Where the Healing Starts...
My “doodling” from several years ago. Am I an artist? Maybe. Photo credit: jjhowe
Pictures and Words
Once upon a time I regularly cleared my schedule, found a quiet space, and drew art pieces that reflected the wheels turning in my mind and my heart’s cry. Many of them, like the one above, have stowed away for years in drawing pads, notebooks, and images on my phone. Each one represents a very personal moment—some I have words for, but many actually are thousands of words captured by an image.
But which thousand?
The Power of a Master’s Art
I’ve gone to the Art Institute in Chicago many times, and I’m always up for going because there’s just something about that place. Some of the best masterpieces in the world hang within those walls. And some of the most confusing to me, if I’m honest.
I eavesdrop on tours moving through the museum, docents and teachers sharing wisdom with half-interested students. I get it. When I was in grade school these were the musty-dusty things. People long dead and gone left something behind someone else thought valuable. I couldn’t get my mind around the value back then.
I have a clearer picture now. I can steep in a master’s piece for longer than anyone wants to wait with me. The colors, the strokes, the subject from that angle in just that way….
Art is Within
Art originates somewhere deep. Teachers told me that for years, and I felt it whenever I created something. In high school it occurred to me artists may be working in layers. Not paint layers—though I have a favorite picture I took to remind me that artists make mistakes, cover them, and rework pieces—artists incorporate layers of meaning.
Emily P. Freeman’s book A Million Little Ways set up a stone of remembrance in my mind. There is art within us, and we are art! We were made to reflect the Creator through creative expression.
Being his workmanship doesn’t mean we are all poets. It means we are all poems, individual created works of a creative God. And this poetry comes out uniquely through us as we worship, think, love, pray, rest, work, and exist. —Emily P. Freeman, A Million Little Ways: Uncover the Art You Were Made to Live
I think about writing as a place of healing (and it is!), but our place of more complete healing is in knowing who we are. When we find that identity in our relationship to our Creator, we live, breathe, and exist as we were made to be. I am most like my Creator when I sit to write, draw, sing, pray, or problem-solve. My creative heart and mind take flight in a manner that reveals the Designer’s good purpose and plan.
When are you most like your Creator?
Making Story-telling Art
The drumbeat on this blog is simple: we all have a story. My story is a blend of highs and lows; yours isn’t so different. When any of us chooses to create art out of those highs and lows, we can expect a good deal of emotion in the process. Delights are much more welcome than “de-lows.”
Ah, those lows. The heart’s desperate cry seems loudest in lament. Pair an “ugly cry” with a pain-filled groan, and it’s a whole-body grief experience. I don’t know about you, but I turn toward some kind of expressive media in those moments. It’s as if there must be some good thing to come from such a grief: an image, a short story, some tangible representation of the excruciating emotional wrestle, an outward expression to release what might wreck me inside.
Grief does deep, important, sacred work. We have to pay attention to what makes us come alive and in what has the capacity to shut us down. What breaks our hearts reminds us what is deeply important to us. It is often from this place that our most beautiful, honest, generous art comes. As we move into the world as who we most deeply, fully are, our art has the capacity to be a gift for others, and in this we see hints of the resurrection life. ― Emily P. Freeman, A Million Little Ways: Uncover the Art You Were Made to Live
Grief. When we write our stories, including the painful moments we simply must process, it’s important to honor the grief. It’s the multi-stage process that allows us to heal from life-dominating memories, the ones that seem to randomly replay in the theater of the mind. It’s a beautiful thing to grieve; it’s a gift from God to move from shock and denial to a healthier place. Grieve when the stories are written. Losses should be grieved.
We often say things like, "Jesus died so I didn't have to, " but it's actually much worse. The truth is, Jesus died and so did I. But the worse morphs into better when we remember that Jesus didn't stay dead. And neither do we. Let the dying moments remind us where to find the living. ―Emily P. Freeman, A Million Little Ways: Uncover the Art You Were Made to Live
Do you need to grieve “dying moments” with a friend? There is life to be found, and you may need the help of a friend to find it. And that’s okay.
Remember Who You Are
Many threads weave the “fabric” of Jen: writing, photography, graphite and colored pencil art, song, prayer, helping, and editing. I am the most like my Creator God when I partner with Him in any of these things. When I forget who I am and Whose I am in busy or emotional moments, I need to check my identity through true words in the Bible, in “listening prayer,” and in conversation with a friend who grounds herself in the truth of God.
I may forget, but others can remember for me. (This will be important in other parts of our story-writing.) Lean into relationships!
The Inspiration
I have two favorite things I do when I go to the Institute. If you wandered the exhibits with me, you’d notice.
I gravitate toward the masters, but I always look at the other artists’ work because, once upon a time, the masters were simply artists creating from their lives. I like to remember that. As I’m looking at the lesser-known artists’ work, I’m inspired. Someone woke up on a day (or day after day after day) and created something for me to take in. Thank you for the gift of your work, artist!
When I take in a piece of art, I look intently for the “happy moment.” I can’t describe it, but I always like to think I know it when I see it. I believe there exists, in every piece of art, a moment captured—unique and amazing, the “best part” of the art. There is one artist’s work I’ve examined more than once, and I’m certain the hand was the best of his skills. Another artist’s work must be viewed at a particular distance and angle to be appreciated; it seems so obvious to me. I love to find the perfect place to stand to see it as the artist anticipated.
I will never know if I see anything true to the artist’s heart or perspective, but I know this: the art has form and function. Maybe it’s pure indulgence—or maybe it’s a healing work of the soul for the creator. Maybe it’s held out for someone else with a whisper: I made this…for you.
When you write (or whatever artful thing you do) from the deep places, honor all the important things: your Creator, you, the grief, the art, and the one who receives the gift of art you create. Invite God into your process because that is where the healing starts!
