An Art Lesson...

Nope, I'm not taking art lessons at the moment. Neither do I think I have a gift in this area, though all my immediate family members seem to be able to draw something more than decent that could be placed on display in a fancy store in Manhattan. Tonight I went to an art exhibition at St Mary's (a church my parents attend regularly), and became a fan and advocate of art therapy. For the past year or so, my mum had been joining this art therapy class at her church and four of her masterpieces were being celebrated tonight.

The reception for tonight's event looked dashing, the lighting was pretty and the place looked absolutely classy. Well of course, given that this is a church that has won several awards and has been featured on the Straits Times for its stellar architecture. I went there with my dad, clueless about what to expect. But what I took home was more than the beautiful sight and wonderful art pieces (and not forgetting the exquisite and lovely finger food!). 

The evening was kick-started and set into motion by Joanna, the art therapist, who gave a quick, bite-sized intro into Art Therapy 101. As a psychology grad, and someone who is really into clinical work and therapy, I always felt that art therapy was a great way to express one's inner emotions and to discover one's innermost thoughts. However, tonight I learnt something new about this form of therapy. Joanna mentioned how members who joined the class were taught to withhold all judgment and suspend all criticism, especially on themselves as they learnt to draw and paint. It reminded me of how frustrated I used to get in art class when the apple I drew just wasn't the perfect one I envisioned in my mind, and how perfectionist and demanding we can sometimes be on ourselves. The culture that was nurtured in the class, one that allowed little flaws and imperfections to shine, reminded me of how God's glory is often made perfect in our weaknesses. We go through life yoking ourselves to the expectations we import from the world and that gives our self esteem a huge beating very often. As I reflected on what was shared and the testimonies given about the supportive environment in the classroom, I realized how therapeutic art therapy can be. Everything is individual and each piece has its own distinctive identity and meaning that captured a snapshot of the sacred place that God brought each artist into when He inspired them to craft these wonderful pictures. Each week as their skills improved, I'm sure their confidence augmented. It's amazing how God can minister to a person and how he or she can testify about it through his or her art piece. 

As I stepped into the exhibition room, I was marveled by the awesome use of colors and brilliant drawings on the canvases hung on the walls. I began to read some write-ups that explained how the artist got his or her inspiration. I really felt ministered by God as I read the learning lessons people gleaned as they painted. However, when I laid my eye on the one my mum painted without knowing she was the one responsible for that beautiful piece of art, I felt especially poignant. It was a gorgeous piece that won many compliments for its realism and intricacies. Unfortunately, someone purchased or I might (well might only cos' I am feeling rather poor now) have bought it. When I read her write-up, I was extremely touched and I felt the tears welling in my eyes. Her reflections were very insightful and I was so proud of how she had experienced God in such a personal way. I've got so much to be proud of about my mum; she is fantastic in art, at organizing one thousand and one things, and wonderful at packing my luggage (she sure can squeeze many things into tiny spaces)! I really hope that she can continue to grow in the Lord and continue to pursue Him through art.

After being ministered by the masterpieces at the exhibition, my dad and I walked out of the church without making any purchases. I guess we are too thick-skinned to feel bad about enjoying the art without paying any price. Anyways, I asked my dad whether he could draw after hesitating for a while (we hardly converse casually unless its at a special dinner or something). And finally when I summoned the courage to ask him, he shared how he actually corrected some of my mum's drawings- some ducks-because (and this is according to him) she wasn't adept at capturing proportions of life forms. He told me how he used to be the Art director (or editor, I can't remember now) of his pre-u magazine, and how he won an art competition when he was young. As he spoke of all this, I felt that I was really getting to know him more and more, and I felt so drawn to his stories. He went on about how he liked to draw animals and he was the only one at home who had the artistic flair. Next, he shared about this famous Singaporean artist (Chen Wen Xi or something like that) who died, how his paintings became valuable, how he was known for drawing gibbons, and how he would draw them in all sorts of positions with his trademark strokes and use of signature smudges. My dad was telling me of his visits to Bukit Timah Hill and how he found some monkeys very cute--they were in all sorts of positions (please don't think dirty hor!). He wanted to take some photos and draw these monkeys at home according to those photos and develop his own style of painting monkeys. These were little snippets of my dad I wouldn't have known if I never asked.

One last thing that I would like to add is my own reflection on tonight's event. All the nice paintings I saw bowled me over, and I just saw the awareness and mindfulness of the people who created these paintings. It took tremendous patience to complete each piece. And the question I had was: how many people would slow down nowadays in the hurried pace of life to admire a painting or take in a breathtaking sight? Do we, who are so busy reacting to the stimulation we receive from the hustle and bustle of society, cherish the moment or savor the beauty of God's creation in our everyday life? In those days, when there wasn't PSP or DS Lite, kids would spend more time on the drawing board, developing a keen sensitivity to their surrounding in the process (not saying that they don't nowadays, just less). Now we rather type then pick up a pencil, or click on some keyboard rather than color with a crayon....well, just some thoughts (not verified through any experiment whatsoever--psychologists are just so empirical!).

I wish I had the talent to draw or paint. My parents have it. Guess it all went to my sis who is now studying architecture. Anyway, God is fair in dishing out all talents to people. For one, I can sing better than any of them (heh, no hard feelings ya). Anyways, art therapy seems great and I really hope to use it in the future if I do practice clin psych.  

 

Fin