Art and Recovery

Art capital A saved my life. More than that. Art gave me a new life, new hope, and something to get up in the morning for. It’s not that I stopped writing. Clearly that is not the case. But I was writing in a vacuum and needed an outlet for my creative urges that involved more than just my brain. Oh sure, writing involves the hands, too. But not in the way I mean. What I needed was, well, what do I mean? I wanted to make things, create objects or works of art that could be seen and touched and even smelled and if scratched or thrown to the ground, heard. And if I were like van Gogh, I might even try to taste them! In short, I wanted to create something physical, not just an imaginary or remembered world.

I have always needed to work with my hands, making something or doing some sort of craft or artwork, though I gavitated towards the crafty side of arts and crafts, fearing that I could not “do real art”, that I was not the stuff of which true artists are made. (And pray tell, what stuff is that, Pamela?) So even when I – on a whim – dove into sculpture during a manic episode, creating that llama-in-a-day I have spoken of, the result was mostly folk art, which is to say, unsophisticated, rustic, and at best a craft-like work. Sure, I was pretty proud that I’d made a lifesize animal that actually stood up firmly on its own four legs. But with a deli container head (underneath the papier mache) and huge mailing tube body, scarcely concealed, big enough to have once held a large amateur telescope, it didn’t look much like a llama. In fact, the result was not much more than that tube covered with a few layers of paper and glue, and all of it painted red. Nevertheless, I was proud of “Dolly the llama,” though it took me a year after the mania was treated to finish her. Her saddle blanket fooled many into tugging at the finge to see if it was real or not. a trompe-l’oeil — eye fooling — success that pleased me no end.

But a year was much too much time to complete a sculpture, even a life-size llama. I was almost dreading the work by the time I got to applying the last few strokes of paint. I needed more drive than that to do art, but I didn’t seem to be able to sustain the energey or enthusiasm for much of anything. I wasn’t sure how I managed to write the book, even. Then, during my last hospitalization it seems this obstacle was overcome: on Abilify and Geodon I suddenly had both energy and stamina galore. Or perhaps it is simply that the medications enabled a well me to come out, someone who could sustain an artistic effort, even if it was for the very first time. Given a different life I would have been doing this sort of thing all along had I known it was possible, had I had that kind of stamina… But I didn’t think about this, no, for me there was no looking back.

Over the year and a half since then I have created several pieces, large and small, from a large tortoise to a “crazy fruit” bowl. From a large seated man, to a child detachable from her hassock (not quite finished). My female sculpture, the Decorated Betsy, has even won a NAMI national contest on creativity and mental illness. But why tell you about them. I want to see if I can upload a few photos instead here, but you’ll have to bear with me as I try out the “program”. First, I want to upload a picture of that llama, just so you can get a look at my very first attempt. She now resides in my parents’ bay window, a placement that I regard as an honor.

Looks mighty co-o-o-ld out there!
Looks mighty co-o-o-ld out there!

Here is the Dream Tortoise, otherwise known as Yurtle the Turtle, which is about 3 feet in diameter.

What you lookin' at?
What you lookin’ at?

There are two other large scale sculptures, each a person, plus a work in progress, but it is nearing my bedtime and there will be hell to pay if I do not get my 8 hours of essential-to-my-mental-health sleep. So I will stop here and get back to this tomorrow, posting at least two if not more photos of my artwork then.

————–

Aw hell, here are two more, but without comment or caption except to say that the prescription that the man holds in his hand reads: Dr John Jumoke Rx: art, poetry, music. But first the earliest human I have done, the Decorated Betsy (note that half her face is also decorated, and since Jumoke was supposed to be her doc, his face is decorated too. Does this perhaps indicate that perhaps he too is- infected?:

Decorated Betsy: Lifesize Papier Mache
Decorated Betsy: Life-Size papier mache sculpture 2008 January by Pamela Spiro Wagner

And now Dr John Jumoke

Life-size and attached to home-made papier mache chair
Life-size and attached to home-made papier mache chair

3 thoughts on “Art and Recovery”

  1. Hi Pam,

    Welcome back!

    I, too, learned early on that creative work, especially craft work, healed me a little bit at a time when I was most psychotic. I made fanciful earrings with beads and wire and crocheted afghans and bags and hats. The work was meditative, creative, deeply non harming. Often I would combine the experience with listening to audiobooks or music. But your wonderful stamina in creating your sculptures is an inspiration to me. You are serious yet fanciful all at the same time. I particularly am drawn to your designs. You are an artist Pam. It’s just one of the basic components of your spirit.

    I’m so glad that you’ve found your creative niches and am looking forward to seeing more of your creations.

    Kate : > D

  2. Pam,

    Glad you are back. Art truly is a great therapy, and as an artist myself, I can attest first-hand. I am such a fan of your sculptures! I hope you might consider submitting them to exhibitions – especially Decorated Betty and the Doctor. Decorated Betty is a masterpiece. I hope you do more!

    Yours in Art,

    Ruth S

  3. Welcome back, Pam. Your blog is terrific. Your writing is so real, so honest, so revealing. Thank you for sharing your life — and your art !!

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