Art as therapeutic practice
An Invitation to Self-Discovery
I wanted to share a bit about art as a therapeutic practice in my own life, and to invite you to explore this as well in yours.
Growing up, there was always an emphasis on art in my family and in our home. There were books on art we loved to look at, and trips to the art museum were a regular family outing. I was taught to draw, paint, sculpt, and do woodcuts. I was fascinated with the art of ancient Egypt and other cultures from various time periods.
I find my own work to arise from the influences of Egyptian art primarily, blended with a style I can’t quite identify but somehow intimately know. Since then, I have dabbled in phases in artistic endeavors and creative expression of one kind or another.
During the first couple years after the onset of pain, I experienced a block in almost every kind of creative expression.
Looking back, I attribute this to a couple of factors:
The pain was so acute and so relentless.
I was swirling through the medical maze and facing the collapse of my livelihood.
I was living in survival mode, which left little space for creativity.
At the time, it truly felt like creative expression was just one more part of me that had “disappeared.”
I felt so frustrated — but now I can see clearly that the creative part of me had only gone quiet. It hadn’t vanished; it had simply been muted by crisis.
Biologically speaking, that makes perfect sense to me now.
And almost suddenly, as circumstances eased a bit, that creative energy returned — just as alive as it had been before.
Since then, I have turned to art more intentionally as a means of focusing energy in inspiring ways.
Art has provided me with far more than a soothing activity:
✨ It has brought me back to myself.
✨ It reminded me that some parts of me were never truly lost.
✨ It revealed that there was still so much life, creativity, and spirit within me.
“Creativity is a remembering — a coming home to ourselves.”
I don't know if I can claim any great artistic talent in the traditional sense.
Despite years of dabbling, my skills aren't classically honed. I favor simple lines, and I only occasionally draw features on the faces of my subjects.
But here’s the beautiful thing:
It’s not about skill, style, or talent.
It’s not about “getting it right.”
It’s about allowing something untethered by preconceived ideas to arise —
about welcoming a deeper wisdom within us to reveal itself.
In my own artwork, I find I’m more inclined to convey a feeling than a literal image.
If I create something that never existed before, something that stirs something in me —
and if every time I look at it, I remember exactly what I was feeling when I created it —
then to me, that's art.
Some of my drawings that I love most came about as complete surprises — totally unintended and unexpected.
One example is the seated Bodhisattva drawing on my website’s homepage.
I had simply set out to draw something to give my sister for her new apartment — but I hadn’t planned anything specific. I just let the pencil move across the paper, and the figure emerged on its own.
(Oh, how I love when that happens!)
I notice that if I push an idea, the lines feel forced. But when I surrender to the feeling instead of forcing an outcome, something authentic always emerges.
And it almost always takes me by surprise in the most beautiful ways.
These days, my artwork often carries themes of overcoming — the feelings of what it’s like to have come through so much.
The practice itself has become a kind of meditation:
a reminder that I am still more than what I can see or perceive.
A reminder that I am still me.
Whether it’s drawing, watercolor painting, sculpting, or any other medium, the experience of creating art offers far more than distraction:
It offers a place of focus and flow.
It serves as a metaphor for rediscovering hidden parts of ourselves.
It reminds us of our vast human capacity for resilience, hope, and transformation.
“There is a deeper current within us — creativity helps us find it again.”
It’s widely recognized that art as a therapeutic practice is beneficial across many contexts.
And for those of us living with chronic pain, it can be profoundly powerful —
a way to tap into the parts of ourselves that lie just beneath the surface, quietly waiting to be remembered.
Through creative practice, we can:
🎨 Tap into a wellspring of inner wisdom.
🎨 Find unexpected treasures within ourselves.
🎨 Experience a sense of presence and peace.
And it’s available to anyone — no artistic background needed.
If you feel drawn to explore, I invite you to simply put pen or pencil to paper — and see what emerges.
Don’t “try” to draw something. Just let something appear.
You might be amazed by what arises naturally when you remove expectations.
Watercolor painting is another beautiful way to experience this: letting the colors flow, allowing the medium to guide you.
It’s pure expression. It’s flow. It’s freedom.
By engaging in even simple creative activities, you may notice your breath becoming more regular...
your body relaxing...
your spirit remembering its vastness.
Art reminds us that pain cannot take everything from us.
The creative spirit endures.
Wishing you so much joy in discovering your own creative voice —
and all the treasures it holds.
Much love,
Julie 🤍