The Artist’s Path to Spiritual Redemption
<p>I suffered mental health problems for almost all of my life. I’ve seen the inside of hospital wards and prison cells more times than I’d care to count. I’ve tasted despair, which I cannot quite articulate, and trauma beyond words. The truth is I cannot yet shape the contours of this story. I do not have the strength to tell it. I just have fragments: Scattered bones, or coloured gems, the ruins of a crumbling Xanadu. This is one such fragment: A small story, of how I’ve used art to redeem my pain and transformed adult despair into childhood joy. And more so, learnt that perhaps happiness doesn’t reside in the future but in the past; where as a five-year-old, I’d sit a draw for hours, communing with my solitary self. I’m not a professional artist. Nor yet a professional writer. Too slow, too lethargic. Too scattered in my thoughts and feelings. I haven’t been able to unify the energies warring inside of me. But, at times, I draw them in. That’s when I can create something outside of the pain of living, or perhaps indeed because of it. This is my story of painting my way to a better life. A life worth living, as told through the pictures I’ve painted which somehow have come to define me.</p>
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