A bit over a year ago I started painting again. There was this truly awfully designed flyer that I had seen at my doctors office, advertising for a self-help group for people with depression, that painted with acrylics.
It reminded me of how much I painted with my god-mother growing up and the next time I talked to her, I offhandedly mentioned it. She told me to check it out and kept bugging me about it for the next few months, while I was stumbling my way through depression in a city fairly new to me. Life was still tainted by the social distancing protocols from not too long ago and everyone still seemed to readjust to this world post-pandemic. If you can call it that. (Ironically I’m sick in bed with Covid as I am writing this.)
So between my depression and the struggles of finding my footing in this city during a pandemic she convinced me to check this self-help group out, and I went to a meeting.
It was an odd group of people on the first glance. People from all different stages of life and from different backgrounds. People, you wouldn’t expect to have anything in common. But we do. The depression inside of us.
Quickly this group and this weekly meeting became my non-negotiable time every week. No matter how much I was struggling, no matter how busy I was, I would go. Just because it was so good for my soul. I found my creativity and joy of painting again.
And somewhere around this messy table in that small room in the back of the house we meet in, I started to find myself again. On this table, covered in paint, surrounded by people who understood my struggles I felt save enough to uncover who I was under all those layers of who I felt I was expected to be.
I found joy in being myself again, and that in itself felt revolutionary. It’s still a process, and I’m still uncovering parts of me I didn’t knew I lost, but oh has it been beautiful and rewarding already.
About a year into painting there we had a little exhibition in one of the city malls. My first time ever showing my art in public, and not just to closer friends and family. My art always felt more like a hobby to me. I never really thought of putting it out there. But two people walking past that exhibition today wanted to buy a painting of mine. Two people! Wanted to pay money! For something I painted!
That felt revolutionary to me! Though I never ended up selling the painting, as it is a deeply personal piece for me, that changed something for me.
Suddenly my art meant something for people other than myself!
This was only a few months ago, but I’ve made it a point to draw more regularly since. I borrowed sketching and painting books from the library to improve my skills. I’ve surprised myself with how easy some techniques come to me.
The joy I have found through painting and sketching almost daily was truly life changing. I didn’t realize of how much joy my depression (and the trauma it stemmed from) had robbed me! I didn’t even have a baseline for joy, so none of my life’s decisions were based on what brought me joy but on what I thought *should* bring me joy!
Within a month of starting to paint more I decided to quit my self-employment. One morning I was just journaling and suddenly realized that that’s what I needed to do. I now knew what true joy felt like, and my work was so far away from that.
No wonder, I had been so burned out!
I don’t know, what comes next. But I do know art brings me joy, so I will continue to create and see where that brings me.
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