often do)  of us just being together in our humanness. As Ram Dass once said, “We’re all just walking each other home.” 

Yesterday I attended on online meditation group and the theme happened to be grief. As the facilitator spoke a bit I noticed a number of teary eyes spring up around the screen. Even though this was a group of strangers, there was a shared experience of holding space for grief even in our little Zoom boxes on the screen. I was again reminded that grief is not a solid form that we can mold to our will. Rather, it is a bit like watercolor. Just when we think we have some “control” over the process, the materials and life will remind us to let go a little more.

Mono No Aware

There is a beautiful Japanese phrase that is hard to translate exactly. But if nothing else, the sentiment is what touches me. The phrase “mono no aware” points to the ephemeral and transient nature of life. It is an awareness of the impermanence of things and a deep yet gentle sadness about this reality. As a child I was aware of this concept. I remember spending hours in the woods and watching the rise and decay of natural forms. Marveling at the transitions in mother nature. I remember lying awake at night and staring into the abyss too. Wondering what happens when we die and trying to part the heavy curtains that seemed to block the living world from the world beyond.

Perhaps this is part of what drew me to art therapy work. I see each art therapy group as a world within worlds. There is a definite beginning, middle, and end to the group itself. But each moment has the potential to drop us more deeply into the mystery of life. We show up with our vulnerabilities. We don’t know where the art will take us, just like we don’t know where life will take us. We bring humor, sorrow, curiosity, and many other qualities to the experience. Each moment is ephemeral because it is always changing. But as we gather together, I am struck by the sense that we are arriving fully in each moment in the best way we can.

If you are in grieving or supporting someone who is, remember that there is nothing to fix. This can be so hard to practice, especially in a culture that rushes and encourages us all to just move on. However, our deepest need is presence. And presence takes many forms. I often weave poetry into my groups. For me, poetry is like a healing salve. And many of my clients express similar sentiments. Like visual art, poetry does not attempt to solve a feeling. Rather it acts as a faithful companion as we walk through our lives. What brings you into presence? How can you hold your grief more gently? Here is a poem by a favorite poet, Mary Oliver.

In Blackwater Woods

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

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The theme of resilience is a common thread through many of my art therapy groups. Resilience is the ability to grow through hard times – to bend without breaking and to persevere against the odds. I love to see the spark in people’s eyes when they are able to identify personal resilience in the context of their struggles.

It is easy to overlook our inner resilience even as we see it in those around us. However a key to developing resilience is acknowledging where is it already present. Focusing on resilience contributes to a growth mindset, which can lead us to embrace challenges, utilize constructive feedback, and keep learning through life’s lessons.

Living through Covid times has brought the theme of resilience into sharp focus. We have slogged through some of the most intensely challenging moments of our lives. We have had to radically change our daily habits. We have faced losses and grappled with ongoing uncertainty.

All of these issues can cause us to live in survival mode. Out of necessity we’ve had to adopt a kind of tunnel vision and an intense form of emotional compartmentalization. Survival mode keeps us moving forward during crisis but does not allow for much emotional space to process. As some of us transition out of survival mode, the compartmentalized feelings may resurface slowly or very quickly. For me, the full weight of the past year plus has just recently begun sinking in. This often manifests as a sense of unease, distractibility, difficulty making decisions, uncertainty, and mixed feelings.

Processing with the arts

Art and writing offer themselves as a natural way of processing these times. By its very nature, art making pumps the breaks on life’s frenetic pace. The act of creating requires a little time and space, carved out just for us.

I created the phoenix watercolor painting (top of post) out of an intense need to reconnect with my own inner resilience. For weeks I had been feeling disconnected from myself. I was struggling with daily anxiety. My experiences were very much related to the pandemic and ongoing stressors. During an EMDR session with my own therapist, the image of a fiery red Phoenix rising from my body spontaneously emerged. For those readers unfamiliar with the Phoenix, she is a mythological bird. The myth says that each night she comes back to her nest. The nest spontaneously bursts into flames, which appear to consume the Phoenix. She is reduced to a pile of ashes. However, the next morning a baby Phoenix emerges from the ashes and begins to grow. With each incarnation she grows stronger.

In my mind’s eye I could see the Phoenix wings in vivid detail and almost feel the red, orange, and yellow feathers unfolding behind my own back. I sat down in my studio immediately after the session with my watercolor brush markers. I created the image in only a few minutes. It was cathartic. I spent some time just looking at the Phoenix and imagining ways of embodying her bold and healing energy.

This art experience inspired me to write a poem in response to the painting. I thought about all of the ways we rise. Sometimes gracefully and sometimes awkwardly. Sometimes smoothly and sometimes painfully. But it is the rising itself that matters most.

How I Rise

This is how I rise,
Fierce in a blaze of color and flames like the Phoenix.

This is how I rise,
Slowly and painstakingly like a newborn fawn, trying to find my legs.

This is how I rise,
Groping about in the dark, seeking a sliver of light.

This is how I rise,
Turned in the wrong direction, turning again, and again.

This is how I rise,
Clumsy and shaky, humbled by my process.

This is how I rise,
All at once without warning.

This is how I rise,
Soft like a translucent unfolding petal towards the sky.

This is how I rise,
Jagged and sharp like a mountain peak piercing the horizon.

This is how I rise,
Full of wonder in the rise itself.

-Sara Roizen

Your Turn

Does the Phoenix myth and imagery resonate with you? Do you relate to one of the lines in the poem above? Do a brief scan back over your life. Remember times you rose up from the ashes, stronger than before. Maybe you’re going through that process now. Close your eyes and go within. What do you need right now to begin your ascent? Notice any colors, forms, or even words that appear. How does it feel in your body? Tune in to the felt sense within.

Next, grab any art supplies that appeal to you. Create an image that reflects the rising Phoenix energy. Your art may look nothing like a Phoenix. It may be representational or abstract, big or small, two or three dimensional. For this experience, don’t overthink the process. There is something primal about this energy that does best when given a wider channel. Work on this image until you find a natural stopping point – knowing you can return to it at any time.

Keep the image in a place you will frequently see it. Pause for even a few seconds daily to check in with the image. Do you notice any shifts in yourself? Notice at least one example each day of how you are rising. You can journal about it or just mentally note to self. While you’re at it, see if you can observe the Phoenix energy in those around you. Maybe it’s an exhausted mother rushing home from work who still manages to smile at her children when she picks them up. A client of yours who continues to show up for therapy weekly, despite his heavy depression. A teacher who created a sanctuary for her students during a pandemic. A friend who called his sponsor instead of picking up a drink. Someone recovering from surgery and taking her first tentative steps. Maybe it’s you – slowly but surely stepping back out into the world after this past pandemic year.

If you feel inclined, let your image inspire more works of art. Write a poem like I did, choreograph a dance, or create music to accompany your art. Share the image with others who might need to see it. It will remind you and others of their innate Phoenix spark.

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“If we live as we breathe, take in and let go, we cannot go wrong.”

– Clarissa Pinkola Estes

I recently had one of those days. To be specific, it was one of those pandemic life days. All day I felt on edge, listless, and frustrated. Every request from my children set my teeth on edge. I wanted to relax and yet I wanted to be productive. I was in the mode of comparing my behind the scenes life to everyone else’s highlights reel. No matter how hard I tried, I could not bring myself back to emotional center.

Eventually I exhausted myself both physically and emotionally. After dinner, I felt bleary eyed and drained as my family sat around the table. Not knowing what else to do, I took out a drawing pad and pen. With pen and paper in hand, I began making long rows of flowing lines.

Accidental Self-Regulation
I slowly found my drawing rhythm. After a few minutes I realized that each line was the length of my exhalation. Without meaning to, my system was seeking self-regulation through art and breath-work. Here’s what was happening: I would inhale deeply while lifting the pen off the paper. Then I slowly exhaled through my mouth –  while drawing a single line from the top of the page to the bottom. I repeated this visual meditation for the entire paper. In breath, lift pen. Out breath, draw a line. I noticed how my body craved the longer lines of the out breath.

As my entire nervous system began to settle, I noticed my children both picking up art supplies. My five year old began drawing flowing lines on his paper with a marker – emulating my art. My seven year old created his own “feelings” Pokémon character – telling us that his Pokémon drawing had the power to change emotions. It was as if he sensed that the art had shifted my emotions at the table and his Pokémon character had that special power too. Although my husband wasn’t drawing, he was clearly benefitting from a calmer family seated around him!

What struck me was how my own simple drawing and breathing practice became a nonverbal invitation for my children to engage in mindfulness through art. Although I still felt tired from a tough day, I was no longer resisting the feeling of being tired. I felt relaxed and looked forward to the rest of the quiet evening.

College Roots
Years ago when I was in college, I took a Chinese brush painting class with a well known Chinese artist. He introduced us to the technical aspects of Chinese calligraphy and brush painting. But what stayed with me the longest was his training in breath-work.

Each Chinese character stroke corresponded to an in breath or an out breath. I practiced with rows and rows of the same character each day. My brushstrokes were awkward and sloppy at first, then too controlled. At the end of the sixth week I was still far from expert, however my Chinese characters felt more alive. When looking at them, I could feel the lines breathing with energy. This course proved to be one of my most grounding and soothing courses in college, and not because it was easy. But because the practice was all about visual breathing meditations.

Breath as Energy
I think about breath as energy. The in breath and out breath each possess unique energetic qualities and are tied to the cycles found in nature. From the book Breathe: Simple Techniques for a Calmer, Happier Life by Jean Hall:

“On the exhalation apana is created, a downward – flowing energy, which is responsible for rooting, grounding, and elimination. Again, consider a glass of water that is being emptied. The water flows out from the top of the glass first and then drains through to the bottom with the water line descending. This is the same in the body; as the breath is released on the exhalation, the downward flow can be felt moving and receding from the chest through the belly. The opposing energies that we find in the breath of rise (prana) and fall (apana) create balance and can be found everywhere in nature – such as summer and winter, day and night, space and earth, movement and stillness.”

Honoring the natural ebb and flow of our breathing is a way of staying present with our bodies and experiences in the moment.

Breathing During These Times: Anxiety & Panic
Breathing has become a particular focus during Covid times. Sometimes the focus is fear based: about losing our breath, breathing in the virus, or spreading our germs by breathing out. Wearing a mask when I’m out has brought more attention to my own breathing. I can feel the sensation and temperature of my breath as I exhale, and the fabric of the mask touching my mouth as I inhale.

If we struggle with anxiety and panic attacks, breathing can become a source of worry. Even people who did not struggle with anxiety pre-pandemic may be experiencing anxiety for the first time. And veteran anxiety sufferers may have some tools from past experience, but feel overloaded with the unique anxiety surrounding these pandemic times.

The hyperventilation of a panic attack can make us feel as if we’re not getting enough air into our lungs. We may become hyper-vigilant to our every physical sensation, which can cause our breathing to become shallow and erratic. We may become locked in a vicious cycle where the fear response leads to shallow breathing, which leads to more fear, and back to more shallow breathing.

If you do a search on the internet for breathing exercises, a huge amount of helpful exercises will appear. If you’re struggling with anxiety, specify that in your search. Rather than devoting space to a long list of techniques here, I’d like to focus on just 3 simple exercises that I have personally found helpful for anxiety and panic attacks. I will take them each a step further by suggesting ways to pair art making with them. These are each a variation on the same theme: doing mindful breathing and mark making in tandem. *Note: f you have a history of breathing difficulties or are not sure, always ask your doctor before engaging in specific breathing exercises. 

Longer Exhale
This is probably the fastest and most simple breathing method I have found for quickly shifting from the sympathetic nervous system (an activated nervous system) to the parasympathetic nervous system (for resting, digesting, and relaxation). Quite simply, just make your exhale longer than your inhale. First, breathe in through your nose if possible. Then form a small “O” with your mouth as if you are blowing through a straw. Then breathe out. This often makes a soft whooshing sound. This is an excellent method if you are in the middle of a panic attack or just want to relax your nervous system. After a minute or two of breathing like this, your heart rate should lower and hopefully you will feel a sense of relief beginning to emerge. This breathing method gives your mind and body the message that you are safe and that it’s time to switch off the warning signals that are causing the panic attack.

Longer Exhale With Art: As I illustrated in my example above, make your exhalation visual by making a mark that corresponds to the length of your exhalation. I used pen in the example at the beginning of this post, but you can use any art material you have on hand. Some ideas are colored pencils markers, watercolor brush pens, liquid ink, or oil and chalk pastel. You can also play around with paper size. If you are struggling to slow down your exhalation, begin on a half page of paper. As your out breath lengthens, you can move to a large piece of paper. I drew wavy lines, but you can make any type of mark. Experiment with mark making that feels soothing. Some other ideas are drawing circles, ocean waves, or rolling hills.

Square Breathing

As shown in my drawn square diagram, square breathing is another simple and effective strategy. Picture a square in your mind or look at a square in front of you. Then slowly exhale as much air as you can. Next gently inhale through the nose for a count of 4. Hold at the top of the breath for a count of 4. Gently exhale through the mouth to the count of 4. At the bottom of the breath pause and hold the breath to the count of 4. Repeat these steps as many times as feels good.

Square Breathing With Art: Print out a page of squares or begin by tracing a group of squares onto a piece of paper. See my example for inspiration.  Slowly trace the side of the square as you inhale to the count of 4, (then hold for 4) then slowly trace the next side of the square while you exhale to the count of 4 (then hold for 4). Repeat as many times as you’d like. Then move on to the next square on the page and repeat. You may want to have some fun and switch colors for each square. The finished page will be a record of your deeper breathing as well as a colorful grid of squares. Have fun with the squares if you like and fill them in with designs and doodles after your breathing exercise. Continue to be mindful of your breathing as you draw.

5 Finger Hand Breathing (Also called Take 5)

My 5 year old son taught me this one! And he loves to remind me to use it during tough (emotionally charged) moments. What’s wonderful is that it’s simple enough for a child to do remember the technique. If you have children, teach them this method and then have them remind you when you need to “take 5!”

First, place one hand in front of you or on the ground or surface. Spread your fingers apart. Using the pointer finger of the opposite hand, slowly trace your thumb on the outside and inhale deeply. Then slowly trace your thumb on the inside as you exhale deeply. Repeat this with the rest of your fingers – inhaling as you trace up each finger and exhaling as you trace down each finger. Repeat the process as many times as you like until you feel calmer and more centered.

5 Finger Hand Breathing With Art

This is such a natural breathing exercise to adapt to art. Place your hand on a piece of paper and repeat the steps, using a drawing material (such as a pen, colored pencil, or crayon) to trace each inhale and exhale as you breathe around each finger. Try this with children too! Let them trace your hand as you breathe in and out, or offer to trace their hands as they do the same. You can expand this exercise to fill an entire page with overlapping hands, which can then be colored or painted in.

I hope that these ideas bring comfort and relief to you as you explore them. This is just a taste of ways we can work with our breathing and art making. I look forward to bringing you more ideas. As always, I love to hear from you in the comments! Let me know what you are currently practicing with breathing and the arts. How are you navigating this time in our lives?

The post Drawing Breath appeared first on Art Therapy Spot.

“No mud, no lotus.”

– Thich Nhat Hanh

This pen drawing of mine was inspired by the quote “No mud, no lotus” by the beloved Buddhist monk and teacher Thich Nhat Hanh. I have always been drawn to his teachings, and this quote in particular.

I have transported his words into my therapy groups for years. Time and time again, I have witnessed a light in people’s eyes as we explore his teachings. I see the sudden understanding when my group members realize that the “mud” in their lives is not something to be ashamed of, but something to acknowledge and perhaps even appreciate.

The mud symbolizes the suffering and darkness for so many of us. We may feel alone, uncertain, and even hopeless at times. However, the lotus conveys a powerful message. A lotus flower begins life enclosed in the dark muck and mire at the bottom of the water. In this dark space, the lotus draws in vital nutrients. Without the mud and darkness, the lotus flower cannot begin its life.

As Thich Nhat Hanh writes in No Mud, No Lotus: The Art of Transforming Suffering:

“Most people are afraid of suffering. But suffering is a kind of mud to help the lotus flower of happiness grow. There can be no lotus flower without the mud.”

The muddier the bottom is, the more brilliant is the lotus that unfolds on the surface.

I turn Thich Nhat Hanh’s words over frequently  while thinking about the muck and mire that our country is trying to sift through. There are days when I just want to curl up on the couch and disengage from the daily flow. As an empath I feel not only my pain, but the pain of so many others. On other days I remember to breathe. I breathe into the pain, suffering, and uncertainty. I acknowledge the pain that is present. And then I try to grow some space around the pain. I feel around until I reach the edge of that feeling…and then I breathe even more deeply into that space.

I visualize the lotus curled up into itself at the bottom of the water. The tender petals gradually reaching out and feeling around. The innate intelligence of the lotus (and all life) that allows this flower to know which way is up when the time arrives.

We may not know which way is “up” right now. But maybe, when the darkness sets in, we can lean into our own inner knowing.

Creative Ideas

If this lotus symbol resonates with you, here are a few ideas to explore.

•  Write a poem or short story from the point of view of the lotus flower, perhaps using the first person point of view. Begin the writing journey at the bottom of the water, and see where it takes you.
• Search for a photo of a lotus or take one yourself if you can find one in nature. Then choose any art materials, and let the photo inspire a piece of our own art. Try watercolor, soft colored pencils, chalk pastel, pen and ink, or collage. You may even wish to sculpt a lotus using model magic, clay, or play-doh.
• Become the lotus. Take inspiration from yoga postures or create your own unique movements. Begin close to the ground and then let your body unfold slowly into different positions as a lotus would make its way to the surface. Children will enjoy this process too!
• Write and/or illustrate your own life story about a time you were experiencing darkness and challenging times. Explore as little or as much detail as feels comfortable. Perhaps reflect on whether there were hidden gifts in the darkness that you came to see? Then chronicle your path out of the darkness.

  I hope these ideas spark your interest and lead to reflection and creativity!

May we hang in there through the darkness. Breathing open inner spaciousness. Doing our part when and where we can. Trusting our inner process to keep seeking the light as we make our way to the surface.

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“We spend January 1st walking through our lives, room by room, drawing up a list of work to be done, cracks to be patched. Maybe this year, to balance the list, we ought to walk through the rooms of our lives…not looking for flaws, but for potential.”

– Ellen Goodman

This morning on January 1st 2021, I opened my eyes and first observed the sunlight spilling into my bedroom. I wriggled my toes and fingers and stretched a little. I deliberately took a few deep breaths before transitioning out of bed.

I mentally scanned the past year of 2020 – the challenging times mixed in with the beautiful moments. I wandered downstairs and poured myself a cup of coffee. Then I wrote this out on a piece of paper:

In 2021, 
May you…

Have the Confidence to follow your heart, 

The Calmness to breathe through challenges, 

The Creativity to sculpt and compose each day, 

The Clarity to discern what matters most, 

The Curiosity to explore and play,

The Courage to follow your internal compass, 

The Compassion that includes both  yourself and others, 

and the Connectedness to know your true belonging in this world. 

This writing originated from deep in my heart. The 8 C’s (Confidence, Calmness, Creativity, Clarity, Curiosity, Courage, Compassion, and Connectedness) are a central component in Internal Family Systems (IFS) Therapy. IFS therapy is something I have benefited greatly from and I encourage you to read more about it by following the link above.

The 8 qualities are aspects of our core self. Any one of the 8 C’s would be a powerful intention to explore for this coming year. Or, choose one each day to focus on. All of these roads lead back home…back to yourself.

Thank you for accompanying me on this journey at Art Therapy Spot. I can’t wait to see where it takes us next!

The post 2021 Intentions appeared first on Art Therapy Spot.

“If I create from the heart, nearly everything works;
if from the head, almost nothing.”

– Marc Chagall

Each day for the past week I have been pulled towards my studio to create. Over the past few months my art practice has been sporadic but present nonetheless. As the weeks and months stretch on during this pandemic, art is my reliable sidekick. When my heart has wanted to close up and retreat, art gently knocks and seems to say “stay open for me.” 

My Studio
My studio is a light filled space in a converted attic in our home. I feel profoundly grateful to have this space to make art. However I have also made art in musty basements, next to my bed on the floor, on subways commuting to work, and at kitchen tables. (I still make art at kitchen tables. I often do it while the kids are finishing up dinner)!

As I climbed the stairs to my studio this morning my heart felt lighter with each step – an anticipatory excitement filling my body. My phone alarm was set to give me the maximum studio time before picking up the kids from school. They are home before lunch each school day right now. But that gives me a few hours to myself on many days. Working within the time constraints helps me to focus and dive into the process quickly. I set my phone alarm for 11:50am and then hit snooze to make time for a few more brushstrokes.

Hidden Gifts
I am keenly aware of the hidden gifts of this pandemic. My husband Adam and I have made a daily practice of cultivating joy, even amidst the loss, anxiety, and turmoil of these months. We guard our joy when we can and try to wrap it around the children, like warm blankets on a chilly night. This is not about doing anything perfectly. Rather, it is about cultivating our intention to be as present as possible for ourselves, each other, and the kids.

Making art helps me to stay present as a mother and partner to Adam. Art making is a vital practice for me – especially right now. It feels less like a luxury, and more like a necessity. My art has helped me come back home to myself. These studio mornings fill me back up so that I can give to my family throughout the day.

Connecting Through Art
Making art is a large part of my journey. The second leg of the journey happens when another person connects with my art. I try to infuse each piece with energy, compassion, and feeling. I paint directly from those feelings intuitively and spontaneously. I am excited when my art resonates with someone. Perhaps it has helped spark a feeling inside of them. Perhaps it is a meditative visual pause in a busy day. Or maybe it taps into a hidden spring of ideas previously overlooked. During these times, I am also hopeful that art can be a vehicle for spreading warmth and empathy.

I let myself become intensely present in the mark making, layers, and colors. I trust that each stroke or line will give birth to the next one. I am comfortable wrestling with the uncertainty of a painting and seeing it through. (More on becoming comfortable with uncertainty in an upcoming post). Creating is a leap of faith. And one I happily take every day.

For months I had the intention of organizing my art in order to make it available online. In person exhibitions have been put on hold. I realized that I had an opportunity to pivot and share my art online with greater focus. Here is a gallery link to my available vinyl record mandalas.

These vinyl record mandalas are always evolving. Each piece tells a unique story. They are all infused with heart and passion. I hope you connect with them in some way. And, I hope you find a way to cultivate your own heart space during this time in our lives. It might not be through art making. It might be a different outlet or calling.

You will know you’ve found that path when your heart feels a little lighter with each step. 

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