Sometimes, life can feel overwhelming, can’t it? Like you’re navigating a landscape that’s suddenly become unfamiliar, maybe even a little harsh. When you’re facing ongoing health issues, that feeling can intensify, as though everything is a little heavier, a little more difficult. It’s in those moments, when things feel fractured and the light seems dim, that we often search for something to hold onto, something to guide us.
Art as a Gentle Guide
For me, that guide has been art. Not as a quick fix or a magical solution, but as a quiet companion, a gentle presence that helps me find the small glimmers of light that still exist, even when the shadows feel long. It’s about learning to see beauty in the unexpected places, in the imperfections, and yes, even within the pain itself.
Shifting Perspective Through Art
When you’re feeling broken, it’s easy for your world to shrink, your focus narrowing to the discomfort and the struggle. But art has become my way of widening that view. Through the act of creating, or simply by immersing myself in the work of others, my perspective gently shifts. I begin to notice the subtle patterns within the chaos, the quiet strength in a single brushstroke, the way colours can still sing even when everything else feels muted. It’s about softly guiding my attention from what feels lost or damaged to what still remains, and perhaps, what can be built anew.
The Beauty of Imperfection
There’s a beautiful idea, wabi-sabi, that speaks to the beauty found in imperfection and the natural cycle of things. Think of a well-loved object that carries the marks of time, or a piece of nature that shows the gentle touch of the elements. Art, in its own way, often reflects this. It doesn’t have to be flawless to be beautiful. In fact, sometimes the little cracks, the unique textures, the things that aren’t quite perfect are what make it truly special and deeply connect with us. My own journey with my health, with all its unpredictable turns and challenges, has become a source of a different kind of beauty, one born from resilience.
Transforming Pain into Art
It might sound like a well-worn phrase, but there’s a real power in taking those raw, messy emotions of pain and transforming them into something tangible, something that can resonate with others. Think of the artists who have poured their deepest struggles into their creations, leaving behind works that continue to move and inspire. For me, my vibrant, sometimes almost defiant neon portraits, born during a time when my body felt so limited, are my way of trying to do that. It’s like taking the darkness and infusing it with so much light and colour that it has to shift, even just a little.
Resilience in Every Stroke
Creating art, especially on days when my energy is low, feels like a quiet act of strength. Each line I draw, each colour I choose, becomes a small affirmation: “Even now, I can still create. I can still find something beautiful.” It’s like that inner spark, that “fiery spirit” I hope to awaken in others, refuses to be completely dimmed.
Illuminating the Shadows
In difficult times, it can feel like the darkness will never lift, but art has a way of highlighting the small moments of hope, the tiny glimmers of joy that still persist. A flash of vibrant colour, a delicate curve, a powerful expression captured on canvas – these can be like little lights in the darkness, reminding me that even in the longest night, there’s still a possibility of dawn. And for me, those bright neon hues feel like my way of actively seeking out that light, of choosing to focus on the vibrancy even when things feel heavy.
A Shared Human Experience
When I share my art, especially the pieces that come from those vulnerable places, it creates a connection, a sense of shared experience. It reminds us that we’re not alone in our struggles, that others have navigated their own shadows and found their own ways to create beauty from them. That’s what I hope that by sharing about my experiences, that it will be a gentle reminder that you’re not alone, and that even in the brokenness, there is still beauty to be found.
The Quiet Beauty of Creation
Even if the finished artwork isn’t explicitly about “beauty” in a traditional sense, the act of creating itself holds a quiet beauty. The focused attention, the feeling of being in flow, the simple satisfaction of bringing something into existence – these can be incredibly grounding and can bring moments of peace amidst the chaos.
My Love Affair with Bright Colours
For me, my deep connection with bold, bright neon colours feels intrinsically linked to this idea of finding beauty in the broken. Perhaps those intense shades represent my own fierce determination to find joy and light even when things are challenging. Maybe the portraits capture the inner strength and resilience that can shine through even during difficult times.
Finding Inspiration in Others
I often find comfort and inspiration in the work of other artists who have faced their own adversities and channelled those experiences into their art. Their creations serve as a quiet testament to the enduring human spirit and the power of art to illuminate even the darkest corners.
Conclusion
Ultimately, finding beauty in the broken isn’t about pretending the brokenness doesn’t exist. It’s about gently acknowledging it, and then actively seeking out the moments of light, the sparks of creativity, the unexpected beauty that can still be found. My art has become my way of doing that, and it’s my hope that it might offer a little bit of that gentle light to you as well.
Love
Maryke