By Daniel Kasperick
“Since my early teens, I have been living with an addictive personality and brain disorder. In 1988, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. It was a diagnosis I had for 12 years before I was re-diagnosed as having schizophrenia, too. My full diagnosis is schizo-affective disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, PTSD, an addictive personality and some hording tendencies. “Although I have always had a creative nature—drawing cartoons of sharks and spaceships in the sixth grade—I wanted to be a doctor since a young age. I followed that dream for two and a half years at Loyola Marymount University. A huge game-changer for me happened when a friend introduced me to atheism. It made sense to me. I lost my faith in the Catholic Church, as well as my dream of making a difference in the lives of others through medicine. I wanted to put myself in the most challenging environment I could think of because I was a confident (but foolish) young man. “So, I chose New York City. In retrospect, this was a decision made when I was completely manic. I didn't have a job, warm clothes, home, family, friends, food or God. I ended up in the YMCA for six months and got into, and out of, a lot of difficult situations. I began making art in earnest, drawing in charcoal and pastels. But my mental illness soon resurfaced. Eventually, I was hospitalized. My brother flew out from San Diego and brought me home. I moved back in with my dad and mom, and with their help, finished my bachelors’ degree in Liberal Studies from California State University, San Bernadino. “I drifted into teaching because my parents were both teachers. I was miserable for eight years in the public school system, teaching science to middle school and high school kids. I was despondent and again turned to food for comfort. I gained more than 100 pounds in the space of two years, and I carried that burden until 2012 when I lost it all. I was married for 13 years before my wife divorced me in 2012. My mental illness was too much for her to live with, and so once again, I moved in with mom (my dad had passed in 1998). I had nothing to offer anyone, but my mother accepted me anyway. “I went back to college and began making art once again. I took a drawing class and rediscovered my love for making art. Shortly thereafter, I began to take a course with a local artist in Carlsbad named Kene Lohmann. He taught me about watercolors, and I was soon hooked on the medium. My skills improved, and my expression became lighter and happier than it ever was before. I painted in earnest for four years, being shown at two galleries. One was at the Swift Gallery in Liberty Station, San Diego, for a display called ‘The Art of Recovery,’ which focused on art by people with mental disorders. In the past three years, I’ve had seven paintings displayed there. “However, the crowning achievement with my watercolors was being shown at the Carlsbad Senior Center in my hometown of Carlsbad. I decided to give all the proceeds of my show to a group called Hands Together Haiti. It is a ministry for the poorest of the poor in Haiti. I had 26 of my paintings for sale. The response was greater than anything I could have hoped for. I sold 13 paintings, raising almost $1,900 for the organization and people of Haiti. “The paintings shown here are three of my abstracts: ‘Hope,’ ‘In the Beginning,’ and ‘Paradise.’ It’s difficult to tell what is going on there. As an abstract, they are about the expression itself. Themes of weariness and suffering are softened by ideas of peace and brotherhood. I look forward to continuing my art, as I find solace and expression in the artistic process. Not so inconsequentially, I haven’t been in the behavioral health unit for more than eight years. I’m on a roll and am beginning to find sanity through my art. My belief in God is stronger than ever, too.” Dan is a watercolor artist who lives in Carlsbad, California. He has been painting for many years and his work has been seen and sold at many San Diego area exhibits. His most recent show displayed 26 of his pieces at the Carlsbad Senior Center for the month of September. He sold 13 paintings, and with the money he raised, he contributed all proceeds to his favorite charity: Hands Together-Haiti. Dan’s artwork is largely abstract, with its meaning to be determined by the viewer. He hopes you find solace and meaning in these artworks.
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By Sara Tang “This piece is a semblance of my trauma and healing experiences that I created in two hours. Processing trauma and growing in self-awareness is a journey that takes years of unraveling, questioning, researching, listening and educating. In my experience with trauma, there were many voices that pressured, brainwashed, gas-lighted and shamed me. "The voices of support, compassion, openness and understanding have been invaluable to the healing process. Ultimately, ‘Heart Tasting’ helped me trust my own experiences, motives and voice again. Take courage! You’re not alone. Mental health, mental illnesses and trauma affect each one of us. Let’s open more conversations about these topics and be gentle with the unfolding of our own journeys.” Sculpture: Steel, Velvet, 12”
“My life is a balancing act. I’ve sought hard, challenging environments and then jumped into soft reprieves, only to seek hardness again, followed by another longing for softness. After one year of college majoring in art, I joined the Marine Corps. Perhaps I was responding to the disappointment of leaving college by mastering the rigor and discipline of the military. It worked. I got tough. I was the first woman Marine to work in the brig at Camp Lejeune. “Determined to soften, I jumped out of the Marine Corps, completed an advanced degree in clinical psychology and started a 35-year career in behavioral health. Now I’ve returned to art. My career and my own internal work have given me the vision for my current sculpture series. As a clinician, I’ve seen how people struggle to balance being hard enough to survive with being a compassionate, connected human being. "My sculpture, ‘Steel Case Soft Center,’ represents an intimate and unavoidable internal process. This series depicts the development of the self as it relates to how we balance life’s softness and hardness. It combines hard, protective steel with soft, yielding fabric. Each is complimented and enhanced by the presence of the other.” “I am an artist who received a diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder Type I in 2010. I have suffered with this serious mental illness since my early teens. I am currently 54, and I am living in a decades-long wake of horrendous life decisions, which were fueled by a previously undiagnosed mental illness. These poor decisions have left my life in shambles—physically, emotionally, financially and socially.
“Oftentimes, I’ve felt suicidal and without hope. I have been prescribed medication to treat this disorder, but nothing in life is ever that easy. There is no such thing as a ‘magic bullet.’ My medications carry extremely unpleasant and dangerous side effects. However, they also offer some respite from my inner demons; hence, this self-portrait. “The medium is acrylics (markers and paint). My art is about the struggle and trade-offs of remaining compliant with psych medications. The Monarch Butterfly represents both myself (entertaining my self-destruction versus my life’s purpose) and those whom I can either visit with negativity or with nurturing, based on my given mental state. Obvious tropes, such as the skull and flowers balanced on opposite sides of the canvas, represent death versus life. Red is featured on either side of the image, which can represent death and life, too. The fictional medication—the huge red pill—is levitating outside of the bottle, reflecting my thought processes about taking it ... homage to ‘The Matrix.’ “Composition wise, the piece is in an ‘M’ shape: From the right hand to the skull, and from the red pill to the roses and the left hand. I wanted to draw attention to the floating red pill. I also created a preliminary sketch, which shows the crushed and alive butterfly in opposite hands. I was advised to switch them in the final piece, since Americans read paintings from left to right. It was suggested that I end the butterfly’s fate on a happy note.” Gen is a resident artist at Art Enables in Washington, D.C., where much of her work is represented. To learn more about Gen, or view more of her paintings, visit www.gengaines.com. "I often use the creative process as an avenue to explore and temper my anxiety disorder. In particularly rough times, I find it helpful to dive into an art project that is larger than myself. That is, to get outside of my own head and acknowledge and appreciate the anxiety that others feel, too. Making a connection to the larger world helps break the cycle of an inner-anxiety spiral.
"For this project, I put out a call on social media for others to express, in one word, how they felt about the current political climate. I quickly found a large community of others who were dealing with similar emotions. Using antique wood type letters, I took their responses and composed nine 11x14 letterpress prints, each featuring their one word. "Letterpress printing is a methodical, labor-intensive process, so creating the prints allowed me time to deeply consider the content of others’ emotions. Creating art about their own feelings allowed me to both connect with them and to help process my own." To view more of Pete's artwork, visit www.printjazz.com or follow him on Instagram @printjazz. “I started researching and creating art based on the concept of fear after my first graduate school residency. I did this in response to not wanting to speak about work I had created after difficult events. What I found when investigating fear in adults was that most of the signifiers I could come up with were manifestations of anxiety. We personify fear for children, giving it names such as “the boogeyman,” so what they are unable to conceptualize can become corporeal, and thus, avoidable. “To me, adult fear—lacking such iconic personifications—became illustrations of things that embodied anxiety. Relying on a level of humor that allowed me to engage with this rather unappealing subject, I began creating my own iconography around fear, anxiety, coping mechanisms and other aspects of the ridiculousness that is part of being a human. I create ruthless scenarios that are so over the top that, although the characters within them are clearly in peril, we must laugh at the danger. “Conversely, I create seemingly benign situations which become absolute train wrecks upon further investigation, even though the demeanor of the figures in the situations seem to be committed to perseverance. Like naming a scapegoat for children, naming anxiety as a culprit that can keep one trapped in a state of non-action has been an effective means for me to be more objective when it comes to how much energy I allow a worry to take from me. I largely use art to process ideas; a way of dissecting and observing things to understand what purpose they serve. “'Might as Well Be' takes its title from the response my grandmother would give me when she asked how I was, and I told her I guessed I was okay. It focuses on high-functioning anxiety and, in part, the compulsion to remain effective and stoic while trying to discern if something should be perceived as a threat. In this piece, the picket fence alludes to the ideal life that we have come to believe exists within its perimeter. I have treated both the figure and the fence as a screen that is impermeable, but also transparent. Something that we can somewhat see through, but not something that invites us to understand what exists beyond it. “The figure is poised and collected, and her sterile expression gives no allusion to how she may feel about us witnessing the scene that we have come upon. A thriving garden pushes out of the fence toward the viewer, but upon further inspection, we see that perhaps it holds more than vegetation. How we should feel about this, and if there is any threat from what exists behind the fence, is not clear. Elements of the piece—from the fractured, ideal blue sky, to the immediacy of the scribbled details throughout the plot and obscured structure—provide context to there being more to the scene, yet neither the viewer nor the figure can know if what is hidden is out of the ordinary.” To view more of Sarah's artwork, visit www.sarahernst.art or follow her on Instagram @ambition_project. "After experiencing anxiety and depression for more than a decade, I still have to remind myself in moments of panic or sadness: This moment will pass. It is easy to get lost in the overwhelming ebbs and flows of mental health disorders; however, I work hard to find balance every day and not judge myself in the process. Artistic expression, specifically ceramics, is one tool I use to process the ups and downs of my mental health. I often illustrate symptoms, coping mechanisms, challenges and even strengths I have because of my mental health on the surfaces of my pottery.
"This fall, I decided to focus my artwork not only on my story, but that of my family, friends and strangers by interviewing and surveying others who have anxiety and/or depression. I then created—and re-created—an open bowl form (hundreds of times!) because I wanted the form of my work to reflect my intent: To create a welcoming, open and supportive/non-judgmental environment for my audiences. This process was extremely therapeutic for me. It forced me to become more comfortable in my own skin. I discussed the topic of mental health more openly and deeply than ever before, and with people I probably wouldn’t have met otherwise. Like my bowls, I encourage you to be open and share your experiences with mental illness/stigma, and to ask others about their own." Ella is the current Resident Artist at The Clay Coop in Rockville, Maryland. To view more of her artwork, visit www.EllaScheuerell.com or follow her on Instagram @EllaAudreyCeramics. |
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