Skip to content

Posts from the ‘art therapy’ Category

Pocket Change Unfolds

Several days ago, I found a rather large white box in the mail. It was bulging at the seams and when I opened it, out poured a tantalizing array of envelopes covered with stamps from far away lands. Artist Trading Cards for the 6 Degrees of Creativity Pocket Change swap!

Cards from Australia by Jade Herriman

Cards from Australia by Jade Herriman

I invited my sister Amelia over to help with the swap; why not spread the fun? An amazing afternoon unfolded as we carefully unpacked the cards and laid them out on the tables, marveling as each envelope revealed new treasure.

ATx.PC3

Pocket Change cards laid out and ready to be find their way to new homes.

Oh my gosh, how we were going to choose which cards went where? Amelia took on wrapping the cards; that meant I was going to do the selection. I decided “intuitive” was the way to go. Once I stopped worrying (and honestly there wasn’t much of that), the cards seemed to sort themselves.

Cards on envelopes, ready to wrap up and send...

Cards on envelopes, ready to wrap and send…

During the time that the cards were laid out, there was an air of expectation and exuberance in the studio, but most of all,  all of the love and caring that had gone into this awesome effort.

A selection of cards headed to Canada

4 cards headed to Canada

There was no way I could have anticipated the sheer creative goodness shining forth. Thank you so much to Beth Rommel for gathering  envelopes from every corner of the world and creating parcels for Gretchen and I to sort and swap. (The three of us each sorted about 50 packages!) Thank you also to Gretchen Miller without whom, 6 Degrees of Creativity  and Pocket Change would not exist. And thank you especially to every artist and agent of change who participated–I look forward to hearing your stories.

ATx.PC9

Artist Trading cards sharing heart and inspiration…you can see part of Sara Roizen’s card in the background, Susanna Suchak and Leighanne Schneider’s tucked in the middle and Judy Shintani’s in the foreground.

In Praise of Mother Love

Mom's Cafe, ©2005, H. Hunter, 5 x 8," SoulCollage®

Mom’s Cafe, ©2005, H. Hunter, 5 x 8,” SoulCollage®

In the course of bringing art therapy to different children in our hospital, I’ve had the occasion to also work with mothers. This isn’t unusual, I often try to involve as many people as I can in a project. When you’ve got a family making art together, you have a family making change together.

But lately, it’s moms whom I’ve found the most inspiring. We live in this world, which as I far as I can tell from reading the papers, seems to see people as disposable, their jobs lost to mergers, overseas labor and general sail trimming.

What I love about my job is that I get to see this notion turned on its head. We’re a former county hospital and we take whoever comes to us–our patient population is a cloth of many economic stripes.

I’ve been working with one mother who has a number of children at home and a newborn in the hospital. He’s been there several months and since he was born with a number of physical anomalies, he requires ’round the clock care. She’s been with him the whole time and fortunately has excellent family support at home.

Initially, I proposed creating picture books for her children at home, so that they could listen to a story that their mom wrote for them and feel her love as they listened.

It hasn’t worked out that way. Instead, each time I enter, the mom is standing by the crib being with her baby, adjusting a tube if needed, but really, just getting to know this little soul and loving him.

Art books weren’t going to happen. What to do?

Conversations with strangers don’t come easily for me, and without art materials as a medium, I initially felt lost. I decided that instead of book making, our art would be the making of conversation and of companionship.

So I’ve come by each day to visit, learning to be more comfortable with when we’re not making anything.  I ask a few questions, watch her face light up when we hit upon something that touches her, but mostly, I’ve just learned about devotion.

I see fatigue on her face, and I’m guessing, she might get more than a little hungry sometimes, but her steady presence strikes me as one of the most powerful examples of love that I’ve ever seen.

This Valentine’s Day, I recognize all kinds of love, but in particular, I want to celebrate the love of mothers for their children;  the strongest bond of all.

Mending Walls and Making Change

ATCs on parade

ATCs on parade

At some point in their studies, art therapy students discover the “media continuum.” On this continuum, media are placed along along an invisible line moving from point A to point B line according their degree of safety and control.

A lead pencil at one end of the continuum offers a feeling of familiarity and control–and on the the opposite end spectrum, oil paint offers an unwieldy challenge. If you don’t watch out, you might find your client who has difficulty with impulse control spraying the paint all over your office walls.

The key is to match the both the media and the intervention to the needs of the client. To non-art therapists, this might sound theoretical and over cautious.

It’s not. In my very first art therapy bereavement group many years ago,  an angry adolescent punched a hole in the wall of the hospital in which I was working; his reaction to my misdiagnosis of media and intervention. I hadn’t read the signals and had asked the group to attempt something that put this young man face to face with his grief far too early in his grieving process.

If I hadn’t been convinced about the medium continuum before, if my teachers’ stories seemed only to be tall tales, I became  a convert and I’ve employed it ever since.

I use the same principle in my own art. When I’m feeling stretched thin, I stick with materials over which I have more control. When I’m feeling expansive, my work and my materials grow too.

Right now, I’m in the process of sanding the panel edges of my “Mending Wall” series. I love this series, but I don’t like finish work. It feels like all the fun and discovery is over and I’m doing the visual equivalent of balancing a checkbook.

Mending Wall 1,© 2012, H. Hunter, 12" x 12," paper, watercolor on panel

Mending Wall 1,© 2012, H. Hunter, 12″ x 12,” paper, watercolor on panel

Recently, I decided to intersperse the task of sanding with our 6 Degrees of Creativity “Pocket Change” project. My deal for myself is: finish one sanded panel–make one artist trading card.

I’ve arranged the artist trading cards, in various stages of completion, at a discreet distance from where I sand. I can see them while I work, their bright colors shining, offering the possibility of almost instant gratification.

Mending Wall 1, edges sanded and stained

Mending Wall 1, edges sanded and stained

I’m beginning to love sanding. By creating a new rhythm: hard medium/easy medium/hard medium, I’m finding patience and sanding is leading to new ideas for my next series. I love the smooth, variegated surface of the wood.

Meanwhile, artist trading cards gather at the end of the table, ready to be mailed off for Beth Rommel, collector and distributor for our Pocket Change project.  Gretchen Miller, Beth and I have concocted this project to focus on the power of creating change through making something small (in the form of artist trading cards) and through engaging in simple acts of creative kindness.

You get the picture–help yourself, help others–it’s not too late to join us! The deadline is tomorrow,  Tuesday, January 15. For more information on the exchange, click here.

photo-2 2

I also invite to share stories about your own media continuum experiences–whether you called it that–or maybe just “those darn pastels!”

Pocket Change: Or, Small (Creative) Acts Create Meaningful Change

“Even after they are cut down, a sprout may be taken from them and planted in another place,
and they begin to grow again.” —Mishna

Pocket Change, Badge created by Gretchen Miller

Pocket Change, Badge created by Gretchen Miller

Like a lot of people I know, I’ve been searching for meaning among the rubble of recent events; both inside our country and out of it.

Though it is easier but necessary, to critique what is going wrong in our schools, our homes, and our countries, I wanted to stretch a little and find a project which contributes to the good in a small but meaningful way.

It began with an idea from my friend, Beth Rommel, who wanted  begin the new year with something positive, something with art, something with others.

In collaboration with Gretchen Miller and myself, we concocted Pocket Change, hosted by 6 Degrees of Creativity.

Pocket Change’s intention is to focus on the concept of creating change through making something small (in the form of artist trading cards) to exchange with one another, as well as to encourage simple acts of creative kindness with others.

I decided to try out making a few of the cards. They were fun to create–simple, without encumbrance. They remind me of mandarin oranges. You pick one up, peel it and pop it whole, or in a few sections, into your mouth and suck out the sweetness.

photo-4

Teach, ©2013, 2.5″ x 3.5,” Collage

photo-1

Blossom, ©2013, 2.5″ x 3.5,” Collage

photoPocket Change is all about how simple and small acts can create and instill kindness, gratitude, and change.  Think about the power of your mini artworks as a means to express and share a positive image, message, or intention with others (and the world!) that can make a difference, bring hope, or inspiration.

-Gretchen Miller

It reminds me of the Mindful Studio Practice that I offered as part of 6 Degrees of Creativity 2. The beauty of making artist trading cards is the opportunity for quiet moments in which your imagination can stretch.

But wait, there’s more: the added bonus of sending these miniatures off so that someone else will benefit from your practice.

Please join us for some pocket size creative goodness and kindness to share with one another and others!  The deadline to sign up for the ATC exchange is January 15.  Learn more about the exchange details and how to get involved on the 6 Degrees of Creativity blog.

“Caring for children…our first job”*

"Holding the Light" ©2010, H. Hunter, 5" x 8", SoulCollage®

“Holding the Light” ©2010, H. Hunter, 5″ x 8″, SoulCollage®

Lately, it’s been a Charles Dickens kind of time. You know, that line from  The Tale of Two Cities:

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way…”

These words, written by Dickens in 1859, 153 years ago, speak worlds about today. When I juxtapose the lights of Chanukah and Christmas against the carnage in Connecticut, I wonder how we can comprehend this paradox of light and dark. I don’t know.

I took heart as I listened to President Obama speak at the memorial service for the 20 souls of the children and souls of the 6 adults.

“This is our first task — caring for our children. It’s our first job. If we don’t get that right, we don’t get anything right. That’s how, as a society, we will be judged.

And by that measure, can we truly say, as a nation, that we are meeting our obligations?…I’ve been reflecting on this the last few days, and if we’re honest with ourselves, the answer is no. We’re not doing enough. And we will have to change.

That is a call to action if I ever heard one and it makes me take a closer look at my immediate world.

It’s easy to become desensitized working as an art therapist in a hospital–every day–a census filled with names, ages, diagnoses.

Lately that census has included more than one child who wasn’t adequately cared for; whose parents didn’t meet their obligation and left them untended, unfed, or even worse, dropped or shaken.

My mind cannot contain the range of extreme thoughts which arise, watching a toddler careen around the playroom sporting an NFL-size helmet for self-protection.

Often, due to brain injuries, these children have little or no impulse control, so put away those crayons and markers art therapist, it’s time to get moving.

The task becomes following them, holding them, talking to them, playing with them, getting down on the ground and dancing with them and in every way that I can, loving them.

In this new year to come, I challenge us all to take one small step toward the goal of caring for all of our children. What might that be? Taking time to listen, really listen when a child speaks, (put down the cell phone already!), donating time or money to an organization that brings aid to children, reading to a child, mentoring one, teaching a class at a local art center or finding a school that needs your aid.

There’s only one thing we can be sure of, and that is the love that we hold — for our children, for our families, for each other. The warmth of a little one’s embrace – the best cure for the worst of times.

*President Obama in his address to Newtown CT, 12/17/12.

Winter Wisdom

Mindfulness at Play

Vision Board 2012, ©2011, Hannah Hunter, Matte board and magazine images

“Art expression itself is a way of creating something new from what you already have, but may not have fully recognized within yourself.” Cathy Malchiodi

The other day I received a newsletter from my art therapist friend Lisa Mitchell.

She’s constructed a new series of workshops, including a vision board* workshop–and not just any old vision board workshop. Her descriptions note that, by using ordinary materials in unusual ways and learning new techniques, our intentions are solidified. In the process, our brain gets a workout using all our senses. The point is to bring our abstract ideas and dreams into the realm of the concrete and plausible, by incorporating them into the board.

That got me thinking about my own vision board, which I wrote about in a post, “Mindfulness at Play,” at the beginning of the year. I decided to go back to the board and see what has come to pass.

As I look at the board, I see a large, peaceful Buddha’s head framed by conifers and plants that remind me of our winter foliage here in California. Underneath the Buddha, from left to right, children hold a board filled with artist trading cards. To the right of the children a yoga class takes place. A teacher is helping a student with a pose.

In my post, I said that I wanted to deepen my art therapy practice; to become more present with the children, even as my own are grown. And I wanted, although I didn’t write it, to have a steady yoga practice.

What’s odd is that both of these desires have come to pass, but not by deliberate intention. The vision board hung on my studio wall, where it watched over me and I looked at it, day after day, while a year passed.

It has not been a straight path back to yoga–(is it ever?) Like Goldilocks, first I sampled the “big bowl,” a class at our University gym. I was the oldest participant and the class, a Viniyasa practice, and I felt like I’d just had an aerobic  workout, not a yoga class.

Next, for my “middle size bowl,” I tried a class offered through our hospital. The instructor offered peacefulness with a pale green scented candle. I ended up with a migraine.

Finally, for a bowl that is just right. The solution came in an unexpected fashion. Both my daughter and my sister have recently been diagnosed with auto-immune diseases that make certain movements difficult.

I remembered yet another yoga class I’d taken the previous year for people 55 and over. Led by the fearless and inimitable, Hana Raftery, majoring in exercise physiology, she had every one of us, from me to the oldest 80- something moving with ease.

I e-mailed her and set up a private lesson for my daughter and me. I invited my sister, who suggested we have it in her new house, which has a wooden floor, but would be empty for another month. Shazaam! A yoga studio!

Downward dog pose

Downward dog pose

We began by meeting once a week and now have increased it to 2 times. We’ve been meeting since before Thanksgiving and even though the two of them are still waiting for their respective rheumatology consults, their movements are coming more easily.

I am in hog heaven, if you can say that about a yoga class. I feel like I really have found the bowl that is “just right.” And it all started with a small 8.5 x 11 vision board.

I’m looking forward to making my 2013 vision board soon and I invite you to join me and make your own. Who knows, those dreams might just be waiting for an invitation to come out and play!

*A vision board is usually a piece of matte board on which you paste or collage images that you’ve torn out from various magazines. The intention behind the vision boards is the notion that when you surround your self with images of what you want to develop or change, your life changes to fit the images.

Phase Transition*

“Phase Transition,” ©2012, H. Hunter, 36″ x 12,” Watercolor collage

Yesterday I had the strange honor of sitting beside a beautiful young woman who was literally pulling her hair out. I didn’t understand what was happening at first. I was getting to know her and she was getting to know me, as well as what I do in the hospital. We spoke of her illness, of the fact that her hair was falling out (she didn’t want it shaved), of the cartoons playing on the television. The entire time we talked, she pulled at strands of her hair, twirling small bits,  and calmly yanked them out, putting them carefully on the coverlet.

By the time I left the room, she had tucked a considerable amount of what had once covered her head into a plastic sandwich bag for safekeeping.

It was one of those scenes that goes in so deep, I wanted to run away and cry. I had an art group to facilitate, so instead, I went back to my office and stared at the wall of orderly art supplies, the bottles and tubes of color lining the shelves bringing me comfort.

I’ve been thinking a lot about repair; how to reconstitute myself after being torn in so many different directions all day long. Inspired by comments on this blog, from my family and local friends, I’ve been thinking about my art work, it’s purpose and relation to the art therapy.

I’m always trying to find a “balance”–somehow comprehend the relationship of making art to practicing art therapy, but both are subtle practices and too mysterious to hold onto all at once. Instead, I’ve begun to think of the two as intertwined, a kind of ongoing tapestry, in which each activity informs the texture and direction of the other.

Tapestry weave in polychrome wool on un-dyed linen, possibly Egyptian, collection of the Louvre

Since trying this approach, I’ve felt more relaxed and present (that ever present word : “present”!)

I’ve found myself describing my art work as a way to restore a sense of calm amidst the overwhelming flux surrounding me. I’ve often thought of art making and art therapy as forms of Tikkun O’lam, a Jewish phrase that means “repair of the world.” What I’ve most recently come to appreciate again, is that while practicing both arts, I am repairing myself too! (Well, heck, I knew that, but I guess it’s just on a deeper level this time!)

I’ve continued to adapt patchwork quilting to paper and instead of putting diverse fabrics together to form a beautiful pattern, I take sections and bits of paintings along with pieces of collected paper and put them together into patterns–with the patterns signifying more than the surface beauty. They attempt to fuse the variety of experience together into a whole. The process of the work is soothing and at the same time frustrating. I paint, cut out a square, cover a small area and then immediately tear off other areas of the work, then repeat the whole process again.

It’s stretching me, this work, not letting me become complacent. Each new section has its own internal direction but is also patient, waiting quietly for me to discover what it is and turn to it–again and again.

* A “phase transition” is the process by which matter transforms via a thermodynamic system from one phase or state of matter to another.

Altering an Image

Carl: Growing a Future, ©2012, Hannah Hunter, 6″ x 8,” Collage

Many years ago in graduate school when Polaroids still existed and the magic of images appearing before your eyes was still new, I enjoyed taking small photos of the sculptures I’d made and altering them with thick, gooey oil pastels–the kind that were an inch wide and 4 inches long and smeared like lipstick.

I savored the challenge of wielding a big stick in a small space-it was a means of gaining control over the uncontrollable. Graduate school was a place where hardball was the rule. Working on these small and intimate scenes returned me to a more comfortable place.

Recently, I’ve had the opportunity to revisit photo altering in the Altered Image, one of the workshops in 6 Degrees of Creativity 2 taught by Fiona Fitzpatrick, an Australian art therapist. For my project, I chose a photograph my father had emailed to me several weeks ago. In the photo, my father, a young professor, crosses his arms with a roll of papers in his hand. His gaze is expectant, searching, as if looking into the future, wondering what it might bring–and a bit apprehensive at the thought.

As a child, I knew that my dad longed to write. He was an English professor at a Big 10 university, always busy with his classes and busy too, writing the texts from which he taught, but I knew that what he really wanted to do was to write essays. Essays were his favorite form of prose.

Of course, things got in his way as things always do.  I remember wondering if he would achieve his dream and being ignorant of the pleasures of retirement, I feared he might not find the time.

As I held the photograph, I remembered all this–and the recognition of all that has taken place since his retirement. My dad, Carl Klaus, is 80. He has written 6 books since retirement, his Mac on fire with all that he stored up to say.  It was this blossoming of words that I wanted to express as I altered the image of the writer as a younger man.

I wanted to take that figure and surround him with the fruits of his labor; fruits that he couldn’t possibly see from his perspective in time, but that certainly, in due time, were his to harvest.

I took postcards announcing the publication of two of his early books and cut them into slices, encircling him so that he appears to be at the center of an illuminated manuscript. I tucked a picture of Kate, his second wife, into the corner. Her death became the subject of another book: Letters to Kate.

As I glued, painted and pressed papers onto the surface, I was transported by the process of juxtaposing past with present in the same picture.

I took a break in the middle of the process and checked my e-mail. There was an e-mail from my dad. While I’d been working on his collage, he’d typed a message: “…the attachment is the manuscript for my new book, which I just finished yesterday afternoon…I thought you might be interested… on the chance that it might give you some ideas you can use in the writing you do for your blog, for your art, for your professional work, for your personal satisfaction.

Mysterious, isn’t it, how altering an image can affect your life in an unexpected way?

Take 2: Palliative Care and Paper Swaps (The Whole Story)

Paper Offering for Missouri Artist, Alies

Our pediatric department is beginning a pediatric palliative care team and as we lay the groundwork, we’re introducing the idea of integrative therapies to our pediatricians.

It’s not a new idea. My colleague Kathy Lorenzato, a music therapist, has been teaching and practicing Reiki, a hands-on healing technique, for over 10 years, and I have joined her for the last 4 years. As far as integrative therapies go inside the hospital, at the moment, we’re it.

With this in mind, the two of us were invited to speak to our pediatric physicians on staff about art therapy, music therapy and Reiki. I made a PowerPoint to explain the use of art in palliative care and put together a resource list on other integrative therapies.

It sounds simple on the surface, but as my husband noted, trying to explain the value of therapies whose effects cannot be quantified, to a group of science oriented folks, made me more than a bit nervous.

That’s where my own art therapy came into play. Over the last couple of weeks, I participated in a Paper Swap organized by Gretchen Miller of 6 Degrees 2. I mailed my offering to an artist living in Missouri and looked forward to receiving an envelope of my own in return.

Days passed while I worked on the PowerPoint and my anxiety rose accordingly. Raised in a family with a healthy number of doctors, I’ve had some run ins with scientific minds and I’ve always felt myself lacking. Although art therapy requires a certain amount of intellectual engagement, I depend more heavily on my intuition, letting passion do the heavy lifting.

One day last week at the peak of my fear, a large padded envelope arrived, postmarked Australia. I opened it carefully and sifted through the contents; feathery tissue, textured rice papers, leaves of patterned scrapbooking pages and a packet of gaily colored buttons.

A tantalizing package from Beth in Australia

I considered the colors and shapes sitting on my lap and something shifted internally. As I touched the papers, taking in the colors, patterns and textures,  my fear eased. I realized that “right here, right now” on my couch I was experiencing the tangible results of art therapy.

I went into the presentation 2 days later with an insight. Rather than seeing the doctors as a group of individuals whose opinions I wanted to change, I saw an opportunity to heal the split between my own thinking and feeling, between the intellectual and the artistic.

I stood on the podium, praying the memory stick and my own memory would work. As I looked at the slide of a patient’s artwork projected behind me, I remembered the joy I felt working with him–but I also remembered the research, the effort that others had gone to, in order to document the effectiveness of art therapy. Research that is necessary for art therapy to be accepted into the treatment team’s fold.

The presentation went well. The physicians were attentive, and even better, I felt the old split inside me being carefully drawn back together. When our talk ended, we gave a Reiki demonstration. Up there on the dais, Kathy, one of the pediatric residents, our Child Psychiatrist and I offered Reiki treatments to four doctors who came forward. I felt the tide beginning to turn.

Going Through, Not Passing Over

Cyclamens: renewal writ large

I’ve been thinking a lot about holidays this year, particularly the Jewish holiday of Passover.

Passover is a time of spiritual renewal, of looking back in order to see ahead. A broad theme of Passover is freedom, something so vast, that I’ve scarcely tried to contemplate it; being someone who prefers to find the macro in the close-by mundane.

I’m also someone who seeks to understand what spiritual traditions have in common rather than how they differ.

Beans sprouting in pot painted by UC Davis Children's volunteer.

The Friday before the holiday weekend, I met a child in the hospital where I work whose artwork contained just these confluences of large and small, distant and nearby, to which I would add, past and present. This young six year old girl had lost her father to incarceration and her mother to death by addiction.

When I first heard about her, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Certainly not the vibrant being who walked into the playroom eager to engage in the activity I had chosen: creating a paper Easter basket.

I like this activity because by creating a series of folds and cuts in a square piece of paper and manipulating them, you can create a real container.

Flora sat down and pulled one of the folded pieces over to her place and began to copy the words, “Happy Easter,” onto one of the squares. With great detail and many felt tip markers, she painstakingly created designs and drawings on each surface of what would become the inside and the outside of the basket.

I find it intriguing that at this stage, while the child is painting or drawing, the inside and outside are not yet determined. Enclosure can go either way, depending what she chooses to do. A metaphorical exercise about the public and private selves.

At any rate, after Flora had filled both sides of the paper, I stapled her basket together-but she wasn’t done quite yet. she took squares of soft, pastel patterned fleece and glued one to each surface of what had turned into the inside of the box.

She proudly showed me her basket, asking, “but where are the eggs?” I went on my own egg hunt and found several colored plastic eggs. I handed them to her and she tucked them into the bottom of her basket.

It seemed to me that this small child exquisitely exemplifies the theme of Passover. She lost her original home and was forced to leave for a new one (she is lovingly cared for by a relative); she had created her own safe transitional home in the basket.