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Evoking the Inner Artist: How to replace pathology with creativity

By Lisa Mitchell

As both an art therapist and a marriage and family therapist, I believe that vulnerability, doubt, fear, and uncertainty—feelings most people try to avoid—are essential to getting unstuck in life and engaging in creative problem solving. I try to guide clients to find new approaches to old problems by teaching them how to move beyond “artist’s block,” a state of being joylessly trapped in repetitive patterns and rigid expectations, and how to welcome the type of anxiety around the unknown that creativity invites.

I used this approach with Pam, a 30-something associate director of a nonprofit organization, who came to my art studio after hearing from a colleague about a training on creativity I’d facilitated. Frustrated by her previous inability to get out of her head in therapy, she was intrigued by my alternative, more experiential approach. On the phone, she told me she was seeking therapy because she felt her “inner slave driver,” which had once helped her succeed in managing her career and three children under the age of 12, had begun to dominate her life. “There are endless lists that structure my every waking minute,” she said. “I feel like I’m being worked to death, and there’s no joy in it.” She went on to say that her anxiety and feelings of emptiness had become even more intense since her best friend had died, six months before.

To start our first session, I asked Pam where she thought her inner slave driver came from. She described being 7 years old and having to care for the household and her younger brother after her mother abandoned the family and her father had immersed himself in work. She’d learned how to manage her life with great order and precision, dedicated to the belief that no one could do anything for her that she couldn’t do for herself. But recently she’d begun to question this stance and note the problems it was causing for her, particularly after a confrontation at dinner with her 6-year-old daughter, Gena. That night, after a long standoff in which Gena had refused to eat her broccoli, Pam had finally gotten her to take three rule-abiding bites.

“I thought I was doing the right thing by enforcing the rule,” Pam said. “So when Gena threw up her dinner, I thought she was just being impossible, and I marched her off to bed. But during the night, Gena woke up with a stomach flu. I spent the whole night nursing her and feeling guilty.”
Instead of offering parenting strategies, I told Pam that I wanted to spend our time looking at new ways to behave when her inner slave driver was keeping her stuck in old, rigid patterns, blocking her from other creative possibilities for responding.

Identifying a Creativity Goal

Early in therapy, I try to introduce the idea of flow as a reference point for clients, like Pam, who complain of feeling stuck and blocked. Trying something new and a bit risky, like singing karaoke or canoeing under a full moon, might be a flow experience for some; others might feel flow when expressing deep love or being vulnerable with a partner. In other words, flow happens in moments when time feels unimportant, connection to self and others feels meaningful, or life feels vibrant with newness. For Pam, I suspected that caring for her lifelong friend, Sandy, through the late stages of breast cancer had forced her to let go of her usual rigid mode of being, and thus had been a flow experience.

“When we first talked on the phone and you told me about Sandy,” I said. “I noticed softness in your voice that was different from when you talked about your daughter. I wonder if you see that difference, too.”

Pam replied thoughtfully, “Yes, I was totally different with Sandy. With her treatment, I couldn’t predict how the next day or week was going to go. I had to let go and be vulnerable. Sometimes I wasn’t a pretty picture. I cried a lot and couldn’t find the right words to say to Sandy. But instead of finding an escape, I was at her side when she breathed her last breath. I want that feeling of openness and authenticity in other places in my life.”

The Five Stages of Creativity

As part of my work with clients to help them find flow, I usually spend time telling them about the five stages of creativity—incubating, initial idea, diving in, flexible commitment, and flow—and how each requires tolerating unpleasant experiences of doubt, fear, and anxiety. I offer quotes from various artists to introduce each stage, like Degas’ idea: “Only when he no longer knows what he is doing, does the painter do good things.” I play compositions by Keeril Makan, who said, “When fear arises, I’ve reached the threshold between the known and the unknown. If I’m able to continue composing while tolerating the fear, I will be writing music that is new to me.” I talk about writer Anne Lammott’s take on “shitty first drafts” and choreographer Twyla Tharp’s emphasis on “showing up no matter what.”

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