Mental Illness x Art
This weekend I came across a song that’s been living rent free in my head since I saw it. It’s not a new song, but I only just found out about the artist recently. The song is called “Hi Ren,” and it’s by Ren Gill, usually known as just Ren (link in song title), and in my opinion, this is less of just a song and more to be considered a genuine work of art. Of course all music IS art, but this piece, in particular, is something special, and I think anyone who can appreciate lyrical genius and/or music that exposes the reality of mental illness will find it to be a masterpiece. The basic gist of the song is two versions of Ren, one bullying the other, and it’s a battle of who will survive. It’s such profound and deeply relatable piece of work that I think that everyone, even if your own internal bully isn’t strong enough that you’ve been diagnosed with mental illness, can find meaning and a piece of themselves within it. The wonderful thing about art is that the creator and the audience can both find meaning in a piece of work, and that the meaning found is individual and unique to each person. When the artist creates it, there is meaning they put into their work; when the individual consumes it, they may resonate with the message the artist was trying to convey, or they find some new message within the work that speaks to them. And the work manages to help heal both, the artist and the consumer, even without an explicit and universal meaning.
Art has been an important part of my life for as long as I can remember. When I was a child, I consumed art in the form of books, usually of the fantasy variety. And it was my salvation. I consumed books like it was the very air I breathed, like every word I read was a morsel of food that nourished me. And nourish me it did, in my soul. I credit the books I read, along with my practice of the martial arts, specifically taekwondo, with keeping me alive such that I could escape the prison that was my home life when I graduated high school. Books were my escape, and they were my teachers. It was in the heroes and heroines of the books that I read that I learned about myself and about the world, and it was in those books that conveyed the importance of love and honesty and courage and integrity and advocacy that I figured out what I valued. In the books I read I was the hero who defended the weak, who gave to the less fortunate, who advocated for those who could not, and who loved those around them, and I learned that that was what mattered to me in real life, too. In my books I could block out the shouting happening downstairs in the kitchen, and escape the taunting and abuse and neglect from my parents that burdened my existence and dragged me down. In my books I was able to escape the hell that was my life, and I found heaven within the black and white pages in my hands.
Martial arts, too, allowed me to find purpose and meaning as well as express myself and diffuse the swirling emotions pent up inside me that I could not get out any other way, or anywhere else. I had to be a certain way at home, and I had to be a certain way at school, but at my martial arts school, I was able to relax and be myself. I found love in my peers and admiration in the children who looked up to me and faith in myself in the children’s parents who believed in me, and I found empowerment and confidence in what I could do with my body. Martial arts came naturally to me, and it is a blessing that it did, because I was able to feel competent and a sense of mastery even from my first day of class that I wasn’t able to feel elsewhere, despite getting top marks in my academics. And I was able to expunge some of the tense energy that could have and still does threaten my physical health, because, as Bessel van der Kolk, a psychologist who specializes in trauma, says in his book The Body Keeps the Score, we store the energy from traumatic experiences in our bodies, and it can cause great harm to our physical being.
In high school I took up painting and though I wasn’t a natural like I was at martial arts, painting helped to bring me into a sort of meditation and zen where I could block out the rest of the world and my own loud mind and focus on only what was in front of me. I’ve continued drawing and painting since then, and I continue to find peace and calm in it that can be hard for me to achieve using any other method. I focus only on where my pen or pencil or paintbrush is going, how I can make what’s in front of me match what is in my head, and all of the noise and chaos that usually plagues my mind falls away. Somehow, even though I usually tend to focus more on the destination than the journey (a tendency that I am trying to change), when I paint or draw I am able to enjoy the journey as well. Not only that, but I’m able to express myself in ways that I find difficult otherwise through my art. It can be hard for me to say how I’m feeling, or express the depths of pain that is within me, but my art can convey visually what is difficult for me to communicate verbally. When I communicate pain verbally, more of the message is dependent upon how the receiver perceives the information, whereas when I show someone a piece of my artwork, they are more able to enter into my mind and see things from my perspective. It is a form of vulnerability that feels more acceptable, more intuitive to me than speaking.
Now in addition to painting I’ve also started to write poetry, an example of which is at the top of the page. Somehow, poetry feels like a different form of communication than plain verbal communication. It feels like painting, but with words. I can put words together that, if you approached without the perspective of consuming poetry, you might not understand. But when you become aware that what you are viewing is meant to be a poem, it tells a whole different story. Poetry, to me, is able to convey a feeling that I am unable to in plain speaking, and I struggle to convey due to my lack of ability with painting or drawing. Because writing has always come easily to me, poetry is the easiest way for me to paint a picture for someone of how I am feeling, the message I am trying to convey, without having to pick up a paintbrush or pencil. And the same sort of zen meditation that I find in drawing and painting I also find when I am writing poetry – choosing this word instead of that one, finding just the right word to convey the exact and specific meaning that I am feeling, putting individual words together to form a coherent line that somehow is more than the sum of its parts. It feels just like when I am picking out colors and hues and forming lines and shapes on paper, but I am much more adept at it than I am at the visual version of art.
If I were to give anyone, especially someone who struggles with their mental illness, a piece of advice, it would be to find a creative outlet. You don’t have to be good at it, and in fact you probably won’t be good at it when you first start. But the beauty of creativity is not in the destination but in the path it takes to get there, in the peace and calm you are able to find when you focus on getting something that is within you outside of yourself. Dance, poetry, short stories, novels, painting, drawing, martial arts, room decor, cooking, baking, calligraphy, makeup – whatever floats your boat. There are almost an infinite number of ways that you can engage in the arts, and you’re sure to find something that feels more comfortable to you. You will find as you engage in the creative process that you are able to leave behind some of the stress and anxiety that daily burdens you, and focus on what is before you. And if all else fails, consume art, even if you somehow are unable to find some way that you’d like to create. Notice the nuances and complexities in the art you consume, whether it’s a specific brush stroke in a painting or a specific line in a book or a set of lyrics in a song, and see how you relate to it. Perhaps you aren’t comfortable yet with creating yourself, but finding someone else who has the same feeling you do both allows you to feel less alone and will engage that part of your brain that itches for creativity. Art brings peace, so find some corner of art that resonates with you, and find some peace for yourself within it.