My Art Therapy Journey

I don’t know what to say.  For over 3 months I have not known what to say.  Coming here to write, I couldn’t even remember when the last time was.  I was scared to see where I was last time I was here.  I’ve only skimmed through my last post.  I saw mention of drugs and dependency several times.

It’s like a whole other world…those 3 months ago.  It was before I’d even officially turned 33. It was in another lifetime.

These days I think more and say a lot less.  I’m not sure if my therapist would agree with me on that statement, but it’s how it feels to me most of the time.  I’m starting to open.  It’s vulnerable and things change frequently within the span of one complete thought.  So to share a single thought is even more vulnerable.  The moment a thought breathes it’s like it’s written for eternity.  It becomes like a statue.  Now that I’m breaking out of that frozen place it scares me to go back.


I’m still into my art.  I haven’t painted for many, many months, but I have been active with clay and ceramics.  I have tables and shelves full of half-finished work to show for it.  Some is still in the form of hardened, dry mud that might some day become cups, bowls, and plates.  Some have seen the fire once and are more solid, but still in question about what their last role will be.  They are raw.  No glaze, no color, skeletons still.  But most of what I have is probably still in my heart and mind.


Two of my ceramic sculpture projects are on display at school that I made for class last semester.  I don’t know what to say about those even.  I can never seem to talk about my art much, but if you get me going I could talk about the impact of art and what it means to me for hours.  But right now it’s all a little airy.

Not empty air though.  More airy…like God.  A definite, invisibly visible shape.

It’s the shape my life seems to taking.  I look more, or at least more closely.  I wait before making judgments and tend to keep my judgments (about people, places or things seen or unseen) open.  It’s because I realize I know so little with certainty.  And how can I possibly judge another person’s heart when so many people in this world seem to not even know their own heart they live so near everyday? It keeps me open to others and focused on getting familiar with myself.

I’ll tell you, this isn’t always a pleasant endeavor for me.  Did you know there are feelings in your heart?  Real, complex feelings.  I didn’t used to know this.  My conscious being existed separate from my breath.  I was living a divided existence and calling it “Me,” and I thought and believed this Me was all I had.

It was never everything.

A shock.

A revelation.

A death and a new life.


For myself, several new lives.  I’m beginning to see how I cut myself off, one at a time or perhaps many at a time throughout my years on this earth-all 33 of them.


I keep coming back to how I used to know so much.

It makes me laugh now.


Sometimes I’ll laugh at something like that and sit in curious wonderment for hours in my mind, even when life is busy taking care of business with motherhood and family.  My mind simmers on how I knew things and how unwell I know those same things now.

Funny, isn’t it?

God, so funny.




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