Art Therapy

Art therapy...

What in the world is that?

"Art therapy is the use of art and creativity to help a person improve their health and well-being. The goal of art therapy is to provide a person with a safe and effective outlet for their thoughts and emotions. It also aims to foster self-awareness, improve problem-solving skills, and increase the ability to cope with stressful situations," I read from my phone.

I guess it's a pretty good explanation.

Anyway, here I am in front of this museum with several other people. They're all looking up at the large building in awe.

"I didn't know that the art museum was going to be where we were having art therapy," a lady next to me comments. "But I think this will be a good way for us to relax and have fun. The last time I went to a museum was when I was little."

"Me, too," someone else chimes in. "My mother used to take my sisters and me when I was younger."

I stand there quietly as the group continues talking about their museum experiences. I've been to the art museum two times in my life. The first time was on a class field trip in elementary school. And the second was on a date. It was with Monica, and it was a disaster. We spent more time bickering than appreciating the paintings. I can't believe that I dated someone so annoying.

"Well, let's get going, shall we?" the therapist announces.

"You mean we're actually going inside the museum?" a man asks.

"Of course," the therapist replies. "We're going to take a guided tour of the exhibits. Then we'll break for lunch, and afterwards, you'll have the rest of the afternoon free to enjoy the museum on your own."

"That sounds wonderful!" a lady exclaims.

"Let's not waste any more time," the therapist says, opening the door.

The group shuffles inside, following the therapist to the main entrance. I'm the last one inside. When I enter, I see the museum bustling with people. It's quite crowded today.

"Alright," the therapist starts. "Everyone, please grab a brochure and follow me to the first exhibit."

I grab a brochure and quickly find myself standing in front of a large painting of a woman holding a child. There's a plaque beneath it.

‘A Woman with Child,’ it reads. Huh, such a creative name.

I look up at the painting and try to decipher the meaning behind it. Is it supposed to be symbolic? What do I know about art anyway?

"Can you tell me what you think of the painting?" the therapist suddenly asks.

I'm caught off guard. "What?"

"Can you tell me what you think about the painting?" the therapist repeats.

"Oh," I say. "It's nice, I guess."

"Nice?" she presses.

"Yes," I say.

"What about the color palette?" she asks. "Or the brush strokes? Or the use of negative space? Or the composition? What was the artist trying to convey? What do you think about any of those things?"

I stand there and blink. "Uhh..."

She shakes her head. "Art is more than just nice," she scolds.

"Okay," I say. "I don't know. I like it, but I don't have anything to say about it."

"Well, you have to at least try," she says.

"Okay," I say.

The therapist sighs. She turns to the rest of the group and gestures for them to follow her to the next exhibit.

I take a moment to look at the painting again. I have no idea what the artist was trying to convey. I really have no idea. I wish I had something to say about it.

I sigh and walk over to join the group. I can't wait for this therapy session to end.

We continue to wander through the museum, stopping at different paintings. Everyone seems to have an opinion on each piece. Well, except me. I can't seem to think of anything to say.

"This painting reminds me of my late husband," one woman says. "He loved watching football games with our son."

"That's so beautiful," another woman coos. "It must be so hard for you to have lost him."

"It's been tough, but I've had my son by my side to help me through it," the woman replies.

I zone out as the group continues chatting. My eyes are drawn to a large painting of a couple sitting under a tree. The woman has her head on the man's shoulder. The man has his arm around the woman. It's a beautiful painting.

It reminds me of my time with Monica, back when we were trying to make things work. God, what a mess that was. We'd stumble into the same arguments every time we tried to have a decent conversation. But looking at this painting, I can't help but think about those rare moments of peace we managed to find amidst the chaos.

There was this one time we went for a picnic in the park. It was a sunny day, with birds chirping and a gentle breeze blowing through the trees. We found this perfect spot under a big oak tree. Monica nestled her head on my shoulder, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything was okay. We didn't argue, didn't bicker about trivial stuff. We just sat there, enjoying each other's company, surrounded by nature's beauty. That painting captures that feeling perfectly, like a snapshot of a fleeting moment of happiness.

But then reality would come crashing back in, like a tidal wave sweeping away our fragile peace. We'd start arguing again over the dumbest things. It was exhausting, constantly walking on eggshells, never knowing when the next blow-up would happen. And yet, despite all the turmoil, there were still those moments of tenderness, like the one depicted in this painting.

I wonder what the artist was thinking when they created this piece. Did they intend to capture the fleeting nature of happiness, or was it simply a depiction of love in its purest form? Maybe it's open to interpretation, like all great art. Whatever the case, it resonates with me on a deep level, reminding me of both the beauty and the pain of love.

"What do you think about this painting?" a woman's voice suddenly asks.

I jump a bit. I was so lost in thought that I didn't notice the group move on. I look over and see a petite woman standing next to me. She has long, curly black hair and big brown eyes.

reaches her eyes, giving her a warm and inviting aura. I realize I've been staring for a moment too long, and I quickly compose myself.

"Uh, sorry, I got lost in thought," I mumble, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"It's okay," she says with a gentle laugh. "Happens to the best of us. So, what do you think about this painting?"

I glance back at the artwork, feeling a bit flustered by her presence. "Well, um, it's... it's really beautiful, isn't it?" I offer, hoping my response doesn't sound too lame.

She nods, her smile widening. "Yeah, it really is. There's something so serene about it, don't you think?"

I nod in agreement, relieved that she seems to be taking my awkwardness in stride. "Definitely. It kind of reminds me of... um, well, moments of peace, I guess."

"Moments of peace?" she echoes, raising an eyebrow curiously.

"Yeah," I say, feeling a bit more confident now that we're having an actual conversation. "Like, you know when everything just feels... calm and... uh, serene, like you said? It's like the world stops for a moment, and you're just... there, in that moment."

She nods thoughtfully. "I know exactly what you mean. It's like time stands still, and you're just fully present in that moment of connection."

"Yeah, exactly. It's like... even amidst all the chaos and uncertainty, there are still these moments of... I don't know, clarity, I guess."

She smiles, and for a moment, it feels like we're the only ones in the museum, lost in our own little bubble of conversation.

"You have a really interesting perspective," she comments, her eyes lingering on mine.

I feel a flush of warmth spread across my cheeks, and I quickly look away, suddenly feeling self-conscious again. "Thanks," I mumble, not sure how to respond to the compliment.

She chuckles softly, as if she can sense my discomfort. "Sorry, didn't mean to put you on the spot. I just appreciate hearing different viewpoints, you know."

"Yeah, no, I get it," I say, grateful for her understanding. "It's nice to... uh, have someone to talk to about this stuff."

She nods, her smile softening. "I know what you mean. Sometimes, art can be overwhelming in a way. But it's also incredibly powerful, don't you think?"

"Yeah, definitely. It's like... it has this ability to evoke emotions and memories that you didn't even know were there."

"Exactly," she says, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm.

We stand there for a moment, lost in thought, before she clears her throat and glances around. "Well, um, sorry for rambling. I tend to get carried away when it comes to art."

"No, it's... it's really nice, actually. I mean, it's refreshing to meet someone who's so passionate about this stuff."

"Absolutely. Sometimes, it's easier to process things when you can bounce ideas off someone else, you know?"

"Yeah, definitely," I reply.

"So, what brings you here for this art therapy session?" she asks, her tone curious but gentle.

I hesitate for a moment, unsure of how much I want to reveal to this stranger. But there's something about her warmth and openness that makes me feel comfortable enough to share.

"Well, to be honest, I've been feeling a bit lost lately," I admit, shifting my gaze to the floor. "I've been dealing with some stuff, and I applied for this therapy without even knowing what it actually is.”

"Well, art therapy can be really helpful in that regard. It allows us to explore our thoughts and emotions in a different way."

"Yeah, that's what I'm hoping for," I say. "So, what about you?" I ask, eager to shift the focus away from myself for a moment. "What brings you here for this art therapy session?"

She pauses for a moment, her expression turning solemn as she considers her response. "Well, to be honest, I just got out of an abusive relationship," she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper.

My heart clenches at her words, and I feel a surge of anger towards whoever could have hurt someone as kind and compassionate as her. But I push the feeling aside, focusing instead on listening to her story.

"I'm so sorry to hear that," I say. "That must have been really tough for you."

She nods, her eyes clouded with pain. "Yeah, it was. It was a nightmare, to be honest. But I'm trying to move forward and heal," she continues, her voice steadier now, though the pain still lingers in her eyes. "I've found that art has been a really therapeutic outlet for me. It helps me process everything I've been through and express myself in ways that words sometimes can't."

"That's really brave of you," I say sincerely. "It takes a lot of strength to confront something like that and to actively work towards healing."

She offers me a small, grateful smile. "Thank you. It hasn't been easy, but I'm trying to take it one day at a time."

"I can imagine," I reply, thinking back to my own struggles with mental health and the long journey towards healing. "Sometimes, it feels like an uphill battle, but it's those small victories along the way that make it all worth it."

"Exactly," she agrees, her smile growing a bit brighter. "And having a supportive community makes all the difference, too. That's why I decided to give this art therapy session a try. It's comforting to know that I'm not alone in this."

"I couldn't agree more. Sometimes, just knowing that there are others out there who understand what you're going through can make all the difference."

“Yeah, it can.” She stares into my eyes for a few seconds. “My name is Anna. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

A warmth spreads through me as she introduces herself, and I can't help but smile. "Nice to meet you too, Anna," I reply. “I’m Alex.”