Art Therapy

gone

go

One day, way back in 1979 or so, I did these two drawings in 20 minutes (both).

The task I set for myself was to try ANYTHING to move myself from depression to.. somewhere else…

I had fire in me that day.

I picked ungainly tools of over-the-top-red and a thick, oily black crayon.

I let myself be taken.

I made marks.

I did not collapse away from the fierceness in me.

I didn’t use tears as an escape.

After that, I was spent.

But peaceful.

A peace dripped on me like honey.

I got a new sheet of paper and wondered: “What is here behind that last drawing?”

The second piece you see here is what came.

VERY delicate. Almost invisible.

But not.

A fence, broken.

A creature with sure outlines and direction.

Eyes open.

Going.

My handprints in gold. All over the place.

Hope.

I remember hearing Ram Dass, a wonderful teacher/spiritual seeker saying that in all the years of his attention toward BECOMING something more than he was yesterday, he STILL has every single one of his neuroses…

They are smaller, less apt to act out but STILL THERE..

EVERY DAMN ONE OF THEM.

I thought that was so funny and true..

Today, this Cathy might not have chosen such a thick black crayon to make her marks and the magical creature would probably have more defined lines.

But essentially, the same woman is out here making her marks.

Elegant, tentative, brave, compassionate, afraid..

It is all me.

And I love her.

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