Far from the madding crowd

I read and learned more about painters I liked a few months ago. It's common to love an artwork or an artist but ignore anything about their life. No matter the period, the success or their CV, they had something in common: a battle against depression, anxiety, melancholy, suicidal thoughts, PTSD, etc., and their art expressed it, one way or another. It doesn't mean they created sad pictures, but their art was very personal, intimate and not just aesthetically pleasant.

For the past 5 years, I have dealt with chronic anxiety. Mixed with introversion and hypersensitivity to noise, it's hellish when it gets out of hand! One of the problems with anxiety is that you cannot think clearly: picture it like a never-ending noisy party in your head, you can't hear your thoughts. I kept reading a verse from a psalm from time to time: Be still and know that I'm God, but I just couldn't: It's impossible to get away from yourself, from the world, even for a minute.

But I started to obsess over the idea of stillness. 

What does it mean to be still? Where do you find stillness?

​No movement. No sound. It was exactly what my whole brain and soul craved. I can't remember exactly how it started, but I noticed something familiar between the movies, books, and images I was reading/watching/creating to feel better: moorlands, empty landscapes, countryside, contemplation. There were no crowds, only lonely people doing their own thing. 

Stillness and loneliness: my obsession.

So, I decided on one thing: Whenever I felt my anxiety rising, I'd turn it into something beautiful instead of overeating or spiralling in anxious thoughts under my duvet. Sometimes, I used oil pastels, and sometimes, I used paint. There was no pressure; I was just drawing a space to breathe, to be alone, somewhere quiet. It started with one sketch, then a finished painting on board, and then a second and very soon, eight more happened.

Five other paintings are sitting before me while I write this newsletter. I can't finish them yet, despite knowing exactly how to improve them, maybe because I need them to find stillness for now.