Sense and Sensibility
We come to know the world through our “sensibilities.” Sensibility is defined by the Oxford English dictionary as “the quality of being able to appreciate and respond to complex emotional or aesthetic influences; sensitivity.” When we engage in mindful art therapy, we develop of sense of inner knowing through tacit (implied) knowledge. Much like engaging in play, mentally distancing ourselves from ordinary logic leads to a natural propensity to “be oneself” in art (Winnicott, 1971).
In the late 1990s, when I was asked to coordinate a research project using Australian indigenous art for health promotion, I learned about therapeutic art from vicarious perspectives; how iconographic images conveyed their messages of culture, health and holism beyond the worded world (Davis, 2004). In a society that draws largely on the oral tradition of storytelling, on the visual exchange of art, and on the engagement of ritual, the images needed to convey healthy lifestyle messages in the vernacular of the people they were trying to educate (Dudgeon, Garvey and Pickett, 2000).
Through this project, I began to see the parallels in Western symbolism and how conventional Judeo-Christian images similarly connected people with their identity or provided solace. The common thread seemed to be that regardless of the style of artistic symbolism, some people believed in it (Rubin, 2005). This not only brings to mind the restorative power of images (Henderson and Gladding, 1998), but also the important role of understanding a person’s individual and cultural sensibilities.
Whether through vicarious or participatory art, if we want clients to engage flexibly, spontaneously, and creatively in the method, we need to get to know a bit about their personal sensibilities—a lack of mutual knowledge or shared understanding can cloud the therapeutic dialogue.
In considering how art could be used as a universal language of emotion, I began to ask clients about their cultural or religious backgrounds and their creative hobbies and interests. Making use of cultural points of view or creative activities that a person loves to do, or perhaps loved to do as a child, can engage their fundamental nature and most natural way of imaginatively exploring life. Moreover, as neuroscience has increasingly shown, mindfulness and art contribute to structural (neurological) and functional (adaptive behavior) changes. This brings to mind the significant role of combining mindfulness and art therapy. What I have found in exploring the method is that when art therapy is paired with mindfulness, it grounds a client in his or her sensibilities, where “paying attention with intention” is often more achievable.
Across my research and work with private clients, I am often reminded of the importance of working with their personal and creative sensibilities. Cheng, for example, a second-language English speaker was puzzled at first about what to draw, but he then resorted to what he knew and produced a calligraphic image that resonated with his background. Similarly, in a group task on self-concept, participants compared the relevance of wearing make-up in terms of cultural adornment (a Pakistani notion), being natural (the Taoist philosophy of being in harmony with nature), and using it to mask oneself (a Western perspective) (Davis, 2010). These sensibilities reflect not only how a person wants to be viewed, but also reflects the implied tacit mindset of how people feel they should be in the world.
In my experience, not everyone “knows how to draw,” though most will give it a try. But if you ask clients from the outset about their hobbies or interests, you can often find a creative outlet to use therapeutically that matches their sensibilities. The following client, for example, enjoyed photography.
The extraordinary in the ordinary
These days, redundancy is a common occurrence. Both public and private industries are closing their doors or downsizing, and dismissing people who may have devoted 20, 30 or even 40 years to a company. When we hear this on the news, we may stop to think how awful it is for those workers and their families, and wonder how people will get by; what these people will do now, particularly those in their fifties. But when face to face with someone made redundant, it gives “climate change” a whole new meaning. Despite a gradually improving economy and low unemployment, redundancy and retrenchment have accounted for 3.1 percent of the working age population in Australia between 2012 and 2013 (ABS, 2014). Thousands more are at risk of losing their jobs as a result of continued cost-cutting. The emotional distress of significant loss and change as a result of unexpected events is natural. If not managed properly, people who are made redundant are at risk of depression and anxiety.
While I’ve had clients in the past who have seen redundancy as an opportunity for a sea change, for many, the anguish of being forced to replace an industrious working life with or without redundancy packages, the promise of exit training for new employment, or planning for retirement requires considerable psychological adjustment. In many instances, neither retirement nor skilling up for a new role was ever on the agenda, and the shock of losing an income and being let go prematurely can result in doubt, worry, and low self-worth. In addition, the lack of a daily or familiar routine and too much leisure time can be soul-destroying and result in uncertainty and a downward spiral into depression.
Ed
Ed, a man in his fifties, came to therapy having been made redundant from his job two years earlier. After 22 years in a key management role, he was unexpectedly let go. He and his wife went on a holiday immediately afterwards, which had been pre-planned and paid for long before he found out. Ed spent most of the holiday crying and clinging to his wife for emotional support. He explained that, at that time, he “found it difficult to be alone with his sadness.”
Through a series of new jobs, Ed managed to remain financially solvent, subsidizing his wage with investments which enabled him to put his kids through school. However, his first job was temporary and lasted only one year. The second job was also causing him difficulty—long hours were involved, and part of his role involved letting people go when their contracts came to an end. Although the contractors often expected this, it ran against Ed’s grain; it seemed to open up unresolved feelings he thought he had already dealt with. Ed remained high functioning on the surface, but his uncharacteristic moodiness and difficulty coping brought him to therapy.
Ed took to relaxation skills with ease, explaining that he had learned to “take a breath to calm down” since childhood. In the safety of mindfulness and guided meditation, he connected with the sadness he had been trying to push away for the past two years. Three rough sketches represented “a sinking feeling, that felt calmer…above the water” when he relaxed into meditation. The mental distance enabled Ed to go further into his feelings without getting caught up where, for the first time, he recognized that his “lack of motivation was actually offset by hope and light at the end of the tunnel.” He further likened his mood swings to “a spirit level trying to gain balance.” In this single session, Ed began to connect with deeper feelings underneath his moods, and also his capacity for resilience. Yet these inner divisions were unsettling and continued to play out in his mood swings. Although Ed seemed to appreciate processing his emotions through guided meditation, he struggled a bit with the drawing, and preferred to talk or write about them.
Before the next session, Ed wrote requesting three additional counseling sessions in which “to gather a range of skills to have at his disposal” should his moods or depression threaten to overwhelm him again. Consistent with his goals for counseling, and in response to his high level of functioning and psychological mindedness, it seemed fitting to introduce cognitive attentional mindfulness skills that Ed could use in real time; as both mindfulness and therapeutic art brought considerable insights, this was also to help develop creative strategies to process deeper emotions through his interest in photography. These strategies were aligned to Ed’s personal and creative sensibilities for working things out.
Beginning with an ACT values worksheet that highlighted life domains in relation to fulfillment and need (Harris, 2008), Ed was able to gain a clearer picture of how his work and life were out of balance. Seeing this on paper also led him to notice that he “wasn’t being true to himself:” he disliked his current job that required a “cut-throat” approach, and he also missed working with his former team, many of whom he was still friends with. Borrowing from Russ Harris’s hexaflex format (Harris, 2009), we mindfully processed and diffused Ed’s rage and grief which were most pronounced at the time. As a homework exercise, I suggested that Ed might want to choose a poignant photograph and write about what it meant to him, and what stood out most.
Ed arrived at the next session with three photos, having responded to the brief. The first photograph was just after his redundancy and he recalled how difficult it was to go on holiday. Most of the photographs didn’t have people in them, but the first one he showed me was of a bicycle leaning against a doorway. This reminded Ed that even during that difficult time, he still had support from his wife as well as the grounding of a nurturing childhood when his father, all those years ago, empathically reminded Ed to calm himself with a breath. Along similar lines, the second photograph was of go-karting with his daughter, reminding Ed of the many enjoyable moments in life that he can anchor to when feeling overwhelmed.
Figure 12.1 The old burnt-out car (see color plate)
The third photograph (Figure 12.1), which stood out most to him and was more whimsical, was an old burnt-out car, symbolizing to Ed “the transition from something functional that suddenly becomes an art form. It stood the test of time…and still serves a purpose.” For the first time, Ed was able to see a degree of humor with regard to himself, the car, and his situation. Not to minimize the impact of it, but to lighten the mood, and find a moment of relief from worrying.
Although Ed had not necessarily thought about these things at the time of taking the photographs, he was now able to see them in a new light. Being open meant he no longer needed to fear his emotions, or avoid them. And reflecting on the images with greater flexibility enabled Ed to reclaim his self-worth, and a sense of the things he valued most in life.
Ed was already seasoned in using the breath to calm himself down when he first came to therapy, but less so in knowing how to deal with deep-felt emotions that bubbled under the surface. His goal for therapy was to learn how to regulate his emotions over four sessions. The combination of ACT mindfulness and creative scripting through photographic images provided him with a set of tools to do so.
The ACT skills provided Ed with a set of strategies for confronting rather than burying his feelings, or getting caught up by negative moods. He was able to allow for them when anchored to what he valued most in life, a supportive family. By diffusing threatening emotions, they seemed to lose their power. Similarly, Ed could use his penchant for photography to process low or anxious moods through images. Doing so enabled him to explore his angst with sensitivity and playfulness and begin to see the “extraordinary in the ordinary” (Peterson, 1998).
This combined skill set was in accord with Ed’s personal sensitivities and sensibilities. He was one of those clients who came with firm goals and sought only four sessions. In line with this demeanor, he worked resourcefully in and outside of each one. While not all clients work that fast, I have found that using strategies that feel most natural to clients is an important part of the therapeutic process.