We’d like to thank Audible for supporting
PBS. I recently visited an art museum and learned
very little about the art on display… but quite a bit about myself. That’s because I was meeting up with not
a curator or docent or artist, but an art therapist, at the Sidney and Lois Eskenazi
Museum of Art at Indiana University Bloomington. The building was designed by architect I.M.
Pei (of Louvre pyramid fame) and recently underwent a $30 million dollar renovation. I wanted to go check out their collection
of over 45,000 objects, visit the new galleries, and also experience an art museum in a completely
new way. Not to read all the labels or think about history, nor to contemplate the many
ways artists have understood the world and manipulated materials. Those are all things
that can and do happen at this place. But not this day. This day was for free association
and introspection, letting the art be the art and me be me, and working with a credentialed
art therapist to see what kinds of connections we might draw between what we see and what
we feel. Are you with me? Let’s start with this artwork. We’re going
to break from tradition and not tell you at first who made it, or when, or why. But we
are going to look at it and ask ourselves objectively: What do we see? I see lots of
shiny little metal objects held together by wire, joined into a kind of quilt-like structure,
which must be affixed to the wall but appears floating there, as if frozen in mid-motion.
To me, it looks delicate and flexible, but also strong. Simultaneously intricate and
stable. If you’re at the Eskenazi Museum and working
with their credentialed art therapist, Lauren Daugherty, she might then me to take it a
step further and consider whether I might find any metaphors in what I’ve described,
or find a way of connecting this object to my life. Perhaps my life, like this artwork,
is delicate and intricate, but stronger and more stable than it looks. Someone else might look at this artwork and
say, it’s held together and on the wall, but it looks like it could fall off at any
second. Maybe that resonates with them and their life, that they’re held together,
but barely. Lauren might first ask, "What holds this object together?" And then transition to asking “What holds you together?” Then
she might show you to the art-making studio where you could create art that relates to
this question in some way. She might ask you to picture what your life would look like
if the thing that was holding you together wasn’t there. Alternatively she might ask them to envision what their life would look like if what is
missing was actually there? If their soul was whole, what would it look like? Lauren’s approaches are variable and depend
heavily on who she’s working with, both in the gallery and in the art studio. With
adults, she might lead with more open ended questions, and tends to give them a wide range
of art supplies to work with. With kids she’ll usually ask more pointed questions and give
them specific materials and a more structured activity in the studio. After talking about the last work, for example,
she might ask a group of young people to weave together found objects that mean something
to them, and figure out a way to make them physically hold together. But the work she
does she describes as “emergent,” meaning she has a plan to get the discussion started,
but lets it take its own course. She responds to what arises, and makes connections
between the things group members are saying. The goal being to reassure participants who
are making the often scary leap between stating what they see and expressing how it relates
to something from their interior lives. By the way, I am a TERRIBLE candidate for
art therapy. Anyone who has studied art can have a really hard time doing this, because
it can be difficult and/or impossible to separate what you know--either about the artists or
the tradition, or about the materials and processes--from your reaction to the art. Like when I look at this work, I’ve got
all of these alarm bells going off about tidbits of information that I know. This is El Anatsui!
He’s from Ghana and works between there and Nigeria! Those pieces of metal are recycled liquor
bottle caps, and he works with teams of people to bend and shape and connect them, transforming
them into usually wall-based sculptures that can be monumentally large! They also change with each installation, endlessly
variable and able to be adjusted and draped in new ways! His early works were variations
of Ghanaian kente cloth, but he has since expanded in many new directions! But in the context of art therapy, my aim
is to connect not with information about the work, but rather with the artwork itself. This is also what makes art therapy really
great for people new to art, who might have an easier time getting over themselves and
what they’re so proud of knowing, and be able to better connect what they’re actually
seeing, and consider how it might relate to aspects of their lives. Art therapy challenges
you to consider what it is that you’re actually responding to--are you just recalling trivia,
or actually letting the art do it’s work? But we can still use those tidbits of information
we know to connect back to our task at hand. Like if I’m already thinking about the communal
nature of this work, perhaps I might associate it with a sense of belonging or community. From there, we might consider what other works
in the gallery might connect with the idea of belonging. Like I also know that this giant
fish sculpture in the middle of the gallery is a coffin, a communal object if ever there
were one, an object made for a community to send someone into the afterlife. If the discussion
went in that direction, Lauren might then ask us to make something in the studio that responds to the question, "What do you envision the afterlife to look like?" The glory of this approach is that you don’t
need to be an expert about anything, and you can have a productive experience even if the
assumptions you make are wrong. The art can be whatever you think it is, and you can go
on a journey based on what it looks like to you. If you thought the El Anatsui work looked
flexible, but strong, what else in the galleries might represent that? Maybe we think this
little alligator dude looks strong. Or these figures exhibit strength. Or maybe we see a mask in the room that we
think looks strong. Perhaps someone else sees a different emotion in the mask, which might
lead to a discussion about the things you do and do not show the world. "What masks do you wear?" Lauren also works with groups of young people
who have been through traumatic experiences. And she finds landscapes to be particularly
useful in sparking discussions among them. Let’s take this painting, for example. You
know how in Mary Poppins she takes the kids into the painting? Well Lauren might ask her group to do the same: "Where do you belong in this painting?" Sometimes darkness can be traumatic for people,
maybe for those who’ve been victims of sexual abuse that happened only in the dark. Considering
where they would be standing, in the lighter areas or in the darker ones, can be a way
to begin a discussion about extremely difficult topics. "What kind of things might happen if you weren't in a safe place?" Often in their responses they’re
building from past experiences. This painting is titled Flight into Egypt, by the way, which may impact your reading of it. See! I can’t help myself! I’m
terrible at this! But let’s consider where our safe places
might be in another landscape. Perhaps we want to be in this house over here. Or hidden
up in the tree. A kid might joke and say, “I want to be hanging from that limb right
there,” and Lauren might ask, "Does that actually look safe to you. What would happen if you fell?" One might say their mom will give them a hug and a band aid, and another might say their dad’s going
to be mad when they fall and break something and have to go to the hospital where it’s
going to cost money. Another might say they’d want to be away from the shady looking guy
with the stick. Another might think he doesn’t look at all
shady, that he’s stranded. Me? I’d be with the group of people right here, in the
light. They’re on the path. They know where they’re going. But someone else might not
find safety in other people. Maybe they say, “I don’t want people bugging me all the
time.” That all tells Lauren something, and gives her a direction to take her follow
up questions. Back in the art-making studio, Lauren will
ask the group to make what she calls safe place boxes, taking old jewelry boxes and
transforming them by adding drawings, collage elements, small objects, and anything else. She’ll ask, "Who belongs in your safe place?
Who's allowed in and who isn't?" When they're done, they take their boxes with them, and they can serve as a kind of transitional object, like a security blanket, that goes with them
through lives that can be highly volatile and changing. Now you may not have such a program at your
local museum, and you’ll never know until you look into it! But even if you don’t
have access to an art therapist, there are some ways to incorporate approaches from art
therapy into your next art experience. When you find yourself in a gallery or museum,
look at portraits and make up stories about what the people might be saying. Like this
lady right here in pink. Maybe you look at her and think she looks mildly annoyed and
disapproving. She might be saying, “Really? You bore me
with your incompetence.” You might then ask yourself: Who does this remind you of?
If you say your grandmother, maybe you think about what your grandma means to you. Is she
or was she a supportive presence, or a critical one? If she were with you, would that make
you feel safe? You might look at another portrait nearby
and imagine a conversation between the two of them. What would they say if they could
talk to each other? Or if you just want to focus on this one, imagine if this person
were to give you advice. What would it be? More often than not, that advice will be something
you need to hear. Alternatively, you could consider what advice you’d offer the individual
in the painting. Walking into any museum, you could guide your
visit with a larger quest, like to find a symbol of strength. Perhaps you find that
in a portrait, but you might just as well find it in a landscape, or an abstract work,
or even a conceptual one. You might try to find “yourself” in the
galleries. Perhaps it’s just someone who looks sort of like you, or you might think
about a quality you have that you see exhibited in someone or something else. Find something you associate yourself with,
or would like to associate yourself with. That could even be a functional object, There are a lot of difficult topics that art
can help you confront or address, but those are probably not the best ideas to explore
without the guidance of a licensed therapist. Like you probably wouldn’t want to guide
your museum visit with the question, “what are you missing?” unless you had a therapist
with you who could help you explore the dark places but then lead you back to a more positive,
constructive place. If you’re doing this on your own, you could
try to find a work of art that reminds you of home. Or reminds you of your most beloved
family member. You could look for an image or object that
brings you comfort. Like one painting might remind you of a vacation with your family.
Or another might remind you of the tea parties you had when you were a little girl. You might then ask yourself "How did you feel back then. And how does that differ from how you feel now?" If you’re looking at abstract works, you
might try to attach emotion words to them, like joy or anger, elation or confusion. You
might find an expression of happiness in the galleries, or sadness, or something harder
to give words to but that an image might capture even better. But whatever you do, try to end
on a positive note! It’s important to remember that real art
therapy is facilitated by a professional therapist who weighs a lot of concerns, and tailors
their approaches very specifically to who they’re working with and the environment
they’re working in. Whether it’s in a museum, or within a hospital
or shelter or nursing home or veterans organization or school, art therapy can deeply enrich the
lives of a wide range of individuals and support therapeutic treatment
goals. It can be a part of treatment plans for those
with severe medical and mental health problems, but it can also be something that just improves
your life in a smaller way, helping you give voice to your emotions and experiences. Best of all, it’s a way of being with art
that doesn’t ever make you feel stupid! Or self-conscious about what you did or didn’t
learn in school. My art therapy experience has made me question the ways I usually look at art in a really challenging
and exciting way. Most of the time, I’m still going to read labels and give in to
my desire to engage with art intellectually. But other times, maybe I’ll just engage
with what’s in front of my eyes, and dare myself to see how it makes me feel. We’d like to thank Audible for supporting
PBS. Audible’s selection of audiobooks includes Audible Originals, audio titles created by
storytellers from around the literary world. For example, Bedtime Stories for Cynics, a
hilarious collection os short stories presented by Nick Offerman. Members own their books and can access them
anytime. To learn more, visit audible.com/artassignment or text artassignment to 500 500. Thanks to all of our patrons for supporting
The Art Assignment, especially our grandmasters of the arts Tyler Calvert-Thompson, Divide
by Zero Collection, David Golden, Tim Seery, and Ernest Wolfe.
