Four years ago, at the beginning of my watercolor journey, I wrote about how making art can be helpful to people living with chronic illness. In my own experience, these benefits have deepened and broadened over time, and I wondered if researchers had investigated whether and how a sustained art practice affects people living with chronic illness. Indeed, they have. It turns out that art-making affects identity and experience in ways that buffer the losses inherent in chronic illness. Broadly, art-making builds self-awareness and self-esteem, which often are eroded by illness. I highlight the specifics below.
Art-making expresses the ineffable.
The illness experience is multi-faceted, ever-changing, and profound. Words often do not do it justice. Visual art “offer[s] a bridge between the conscious and unconscious, and [is] therefore helpful for working through complex, deep seated emotions (Reynolds & Prior, 2003).” Don’t know how to say what you feel? Grab a paintbrush or clay or a piece of fabric or a camera. Don’t think too hard — just do what you are called to do. You may be very surprised by the results.
Art-making occurs in the space between agency and acceptance.
Art-making is full of choices. Color, line, shape — there are no rules except the ones you make for yourself. Simultaneously, materials have their own character and will not yield completely to the artist’s will. Watercolor, for example, is a dialogue between materials and artist, each responding to the other’s influence.
Similarly, we make choices in our lives, even as these choices are circumscribed by the ways illness affects us. We live in a space between healthy respect for those limits and an awareness that the choices we make influence those limits. We are not all-powerful, but neither are we powerless.
Art-making increases mindfulness.
One of the most pleasurable facets of art-making is that it creates a flow state, in which we are utterly engrossed in the present moment — the way releasing a bit of pressure changes a brush stroke, the way two colors meet and blend on the paper, the way we play with what is known and unknown. We notice the smallest details, we are surprised by the tiniest pleasures. We’re fully in the present moment, and our fears and worries about illness recede. We are lighter, more joyful, at peace.
Art-making contributes to a positive self-image.
Chronic illness closes and forecloses aspects of self. A social butterfly finds himself too tired to socialize. A runner no longer runs. A would-be scholar’s academic career is never allowed to begin, as her education continually is interrupted by illness. So to create art in a sustained way — to be an artist — can be a gratifying addition to a sense of self that has felt constrained by chronic illness. “What do you do? Who are you? What is important to you? How do you spend your time?” “I am somebody who makes art.”
Art-making creates community.
As we get more comfortable with making art, we want to feed the creativity we’re nurturing. Perhaps we take a class, join a Facebook group, start following other artists on social media. We go to exhibits, we talk shop with other creative people. Before we know it, we’re connected to other people who share this interest. These connections matter, especially when chronic illness has caused isolation and limited social interactions.
Art-making emphasizes process over perfection.
We keep making art because there’s always more to learn, more to express, more to accomplish. The recognition that we will never do it perfectly can be frustrating, but it’s also freeing. Instead of striving for perfection, we aim to be a little better than we were yesterday. We go through creative slumps, but we hold faith that we’ll eventually move forward by showing up and doing the work.
Similarly, living with chronic illness is process-oriented. There are periods of time when disease is relatively quiet; there are periods of time when it’s not. We learn to respect ourselves for showing up even when it’s not easy. We keep the faith even when it seems that we’re stuck in a rut.
Art-making changes you.
To be a maker of art changes how you see the world. You notice details; you’re more curious; you are engaged with both your inner world and the world around you. This artist’s mindset stays with you even when you’re not actively creating. You look at commonplace objects and think, “How might I use these items to make art?” You see leaves fall and wonder, “How can I portray motion on paper?” You admire other artwork and instantly try to decipher its artistic language: “How did the artist do that? What works for me about this piece? What am I responding to?”
In short, art making reminds us that we are active participants in life. It can feel as if chronic illness acts upon us — limiting our choices, muting our vibrancy. Art-making pushes back on these constraints, helping us reclaim agency and joy.
LONDON (AP) — With a few daubs of a paintbrush, the Brontë sisters have got their dots back.
More than eight decades after it was installed, a memorial to the three 19th-century sibling novelists in London’s Westminster Abbey was amended Thursday to restore the diaereses – the two dots over the e in their surname.
The dots — which indicate that the name is pronounced “brontay” rather than “bront” — were omitted when the stone tablet commemorating Charlotte, Emily and Anne was erected in the abbey’s Poets’ Corner in October 1939, just after the outbreak of World War II.
They were restored after Brontë historian Sharon Wright, editor of the Brontë Society Gazette, raised the issue with Dean of Westminster David Hoyle. The abbey asked its stonemason to tap in the dots and its conservator to paint them.
“There’s no paper record for anyone complaining about this or mentioning this, so I just wanted to put it right, really,” Wright said. “These three Yorkshire women deserve their place here, but they also deserve to have their name spelled correctly.”
It’s believed the writers’ Irish father Patrick changed the spelling of his surname from Brunty or Prunty when he went to university in England.
Raised on the wild Yorkshire moors, all three sisters died before they were 40, leaving enduring novels including Charlotte’s “Jane Eyre,” Emily’s “Wuthering Heights” and Anne’s “The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.”
Rebecca Yorke, director of the Brontë Society, welcomed the restoration.
“As the Brontës and their work are loved and respected all over the world, it’s entirely appropriate that their name is spelled correctly on their memorial,” she said.
