The following article was recently published in Psychologica Magazine’s special edition on Trauma. I’ve included a link to the full magazine, lots of great articles on trauma treatments, both from a clinical perspective as well as personal. Hope you might find something that resonates.
Tag Archives: dreams and art
Tags: art, art therapy, artists on tumblr, Arts, attention, birds, collage, creative art therapy, creativity, creativity development, dreams, dreams and art, expressive art therapy, Facebook, focus, illustration, image, inspiration, learning, mental-health, mindfulness, narrative, nature, outdoors, painter, painting, self help, spirituality, trauma, trees, visual art, wellness
In the old, scratched, cheap wood of the typing stand
there is a landscape, veined, which only a child can see
or the child’s older self, a poet,
a woman dreaming when she should be typing
the last report of the day. If this were a map,
she thinks, a map laid down to memorize
because she might be walking it, it shows
ridge upon ridge fading into hazed desert
here and there a sign of aquifers
and one possible watering‐hole. If this were a map
it would be the map of the last age of her life,
not a map of choices but a map of variations
on the one great choice. It would be the map by which
she could see the end of touristic choices,
of distances blued and purpled by romance,
by which she would recognize that poetry
isn’t revolution but a way of knowing
why it must come. If this cheap,
mass‐produced wooden stand from the Brooklyn Union Gas Co.,
mass‐produced yet durable, being here now,
is what it is yet a dream‐map
so obdurate, so plain,
she thinks, the material and the dream can join
and that is the poem and that is the late report.
a poem by Adrienne Rich
a children’s book…
3 young sisters
plant a small elm tree
in their backyard.
Through the years…
the three sisters begin to realize
that the elm tree,
is their home.
The sisters see…
that the elm tree
remains with them…
watching over the 3 sisters
and holding time…
a tree of life…
As the 3 sisters grow
with their tree.
a synopsis of a story by Nora Sommerdorf
“An Elm Tree and Three Sisters”
spirit and matter…
a blue painted feather.
“…think of the bird as a teacher. Approach it with curiosity and patience, as if it were the most important thing right now. you do not have to worry about getting it to do something. The bird invents itself and is not dependent on our conscious egos. We must give it our time and space, though, if we wish to learn from it. Allow it to move and change as it desires. You may have the wish to ask it questions, as that is our usual method of finding out about things. Sometimes images do talk, but not always. The important thing is to realize though that it already is what it can convey. The image is a complete statement in and of itself”.
Mary Watkins, Waking Dreams, pg. 109
Birds Appearing In A Dream
One had feathers like a blood-streaked koi,
another a tail of color-coded wires.
One was a blackbird stretching orchid wings,
another a flicker with a wounded head.
All flew like leaves fluttering to escape,
bright, circulating in burning air,
and all returned when the air cleared.
One was a kingfisher trapped in its bower,
deep in the ground, miles from water.
Everything is real and everything isn’t.
Some had names and some didn’t.
Named and nameless shapes of birds,
at night my hand can touch your feathers
and then I wipe the vernix from your wings,
you who have made bright things from shadows,
you who have crossed the distances to roost in me.
by Michael Collier
For me art shouldn’t be a fixed idea that I have before I start making it. I want it to include all the fragility and doubt that I go through the day with. Sometimes I’ll take a walk just to forget whatever good idea I had that day because I like to go into the studio not having any ideas. I want the insecurity of not knowing, like performers feel before a performance. Everything I can remember, and everything I know, I have probably already done, or somebody else has
Robert Rauschenburg (1925-), American artist, quoted by Michael Kimmelman in an article about Rauschenburg, New York Times, “Arts & Leisure” section 2, August 27, 2000, p. 26.
Remembering and forgetting are key parts to the incubation stage of creative process. Images and/or ideas found in the foraging and gathering stage begin to simmer and cook. In this chaotic broth, knowledge remembered is then forgotten, or let go of. This alchemical creative process is transformational, allowing something new to emerge.
Once an experience is understood, remembering and forgetting is possible. This transformative process of memory allows new learning, as well as a flexible and adaptive response to life.
The Little House of Lost Play (Mar Vanwa Tyalieva) by J. R. R. Tolkien
We knew that land once, You and I,
and once we wandered there
in the long days now long gone by,
a dark child and a fair.
Was it on the paths of firelight thought
in winter cold and white,
or in the blue-spun twilit hours
of little early tucked-up beds
in drowsy summer night,
that you and I in Sleep went down
to meet each other there,
your dark hair on your white nightgown
and mine was tangled fair?
We wandered shyly hand in hand,
small footprints in the golden sand,
and gathered pearls and shells in pails,
while all about the nightengales
were singing in the trees.
We dug for silver with our spades,
and caught the sparkle of the seas,
then ran ashore to greenlit glades,
and found the warm and winding lane
that now we cannot find again,
between tall whispering trees.
The air was neither night nor day,
an ever-eve of gloaming light,
when first there glimmered into sight
the Little House of Play.
New-built it was, yet very old,
white, and thatched with straws of gold,
and pierced with peeping lattices
that looked toward the sea;
and our own children’s garden-plots
were there: our own forgetmenots,
red daisies, cress and mustard,
and radishes for tea.
There all the borders, trimmed with box,
were filled with favourite flowers, with phlox,
with lupins, pinks, and hollyhocks,
beneath a red may-tree;
and all the gardens full of folk
that their own little language spoke,
but not to You and Me.
For some had silver watering-cans
and watered all their gowns,
or sprayed each other; some laid plans
to build their houses, little towns
and dwellings in the trees.
And some were clambering on the roof;
some crooning lonely and aloof;
some dancing round the fairy-rings
all garlanded in daisy-strings,
while some upon their knees
before a little white-robed king
crowned with marigold would sing
their rhymes of long ago.
But side by side a little pair
with heads together, mingled hair,
went walking to and fro
still hand in hand; and what they said,
ere Waking far apart them led,
that only we now know
With their whole gaze
animals behold the Open.
Only our eyes
are as though reversed
and set like traps around us,
keeping us inside.
That there is something out there
we know only from the creatures’ countenance.
We turn even the young child around,
making her look backward
at the forms we create,
not outward into the Open.
R.M. Rilke, from the Eighth Duino Elegy
Tags: art, artists on tumblr, attention, collage, creative art therapy, creativity, creativity development, Creatures Series, dreams, dreams and art, Duino elegies, education, focus, illustration, inspiration, James Hillman, Jung, learning, Literature, mental-health, mindfulness, narrative, nature, outdoors, painter, painting, Philosophy, Poet, Poetry, Ranier Marie Rilke, Rilke, spirituality, teaching, Thought, visual art, Works