Healing Mandala

Have you ever made a piece of art that completely baffles you? I made this piece back during the winter, and I just have no idea what to think of it.  It's not really like anything else I've ever made, and when I look at it, I could almost believe it was made by someone else. It's a strange feeling. I really can't decide if I even like it or not, and I was very hesitant to show it to anyone. It just kind of sat there; I'd look at it every once in a while and think, "Do I like it now?" A clear answer never came to me. What I needed was to hear what someone else thought - a bit of helpful criticism. So anyway, here it is.

Healing Mandala, version 1

So how it came about is this: I was going through a terrible time, and a dear friend sent me these four flowers that had been used in a Buddhist healing ceremony - they're the large flowers that look almost transparent. I couldn't believe they survived the mail without being broken. I thought for some time about what to do with them, and decided to use them in an artwork that would be dedicated to healing. A mandala seemed like the perfect thing.

I glued the two book pages onto a piece of multi-media board, then cut out a piece of lace to put in the center.  I stitched around the center part of the lace, and hated it, but let it be for now. I glued on the ash seeds and the healing flowers. I found a print on fabric I had done in a workshop, and cut parts of it out to glue around the periphery, and put in the maple seeds to connect them to the center part of the piece. I placed the purple flowers in the corners. Then I let it sit around for a while, not knowing what I wanted to do with it.

Finally, since I couldn't remove anything, I started adding more things to it, one at a time. As long as I wasn't satisfied, I thought, well, what have I got to lose?  I made sort of a circle of marks with gold crayon, and liked it it, but decided to add stitching. I glued the hydrangea petals over the lace, and painted them with gold ink. Then came the gold crayon over the lace - it was just too white - and the stitches. Finally, the magnolia petals, and the feathers.

Healing Mandala

9.5 x 14 inches

ingredients: antique book pages, vintage lace, gold metallic crayon, gold ink, hydrangea petals, ash seeds, magnolia petals, sacred Buddhist healing flowers (no idea what they're called), maple seeds, purple flowers (no idea what they are - found them in an old book), relief prints on cloth, feathers, stitching

So there it is, and I'm still not sure if I like it. Guess I'll put it away again for a while...

Out of the Darkness

Out of the Darkness

ingredients: vintage book covers, vintage book pages, vintage watch movement, other found objects, feather, stitching, metallic oil crayon, graphite;  10.5 x 15 inches



"Art is a wound turned into light."                                                                      ~ Georges Braque
   

                                                                                          
I made this piece at a time when I was too upset to really think about what I was doing. I just started ripping stuff apart and gluing it on; the process was entirely intuitive. I know it expressed my desire and hope to leave that dark place and be healed. Perhaps when something important is lost, it can be replaced by something even better. I had to believe that. And I know that making this was a part of my healing process. Art has transformative power.

As someone who at one time considered becoming an art therapist, I found the whole process of making this piece to be eye-opening.  Not that I haven't had experiences of art-making that were like meditations, like being on a  completely different 'mental plane' than normal; but this piece was accompanied by a great release of emotion. Also, I have little memory of actually making it; I couldn't tell you what I did first, second, third, etc.

Art therapist and author Shaun McNiff says, "Like dreams, art works are surprising syntheses of elements on the threshold of consciousness that present themselves. The artist prepares the space and lets the controlling mind step aside. Artistic cognition responds and takes advantage of accidents, chance, lines, forms , figures, and interactions that emerge "unwatched." (Art as Medicine: Creating a Therapy of the Imagination")

Though I never purposefully set out to engage in any sort of therapy (as I didn't here), sometimes it just turns out that way. Does this ever happen to you?  I'd be interested to hear what other artists think about this.

                                                                                                           

"Art washes away from the soul the dust of every day life.”                             ~ Pablo Picasso