Art & the Restoration of the Shattered Self

"We do not escape into philosophy, psychology, and art - we go there to restore our shattered selves into whole ones." Anais Nin

I recently read Big Magic: How to Live a Creative Life & Let Go of Your Fear by Elizabeth Gilbert. And I have to say it was a tremendous read and I devoured it in two days, loving just about every moment... Except one. Sorry, Liz.

In the event of an apocalypse, all artists, writers, storytellers, creatives really, are, in her eyes, rendered utterly useless. In fact, as far as life goes, we're really just the window dressing.

Now of course, I make no great claims as a writer personally. I'm no Murakami. But I have been humbled here and there when a reader has written to say a piece I wrote on bipolar helped them feel understood, or better yet, helped their families and friends to better understand.

But there is some truly great art out there.

And no, Elizabeth Gilbert, it's a whole lot more than shimmering tinsel and window dressing.

Even as a child, I remember. I was shy. I was sensitive. I was awkward. I came into myself later in life but to begin with... I had books!

My grandfather took me to the library every single Saturday, and I was never rushed, never hurried, in making sure I had the perfect selection for the week ahead. In the bottom of the garden you'd usually find me after school every day, with my dog, Bojangles, reading and reading and reading.

I fretted not that I was bullied at school. I fretted not that I was dreamier, different. That I loved bugs. That I was always getting stuck in the big tree in the school yard. I had my books. Whether it was The Magic Faraway Tree or later, wishing I could be Nancy Drew... The coolest sleuth! I always had my books.

And later in life, every time, with bipolar and bouts of mania, when I have been made a ward of the state and committed to a state hospital (and believe me it ain't the prettiest!), from a collection of the works of Ingrid Jonker, to The Life of Pi, to Plato & a Platypus Walk into a Bar, all those books and my exceptionally special friends who have always bestowed upon me such a glorious medley, well, they've been my saving grace.

Something to cling to and keep my hope alive when I am struggling and feeling broken and all alone in a clinical wasteland. And yes, that my life has fallen to pieces yet again. These books, weirdly just ink on a page but so powerful, they lift my spirits, giving me hope anon...

True or not, someone once told me there is a rule of 3. The human body can survive 3 minutes without air. 3 days without water. And 30 days without food. What do you make of that, Elizabeth Gilbert?

Isn't that remarkable?

Now what of surviving without art?

When I am lost and alone and my spirit broken... I don't think I could survive without art.

Of all that I regret giving away when I was manic, one was a a painting of a woman with a bionic arm, a crow on her arm, locks of short dark in a red dress with a garland of red flowers in her hair. I had met a young artist at a function and he mentioned he had something to give me. Just like that. And she was delivered. Framed. Beautiful. Strong.

She was so much stronger than I felt at the time. Every morning she greeted me in the lounge with my first cuppa joe. Every evening she sat with me with my first relaxing glass of red wine.

Now you can call me crazy, but she empowered me...

Each and every day her presence made me feel stronger.

Sadly for all she is lost to me now, I treasure a photograph I took of her and I treasure another smaller artwork that same artist gifted me. She I shall treasure to the end of my days....

I've written about her, my empowering woman of red garland and blackbird, yes I've written of her before, but truly, I felt incensed to set right the wrongs of Elizabeth Gilbert. For every artist friend of mine I know who passionately loves what they do and they struggle and they want to make a difference world. For Gilbert to be so flippant irked me.

Poetry, novels, non-fiction, fine art, sculpture, music.... And and and....

I have a friend who has sculpted a Mother Mary in recline so divine you might just declare yourself a devout convert after witnessing her! Beyond in his garage a wooden little girl carved of wood so up straight, I adore her for her feisty defiance...

Right now, I listen to Joni Mitchell's Blue... And you want to say that in the end, art doesn't really matter? To me, food matters all the less! I should fast rather! Than forego art, glorious art!

Angela Carter has saved me. Virginia Woolf has saved me. Tennessee Williams has saved me.

I am living proof, that art saves. And that's all I'll say. Art saves, Elizabeth Gilbert. Art saves.

Portrait of Angela Carter