In art class, I dabble with watercolors and color pencils. Here, I am a student of the arts. It took a while for me to fully understand what this meant, and how I would come to borrow from my learnings in the art classroom as a therapist. To be a student of the arts, to me, meant, to be able to
(a) create or come in touch with inner life to be able to dream of a creation before it comes to be on canvas
(b) the allowance to attempt translating this undreamt creation on paper, to make contact with the space and impress oneself onto it
(c) the capacity to bear with the lack of control and the ambivalence as the creation forms
(d) the ability to sustain the process to its completion
(e) to look at the painting as one’s own, to be its audience and creator
In the time I spent in that classroom and many hours I continue to spend learning from my patients in therapy and with my analyst in analysis, I have come to see that the two pursuits of painting and analysis are not much too different.
In this essay, I have chosen to fully explain who is the painter, the teacher, and the painting. I imagine that these positions can be occupied by the patient, the therapist, the patient in therapist, the supervisor, the online room, the physical clinic, the hour of therapy and many such insides and outsides. But I suppose it is best left to the reader to make what they wish to of it.
The inner life, the creation before creating
The creation exists within the painter before it is created. For one who has never laid hands on a brush will still create an impression when given paper. When left to oneself, where does one express from? Whether or not the creation resembles what was imagined is a matter of practise and skill. However, what is concerned with here is the belief that there is something inside oneself that is worthwhile of being expressed.
The space exists, what does one feel the inner freedom to be able to utilise what is? What reservations might hold the painter imprisoned, one might wonder. Does the painter deem her inner life worthwhile a pursuit, can the painter come to feel life inside herself, does the painter fear the creation that will be expressed of her, or does the painter feel inhibited in the presence of freedom? How would the painter bear her inner world being changed by the mere expression of it outside of herself?
The use of space
The painter sits before a canvas of paper. The space to paint and the boundaries of it, clearly demarcated. The painter gazes at this space, holding it in their hands. Running their fingers over the jagged edges of the cotton sheets; empty, beige tinted, thick. Wondering at the possibility of what could be created within the space, the painter looks on.
Is the space to be delineated and sectioned, or would its entirety be used in service of creation? Would such an audacious use of space be attempted or would one be more meek in their approach? Where does one choose to begin, the student, the teacher? How do the beginnings shape the process and the ends? When does one wish to end then?
Translation of inner life, to make contact and impress upon
The hands of a painter move with an ease that is peculiar. It is as though the hands embody a faith unknown to the logical processes of the mind. Early lessons in painting will involve learning strokes. To be able to use one’s brush is a skill arrived at over time. Using one’s brush involves being able to wet the bristles of a brush, preparing it to be dipped in paint.
Placing the brush on paper allows the color to seep into it, making contact with the canvas. Partly dipped into paint and the color will not be allowed its desired expression, too much water and the color will be muted. At an angle, the brush will leave an impression of uneven bristles. Placed flatly, the creation will be devoid of any shadows and highlights.
The painter recognises that this is as much about technique as it is about the ability to use one’s hands to express what one holds within. There must be capacity to be able to recognise that was is painted is infact a creation of one’s own that has arrived through one’s own hands, through contact with a medium.
Alongside this recognition, the painter must hold the knowledge that they can never quite recreate what has come to be, and they can never fully know what it is to form of them.
The ambivalence of forming
Watercolor, as the name suggests, uses water as its vehicle to create form. The strokes are quick with a certain finality. Often, the painter cannot foresee how the creation will appear on drying. A painter uses water to control the color that inks into the fabric of the paper. There is an unknowing that the painter proceeds to paint with, for an element as water cannot truly be controlled in its expression. A beginner may struggle to continue in the face of formlessness, which often marks the beginning of a painting. Does this lack of control hinder the painter’s expression or on the contrary, does it enliven her creative processes?
Can the painter tolerate not knowing how the creation is to be? Perhaps more watery than intended, or rather more solid than hoped for. Does the painter wait to watch as the water mixed with paint flows, and then modify what they intended to create? Would the painter instead allow the painting to take form unknown to their minds?
Can the painter continue in some faith that it will turn out to be, either as some semblance of the creation in their mind or a product to be learnt from? Does the painter abandon their pursuit, and begin anew? And what does the painter do then, how does the painter treat this abandoned page of their work, as they flip through the pages to arrive at the new? Or is the page torn out of the book, only to remain in memory?
Can the painter look at what is formed at the end and call it one’s own? Or is it one’s own at all, one that is formed of the teacher’s voice, the student’s hands, the vehicle of water and color, and technique? Is there something of one’s own amidst all of this, or does one feel that it is better to distribute this across hands and minds? How is this preserved, and perhaps moreso, how has the painter been changed by the process of painting?
I am no painter, and I attempt to practise as a therapist, and remain a student with my supervisors and teachers, and a patient with my analyst, these are questions I return to different forms, yet carrying the same essence, how have I been changed by the relationships I am a part of. Paper and people, both.
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