Mental Health
Fair to say I’ve always felt life fully. I can be incredibly joyful, and similarly (and often simultaneously) my sadness is intense. In proportions that regularly overwhelm me, and as a young adult, this has become more and more of a challenge. As you know, painting is really precious to me, and I’m very grateful to have it, but as it’s getting me to look closer within myself and my emotions, it triggered in me whole new levels of vulnerability. Wonderful yet draining, and scary at times.
It feels strange writing about it, those are challenges I’m facing every day and that are at the core of who I am, and to many extent of what I create) but I know this is not necessarily what people imagine when they meet me. I am genuinely the joyful, enthusiastic person most of you know; but not sharing the other facets of myself is something I’ve struggled with. Authenticity is something I value dearly, so I felt really sad not to be the real/full me more easily. But I guess it took me to accept it with less judgment first before I could dare opening up about that more. So this is an attempt here, I’m nervous as f* but I also think It’s important, at least to me. Hopefully less and less taboos when it comes to mental health.
On a more practical level there’s also the fact I’m now my own boss in a job where there’s no pre-existing path. I don’t know yet what routine would suit me, how much to push and how much to rest and trust. My practice is far from linear. Sometimes I paint happily and many days in a row, sometimes I don’t touch my brushes for weeks that feel like a sad eternity. If I can force myself to paint, most of the time it turns into a virtuous circle (my mood goes back up, and thanks to that I’m more able to see beauty and inspiration around me, and therefore wants to paint more, in a positive feedback loop). But that’s when I manage to go pass the all too present self-doubts and harsh inner monologs: if I’m already in a low mental place, painting forces me to be connected to my thoughts and they’re not always the kindest.
Currently I’m in a better place compared to last winter. But the sadness still comes in cycles and it’s a constant battle. Hopefully as I’m getting to know myself I’m finding different ways to cope with it. When it comes to painting, having deadlines and group commitments helps me (I find it easier to find the energy ‘for others’ rather than for me). When I can’t paint, acceptance is probably key. Or maybe switching to less emotional/vulnerable tasks could help, like admin, preparing canvases, doing colour swatches and master copies… I’m trying to find some balance and a sustainable practice.
Or maybe one day I’ll accept the low parts of me so much that I’ll be able to paint through it. And to be honest I’ve started exploring that. All the paintings I’m presenting here are linked to the saddest parts of me. They’re painful to create, challenging to share (I alternate between wanting to hide, protect, share, honour their existence n this part of me), sometimes I need to disconnect emotionally (withdrawing, getting weirdly numb not to be overwhelmed) but ultimately I know they’re very important to my heart and I’m glad they exist. And so moved when people resonate with them. I guess it’s about celebrating the intensity of my emotions, which is I believe at the source of my most important works.
This year I’ve also been thinking a lot about society-imposed ideas of productivity and how shit we can feel when ‘we’re not’. It definitely weighted on me, as I would draw a sense of identity from painting regularly, and in the same way feel worthless on the period where I couldn’t paint. I refuse to keep believing in that, productivity as a goal or a way to measure one’s life. My wish is for authenticity to be celebrated. Encouraging vulnerability in any shapes it takes. I do think one can tell when something is genuine and I find nothing moves me more than a piece of work behind which one can feel the author’s open heart. Needless to say writing this today is challenging but I believe this is the right direction. Social media are a weird place to attempt authenticity but I want to try and find my voice here, at least through this newsletter I feel I can.
I’m writing all of that because I know I’m far from alone in my struggle. And I believe that as we all dare to share our vulnerable sides with each other, we’ll slowly feel less lonely in our suffering and hopefully be able to support each other better. I’m very glad I finally took myself to therapy and It’s been helping big times. I’m also grateful for the precious friendships I’ve made this year, wonderful people entered my life, old relationships deepens. We’re learning to be here for each other in inspiration, support and vulnerability, like a powerful loving ecosystem. I’m very grateful altogether.
So in conclusion yes, it feels important for me to share this side of myself with you. I’ll probably keep writing about similar subject in future newsletter, as I’d like it to no longer feel taboo. Thanks for reading me ♥
