Healing Through Art Therapy: Allowing My Heart To Lead
- Zara Kolasinska
- Apr 9, 2023
- 8 min read
Blog by Zara Kolasinska
I began writing this blog on Good Friday with a strong intent to focus on the importance of art therapy and how "art,' and art therapy became so relevant in my own life as a subject for this blog. I quickly recognised how my brain produces convincing ideas to write on, whilst my heart, on the other hand, has other ideas. In the same way, this familiar pattern often, if not always, takes shape within my artwork.
I have realised that allowing the heart to lead without the mind pushing for control produces unexpectedly raw art that is captivating and full of life. It's not about outwitting the brain but asking it politely to take a back seat. At the same time, the heart connects me with the flow of what's to come rather than leading with intellect and ego. Even better is when the two can become romantic partners. That's a perfect cocktail for producing something special. I strongly tend to recognise patterns and symbols; therefore, this blog falling over easter has created uncanny resemblances to reflect upon what I continue to write.
I had no intention of writing what follows. Still, as usual, my heart has me outwitted once again with its riddled symbolic language that leaves me dangling for clues. I learnt something about myself recently. I am an abstract thinker. I don't think in concrete terms; I think around and about the bigger picture. I also see many objects and principles that are not physically present, which explains my ability to see symbolic representation in situations and stories. Ultimately I lean towards creative endeavours, hence why art comes more naturally to me.
This reflection reminded me of a lecture I attended at the Jungian Society last week. I am a regular dosser there, pretending I have intellect on Jungian theories and modalities. I did my best to grasp the wisdom, hoping that it would sink in enough to remember this time. This particular lecture was on Dante's "Inferno", The Divine Comedy. I must confess that from the lecture description, I was mostly persuaded by the idea and image of the Italian speaker who would be reading parts of the poem in his lecture.
Although Married and happy, what middle-aged woman wouldn't get hijacked by her fantasies of a dark, young handsome intellect, reading an epic masterpiece of the descent to hell and back on the ultimate love story. (to add In Italian accent)
Let's just say I wasn't disappointed by the lecture or my fantasies about it. As my mind's eye met with reality, most of it unfolded with uncanny percussion. Even the parts I predicted would fly over my head, e.g. "most of the lecture"!! Nevertheless, as usual, the lecture lands me insight and wisdom in not-so-predictable ways that the expectations of my imagination would have me believe. Some of my most significant transformational experiences have been in these lectures and studies. An uncanny understanding of material far from my intellectual capacity to digest falls into deeper cellular levels of intelligence. It ripens over time and then arises into my conscious awareness with clarity, albeit days, weeks, months, or years later.
I can't help but humour myself as the familiar part within me remembers the horrific days of school, avoiding anything remotely academic, born from the fear of exposing my perceived stupidity, weighted and burdened by shame and labels. I couldn't have EVER dreamed in a million years I would be here today, attending Jungian depth psychology lectures, sitting and mixing in circles with the highest of education and titles.
What tickles me is that not only have I unwittingly exposed my bias towards toffs, intellectuals and academics, I then unconsciously strove towards them to enable my own growth to accept that part within myself, or at least receive the benefits it holds for me.
Now that's seriously clever, let alone humorous, so how can I not accept my inner nerd going forward.
As I sat grasping for comprehension over Dante's descent down to hell, and the striving back towards heaven, something inside recognised the struggle as the handsome Italian lecturer unravelled resemblances in mesmerising sensual tones and words.
Sitting silently, I attempted to regain composure and ponder alone with my tea and thoughts as I often do in the break before we form a circle to discuss the lecture. I still need to conquer my inferiority function. It mostly has me silenced like an imposter pretending nobody can see me. To this day, after years of lectures, I've muted myself, not trusting my thoughts worthy of being shared. Patiently observing others while denying others access to my insights and intellect within the circle.
The irony of my own inferiority complex has me sitting among intellects exposing itself in an attempt to help free me from the history I hold onto so tight. After all, it's my ego's identity at stake, isn't it?
It's easy to understand why speaking through art became second nature and, therefore, a safer place to expose my creativity and express my ideas and thoughts through the arts. Although I am showing myself through art, there is an object between me and the others I can control to a degree. In other words, I allow the observer to observe and make of it what they will or choose to.
I hand it to them, and their inner eye creates an idea, albeit illusion or deluded, love or projections. I know what's true for me within that piece of art; perhaps it will change, as it often does. It moves through time and often unravels more insight later. Mostly though, I can contain, accept, and honour it whilst knowing another may judge and create from it what moves emotions within them.
I have to confess it's not always been this way, and it has taken a lot of soul-searching to reach this point. Looking back, I used to contemplate how such heavy insecurities stopped me in my tracks. I will share one example.
I had a strong desire to write around 15 years ago. Still, the after-effects of schooling and labelling of dyslexia crippled me to my core. I cannot ever put into words the shame I carried forward from those early years, let alone the coping mechanisms that followed. To the extent that if I dared myself to write, I would be gripped by the fear of death; in other words, my mind wanting to keep me safe, associated death with the idea of expressing myself through writing. Totally irrational, I know, but until you become aware of these complexes formed from childhood experiences, they remain embedded in your neurology, and you carry them forth. Hence why I was so uncomfortable around academics and intellectuals.
Death dared me to write or express myself like a parent mocking you to push them that inch further. The internal battle was as real as the blood running through my veins and one I wasn't prepared to toy with.
I hid notepads, bought nice pens, and instead expressed myself through clothes, objects and humour. The creativity within spilled into fruitless endeavours as my inner mothering of self attempted to soothe the continuous drive towards uncharted lands in art and writing.
It wasn't understood or exposed in its entirety until the real experience with death landed at my feet. Losing my daughter suddenly exposed me to the stupidity of these conditioned beliefs. When we experience such soul-shattering pain, the other pains seem to dissolve into insignificance. Because death had visited me, it no longer held the threat it once did.
In those darkest moments of grief, death offered me a doorway into a fantasy dreamland where I could be reunited with my daughter. Death shape-shifted into a new symbol of hope rather than fear.
I think we can all relate to Dante's Inferno and the descent to hell in one way or another from challenging times within our lives. Facing death, grief, illness, mental illness, abuse, and love whipped from us suddenly, are examples of that inferno being ignited within. It seems foolish and grandiose to draw parallels with the stories of the great poets and gods, but equally as foolish to deny ourselves striving back towards heaven in whatever way that means for us.
Reflecting on my own life, I have found that, in a sense, it has been both obvious and yet mysterious at the same time. When you begin to tune in, albeit to your own psychology, or tap into your unconscious through your own fitting ways, it begins to unravel an obvious story unfolding for you to view. As you become more aware of your story, those old innate conditioned responses start to become exposed; therefore, you are able to inquire into the root of where they shooted.. This has had an astonishingly insightful effect on my future actions and responses. Making conscious choices rather than automatic unconscious ones!
I have no doubt it can take lifetimes to work through, and exposing one's shadow aspects and insecurities is no easy path to walk. We all have the innate desire to strive in one way or another. Still, my message is that we may continue to miss the hidden mysteries by striving outwardly towards materialistic endeavours. Not only that, we will continue to create the same destructive patterns we see play out among society and the collective.
I am reminded of the scene of the handsome Italian lecturer while sitting mute with my tea. And a smile arises as I think back to what unfolded within that circle where I left off. No, I didn't talk, well at least not within that circle, neither did a mass upper-class, OAP orgie unfold. Sorry to disappoint or tarnish your easter, but I am praying no analysts read this as no doubt those Freudians will have me labelled as a sexually repressed menopausal neurotic !!
What did unfold was recognition of my own worthiness and understanding of what others struggled to grasp. Sitting with one of the founders of the society, who I've formed alliances with, a sweet, kind-hearted man with white hair, perfectly turned out, with great stylish brown leather brogues. He confessed to me a couple of his insecurities that surprised him, which I found so grounding to hear from a therapist; you think they must have it all figured out, right?
As the inquiries swished around the circle, many times I tensed while holding back my input, then at the end, he looked at me and said, Zara, you know you could've helped us all understand something as I know you have much wisdom to share within the content of the group. I found that very faltering, and it helped me acknowledge myself without feeling inadequate in some way.
The point of this blog was to set out and explain why art and studying analytical Psychology has been profoundly healing and insightful for my growth. I wanted to encourage others to express themselves in whatever way that is called to them, and that if you're able to start to listen to the inner whisper from your heart that leads you back to glimpsing yourself for who you truly are, you may just find an opportunity for growth towards understanding oneself.
As I come to an end in this blog, I go full circle in touching upon the ability to heal through suffering, creating and self-inquiry. In this roundabout way, the wonderfully powerful works of Dante's Inferno and the biblical teachings of Jesus's death and resurrection resemble and reflect our own suffering in one way or another, albeit self or collective. The patterns remain until we find the courage to strive from our depths. Or simply, maybe we all just need one hot Italian…
I will leave you with some images of my art that have captured something personal to look at from within my unconscious mind.
I will also mention 3 of my favourite artists pushing the borders of one's imagination.
That is the great Salvador Dali, Freda Kahlo, and Zdzislaw Beksinski.
Wishing you all a happy Easter.
Zara x
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