The Sock Monkey ETC Assessment

This is one of my bags of monkeys in progress. I have piles of monkeys in various stages of assembly which is a very odd way for me to work. At first, I thought I was working several monkeys at a time for etsy store convenience, but then I noticed I have been drawn to my least favorite part of monkey making: cutting, sewing, stuffing and assembling. Usually, I work one sock at a time and I keep my eye on getting to the final touches and figuring out the monkey's story. I'm like a sculptor looking for the monkey in the sock and giving it a voice. I approach sock monkey making on a cognitive level. I know that sounds ridiculous -- I'm talking about SOCKS here, but that's how it is.

This past week, however, I am just a monkey-making machine and not so into thinking. I'm all kinesthetic in the monkey making, just getting into a rhythm of stuffing and stitching and that's all I want to do. I think I have 8 or 9 monkeys sitting around waiting for me to do my favorite things to them, but I haven't had the desire. Instead I grab another empty monkey and stuff some more or reach into my sock stash and start another one. My last supervision teacher would say, "That's diagnostic." I heard her voice in my head today while I was hand stitching a monkey crotch and realized how extra weird it is that I don't know why I am doing this.

It's not narcissism that makes me need to examine myself. I just think it's bizarre that people like me who are trained to make sense of artistic behaviors and have insight into creative choices can have moments of not knowing the meaning of their own need to make a pile of faceless sock monkeys. I don't know if it's just me being a rookie or if it's a necessary part of a therapist's job, but I find myself a great practice patient, because I can't help you if I can't help me and also I get some of my best ideas from experimenting with what works to keep me on target, so to speak. So, this is why I questioned myself about the odd monkey-making behavior today.

So, I am working with repetition and not a lot of thought. This seems to be a self-soothing thing to do, but I don't feel especially anxious even though I am about to start a new job next week. On the same day I start training at my new job, I also volunteered to teach a yoga class for families staying in town while their children receive cancer treatment and somehow that scares me more than anything right now, but not enough to change a lifetime of creative habits. I pondered over myself quite a lot today and as I traced the passing thoughts and emotions that have been running through my mind this week, I think I got why I'm stuck on creative self-soothing.

I just experienced the first father's day without a father, eleven months after my father died. Triggering, but I feel at peace with my father's death somehow. However, in addition to the holiday and anniversary, this time of year has not been my emotional favorite since my mother died; June is a month of regret. The end of June was when my mom received the fatal dose of chemo that destroyed her digestive system and caused her to suffer a long torturous medically-induced death. That wasn't supposed to happen. Her cancer was treatable. Therefore, this is the time of year that things could have gone very differently if only we weren't a family that trusts authority and doctors so easily. If a time machine fell into my yard today I would go to Junes past and save my family. Regret is not one of the most enlightening emotions in grief and it would make sense that self-soothing would be in order. This might also make my fear of teaching yoga to families of kids getting chemo feel a whole lot more scary than it really is. But, I am a facer of fears and experience so far has proven performance nerves are really good liars but poor fortune tellers.

I don't know what good it does me to come to this conclusion about why my sock monkeys have no faces this week. But it does leave me wondering now what? I don't believe in avoiding negative emotions, but rather honoring them. So, Dear Regret, I don't know what to do with you, but I meet you at the door and welcome you with whatever you have to share. For now, Regret and I have some sock monkeys to stitch and stuff.

In the meantime, ETC stands for Expressive Therapies Continuum and if you want to know more, read this: Expressive Therapies Continuum: A Framework for Using Art in Therapy, by Lisa D. Hinz.

Pretty Dead Things

Things are starting to come up in my yard and it reminds me of a metaphor I discovered and photographed last year. I'll start from the beginning. Tulips have always been my favorites and they became even more favored once I had space to plant them and became aware of how easy they are. Even though I hate gardening, I always have a thing for photographing what comes up in the spring. No reason. I just do it, but then I feel sorta hmmm, matured I guess, because I know from printing experience, photographing floral shit in your yard for no reason is what many retired folks do.

One of the new things I learned about my mom was that she loved pink flowers. I'm pretty anti-most-things-traditionally-feminine, so I avoid pink for the most part, but planted pink and white stuff for my mom and my inner 80-year-old-hobbiest photographed them. Under most circumstances, I would never admit to photographing pink flowers, being more a fan of body parts, abstraction and digital weirdness, but...

I noticed things when the flowers started to whither and die. They became somewhat cool to photograph. In color, it isn't anything special, but in black and white, it starts to be all about light and texture and in photography, that's more delicious than hot macaroni and cheese on a rainy day.

So, you ask, what does that have to do with grief processing? Well, first of all this was what I did while hanging out in my grief garden last year.

Second of all, I thought a lot about how these flowers became much more rich, deep and fascinating to me while they were in this weak dying process. I thought about my mom in particular and how amazing she was while she was sick. It's easy to be happy and positive while we're healthy and all is well, but going through sickness and the tough times are when we really see what we're made of. My mom was always friendly, kind and positive and even when she was dying a torturous death due to medical error, there could be no doubt that her traits were authentic, because most of the time, she still was all of those things. She worried more about us and provided support and counseling to us in her greatest time of need for as long as she could. Like these flowers, her light and texture was more evident as she was leaving the world.

Also, my dad was alive this time last year, but I feel like I saw him differently after losing my mom as well. He had always been strong, rational and absolutely-no-nonsense, but without my mom, his shell fell off and for the next year and a half, he was fragile and sensitive. He too developed a deeper texture.

Also, I think for those of us who live, getting hit with losing half of our immediate family in a short period of time brought out a new texture in us. I think the relationship between my siblings and I have changed. I don't know about them, but the way I look at the world has become more wrinkled like these flowers, but also the wrinkles are what makes it richer in a sense. Life isn't as beautiful as it used to be, but now I can see the beauty where it is. I don't think I knew how well I had it, until I lost it, but losing it, makes me love what I have left even more. Like a good photograph, contrast brings out the best in things. Or, at least it makes it more interesting to examine.

Does this make sense? Looking at these photographs again now, I'm thinking this may be another photo project for this season. I see things I would like to do differently. I have a whole body of work in my mind. We'll see how that goes.

Defining Art

My friend and fellow rookie art therapist Aimee posted this on her facebook and it reminds me of a blog topic I have been sitting on: What is art?

So I've read a few books on art and creativity, because it's part of the art therapy grad school deal, but when I read about how art is defined by the snobbish and experienced with a great deal of anxiety and apprehension by the maker I think something along the lines of "What? Come on! Who thinks that? Why? What's the big deal about Art."

I have a pretty casual relationship with Art. We're so close, I wouldn't even call it Art, because that's too formal for the two of us. I'd call Art something like scooter pumpkin pants or sweetums... you know something intimate and gross due to our long love/like-quite-a-bit relationship.

So, what is Art, eh hem... uh, I mean scooter pumpkin pants to me? It's not a product or a practice. It's an emotion. It's a zone. It's like a sense of mania, without any of the trouble-causing parts. It's high energy and productivity focused on expressing something. How that comes out is based on our histories, skills, needs in the moment, available materials or whatever. That means if you hit that high coloring, you're with scooter pumpkin pants. Refinishing hardwood floors... scooter pumpkin pants. Making paella... scooter pumpkin pants. I'm sure some people who make a living creating Art that sells for thousands might find my Art theory completely offensive, but Art is relative in my mind. It's not so much about doing it well as feeling it well.

Good, bad, on exhibit, in the trash... so what? Just make something. Art or scooter pumpkin pants, it's all just semantics anyway.

Knit, Purl, Philosophize

I've heard that many people get into this profession to work on their own stuff, but I got into it because I like art and psychology. However, it turned out to be a parallel process because since I put together my portfolio and applied to the program, I lost my brother and both parents. Most things about experiencing a lot of deaths are terrible, but there are some parts that aren't so bad... or maybe they are also pretty horrendous, but really important lessons.

I became aware of this impermanence train that is life earlier than some. Did you ever regret not knowing at the moment how awesome it was to be a kid and get to color in school, take piano lessons every week and spend three months a year in a swimming pool and on roller skates? Instead you probably spent your kid time thinking about how great it would be to grow up, have your own money and never have to listen to a single teacher again. Sometimes I feel like that kid, except I know how totally radical it is to be living this life right now every single moment. When you lose a lot of people, especially a sibling or maybe a friend around your age, you might think, holy crap life is short. What am I gonna do with this thing to make it meaningful? At least that's what I thought about.

In spite of life opening a can of whoop ass on me the last three years, I feel that overall, I'm extremely lucky. I'm lucky I was trying to get into this profession when I started, because when I thought about what makes my life meaningful, the perfect career was simultaneously falling in my lap.

Here's what I want out of life... Even though we're small and insignificant in the universe, I want the world to be a little better while I'm in it. If I can make something just a tiny bit prettier and someone a little happier, I consider my life well lived. I don't expect perfection, but an overall higher score in the gee-it-was-great-you-existed column.

That being said, allow me to get to the knitting portion of this post. Here's some handmade/hand-dyed yarn I was knitting today which sent me spinning on this whole thing...


The last thing my mother taught me was how to knit. She had taught me when I was little, but it didn't take, so she taught me again as she was dying. After she died, I knit. A lot. I knit so much I didn't even know what to do with the stuff. I donated some of it. My favorite organization is Spirit Jump. It works like this: you sign up, you get emails about people who have cancer and feel down, you make or buy them something, you send it. The receivers get a surprise (or probably a series of surprises) in the mail and the senders get major feelgood points.

Know what makes me feel even better? Anonymous giving. Sneak-up-on-someone-who-never-sees-it-coming-giving. Stealthy-ninja giving. Making-people-feel-good-without-seeing-a-result-or-even-getting-thanks giving. Know why? Because it's fun and way more real.

And what does this have to do with art therapy? Tons! We often work with people who have lost their way and are traveling on the what's-the-point-of-all-this-pain train. They need help finding the transfer station. Challenge people to make something and send it to someone. Help them knit some squares and combine them to create a blanket for a homeless shelter or nursing home. Get them to make some origami and drop it in strangers' purses (in a safe way and place -- no need to go around getting patients slapped).

It can be the season of giving all year.

Here's a related video someone shared with me yesterday...