I know, that ‘Art Therapy’ subject is quite loaded with different meanings and, probably, not free from controversies too. Yet, from what I can see browsing the relevant pages, this kind of psychological (medical) therapy has flourished in the US, with AATA (American Art Therapy Association) looking quite fit and professional.

At the same time it remains relatively exotic in Europe and especially in Ireland. My college was first in this country to introduce Art Therapy MA degrees (based on BA Hons. in Fine Art) - they are available from 1998, became quite popular, yet it’s still far from ordinary to see Art Therapist working in institutions, schools or hospitals.

I haven’t personally met yet with any sort of this practice and know nothing about its factual effectiveness. I’m interested especially in any record, experience related to the ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), since one case of it has been diagnosed in my family. Have you met with an art therapy “in action”? Are you yourself qualified and practicing? Do you have any opinions, thoughts or experiences on that subject, on how it works (if at all) on autistic children? Thanks for sharing.

• First and foremost - to keep the work alive with thinking/reflection
• To preserve unique moments of a discovery
• To preserve equally unique moments of a struggle/crisis
• To learn from one’s own story
• To exercise an insight and self-recognition
• To learn self-discipline and persistence
• To develop skill in a creative/accurate writing

It can be kept in a form of a sketchbook, where drawings, work-samples, illustrations are included, however a special care should be taken for putting experiences into words… It’s slightly similar to maintaining a web-blog, however, more personal…

It’s best rewarding when the discipline of regular notes (based on everyday, each two/three days frequency) is applied consistently.

I’ve been sustaining my own ‘Journal’ for a month as for now and must say - it’s got a power to surprise. I mean - reading my own two-weeks-old thoughts is sometimes like flying on another planet…

But one important rule - one has to be honest - and a diary is a great lecture on honesty… On one day I wrote: “I’m not going to pretend that I have something interesting to say…” And sometimes is nothing more than that…

So, good luck with that - if you accept this challenge of mine…

Since my partner in the above-mentioned chat was far from being an average, junior, intelligent guy who finds “fashionable” to talk post-modern slogans (no matter how out of place they are), we’ve managed to make a way for some deeper observations. Yet everything seemed to slip through our fingers - any sense, any understanding of each other. Why is it so difficult to communicate on a level, where any social game must to disappear in the presence of truth? Why in the age of gutsy exhibitionism, omnipresent “display” of human “values” we are mute and/or extremely amateurish when it comes to formulate, understand and convey basic reflection on our existential condition? I wonder what was that ancient Greek spoke about, or people of 18th century France, or even contemporaries of Hemingway, Kafka, Dostojewski? Have they been taught the art of communicating oneself to others or maybe times they lived in encouraged it in the most natural fashion?

So we talked about beauty which became something terribly old-fashioned, neglected and misunderstood. After Picasso and the modern rest ridiculed classical rules of harmony and pleasure it seems to be quite trendy to make art that disturbs, wipes out smile and joy; art of dark colours, sad faces and deliberately nonchalant in appearance. Even if beauty occurs it’s very often accidental, has nothing in common with beliefs and aspirations of an artist. Majority of work in my college is like that, my own work oscillates between “blue” and darkness of being alive here and now… What a waste of a pair of healthy hands. Why not to aspire to be the next Cezanne or Canova? Why not to aspire to make the happiest, the most beautiful paintings/sculptures ever? Why even these questions sound ridiculously?

It was the eternal beauty of art in Paris that grabbed my mind and heart. Who knows - maybe it’s the right time for a new Renaissanse, for rediscovering once again value and sense in our human condition? That could be even interesting…

Just for the classical taste, few shots of The Louvre’s treasures I took during my trip to Paris:

So, today few loose reflections on what I consider as an experience of being ‘a contemporary artist’. First of all, I must say I’m intensely reluctant to use the word when referring to myself and my identity. And it isn’t merely due being ‘just’ an art student, but it seems to be rooted in my deep belief that, what a human being undergoes in a long, complex process of making (creating) of what art critics will call ‘an artwork’ cannot be expressed in a one, semiotically distorted and culturally misunderstood and abused (just have a quick surf around ‘artistic’ pages - anything now can be called ‘art’ and anybody ‘an artist’) term. Who am I then? - somebody studying, making, dealing with art, somebody struggling with artistic means to find myself - that belief will (hopefully) never change. If so called ‘art-world’ (art lovers, critics) will name me eventually ‘an artist’ one day I will feel recognized and appreciated, but it always be a sort of a simplification of my activities, putting ‘a label’ in order to ‘classify’.

Czeslaw Milosz, one of my favourite poets had tried twice his poetically non-compromising definition of what does it mean to be ‘an artist’; and his understanding, both quite romantic and yet classical, is worth to be displayed here. So, first of all, it reminds of being a child in a world made by adults and consequently - to be always vulnerable and ready enough to hear their indulging laughter… And secondly - it’s a decision (a sane one yet transcending the ‘common sense’ level) of letting oneself to be the land of demons that rule here as if they were at home and speak numerous languages - it means to be like an always open house, without a key in the doors, so your invisible guests get in and leave with an ease…

An artist (should write ‘a genuine one’ but there are no ‘fake artists’, just like an Art - it’s true or isn’t art) then would be less a strong, self-confident individual of the personality sharp as a knife and being driven by an above-average ambition and ingenious ideas (Picasso’s , Damien Hirst’s type) but more - an extremely sensitive, open, always curious, innocent and naive in a sense (as a deliberately adopted attitude) character; so complex that appearing as simple, so powerful that letting himself to be a sort of ‘a medium’ for what is transcendent, supernatural (Mark Tobey’s name comes to my mind). Does one have to be born this way, or - is it possible to ‘made’ an artist out of nothing preexisting in him/her innately? How does it all translate into functioning in this very world of “dead” God, ‘thirsty’ dealers and agents, traffic jams, mortgages, hypermarkets, rip-off mentality? Self-deceiving, compromises, psychological disturbances?
No, I don’t want you to get an impression that I pose for a martyr or a victim… More I think about me and others being luckily ‘condemned’ to art more I believe that the game is worth all the investment and much, much more… It’s this sort of a challenge that, living in the ancient times when gods were still alive and kicking, you would say: ‘I’ve been touched by something that is greater than me, and I will never be the same man again. And it’s like a burning fire sometimes, but I wouldn’t exchange that for all the wealth of this world’

Sorry if sounding sentimental… Greetings to all art-aficionados…