it starts with honesty
I can remember the look on the counselor's face when she diagnosed me with clinical depression. The results came as no surprise to me. I've known depression as long as I've known anything. Understood it before I knew what to call it. Before I knew its name. But she was taken aback, noticeably. Her eyes betrayed a mixture of bafflement, compassion, and intrigue.
She said that every client she had seen with depression as severe as mine wasn't functional. Wasn't able to hold down a job. Wasn't able to attend to their families. Wasn't able to fulfill their obligations and responsibilities.
I was working full time, helping my then wife start a business, caring for two young children, completing a Master's degree, playing in bands, writing music, and trying to endeavor into other creative pursuits.
I was always sad, always angry, always miserable. Adrift and listless on a horizonless ocean of hopelessness and melancholy. But, I had learned how to stand up straight. To keep moving. To tune out the noise of my own feelings and disconnect from everything. I learned how to get through and how to do it repeatedly.
Creativity has always been one of the key components in coping for me. It gives me a place where I can channel the emotional intensity. It gives me a rhythm and a ritual that I can hold onto. It's calming and meditative. But my heart is no less fickle than it used to be, and my head is no more trustworthy. Its easy to detach without knowing it. To run without moving your feet.
Being an artist with clinical depression is bittersweet.
In a previous newsletter I wrote about one of my collages being accepted into a gallery show. It was an exciting moment. A turning point. A stepping stone. Most days I still don't feel comfortable calling myself an artist and having work in a gallery seemed like an impossibility.
This past weekend I made the 3 hour drive to St. Petersburg, Florida to see my work on display. St. Pete is an art town, and a beautiful city.
I wondered what it would be like to see my work hanging in a gallery. I wondered what I might feel. Would it be an overwhelming sense of validation? A moment of clarity? Would it confirm that this is what I was meant to do? Would I be overcome by imposter syndrome? Would i feel unworthy and undeserving of the wall space? I didn't know what it would be like, but what I wasn't prepared for, was feeling nothing...
I walked through the exhibit, taking in all the accepted submissions, and keeping an eye out for me piece. But when I came across it, I was struck by how indifferent and ambivalent I felt about seeing it. How inconsequential it was. How it didn't matter whether or not it was there.
I was in a gorgeous gallery. Surrounded by wonderful work. Chatting with the owners who were kind, welcoming and gracious. And yet, when looked at my work I just didn't feel anything.
It weighed heavy on my mind for the rest of the afternoon. Lingered with me through the drive home. Was still there when I went to sleep. By the next morning it had metastasized into something heavier. I spent the majority of the day struggling to stay focused. To get things done. To gather up enough motivation to do what I needed to.
I don't know what it says about me as a person. As an artist. I'm not sure what it reveals. About the hidden desires and cravings underneath the surface of me. About the expectations I dare not speak. About the unfillable hole somewhere within me.
Or is it something else entirely?
Is this just another example of depression getting the better of me? Of my heart's fallibility? Of my head's ability to twist things?
I try my best to always end on a high note. To leave you with something hopeful. With something uplifting. But it's more important to me to be be open. To be candid. To be truthful.
"Before you tell your life what truths and values you have decided to live up to", Parker Palmer says, you must "let your life tell you what truths" and values are already embodied within you. That starts with listening, with noticing, with paying attention. It starts with honesty...
P.S. ICAD Day 73-75
P.P.S - I’m preparing some pieces for submission for an exhibition called Perfectly Square at Five Deuces Galleria in St. Petersburg, FL. It’s been a long time since I’ve worked in a square format so it’s been interesting trying to get used to it. My goal is to have ten pieces to submit for consideration. Here’s a few recently completed:
I love your honesty and vulnerability here. I've been showing art for a long time, so I'm very familiar with the feeling you describe after seeing your work in a gallery. One of my friends calls it "post-artum depression". I think it's a kind of letdown of energy after all the effort of making art and getting it out into the world. It's a bit of an empty feeling, of "what now?" You are not alone! Thanks for sharing your art and yourself, and keep going.
Wow Duane, what a burden you've had to carry, but what grace and courage. I'm blown away. Your writing is as good and as insightful as your art. Beautiful in fact.
You are one of these people with many talents. Love the art included in this post, you have a gift, keep going!! I'd love to see this type of art in more schools, cafes, houses etc
What has been your burden has yielded much beauty. Pain into beauty is part of my life's purpose I sense. I've been scribbling things on truth lately, and contrasting light. Really like what you've said here on truth. Powerful.