Exploring Trauma Through Art: Creative Expression as a Medium for Reimagining Trauma
Written by: Amanda G. Thompson

 

When I reflected on the words chosen for this assignment—feelings of deadness, dissociation, detachment, feeling stuck—the first concept that came to mind was purgatory. This led to memories of my paternal grandfather’s death, the first person close to me who had passed away. I was 11 years old and vividly recall feeling concern that his soul would end up in purgatory because he wasn’t Catholic. I remember my family being worried that despite devoting so many years to a Catholic church as parishioners and active members of the choir, they would refuse to hold his funeral because he was of the wrong faith.

 

I imagined his soul wandering aimlessly in the in-between of heaven and hell in a foggy haze. I likened that to how I felt in the last few years of my marriage, a time where I became complacent, and my primary goals were to keep my dogs and myself safe from my ex-husband and to tolerate my existence by numbing my pain. Similar to how I imagined my grandpa, I was drifting aimlessly, stuck in my subconscious mind, and unable to move forward. I did not believe at that time that there was an exit strategy—in no world would my ex-husband allow me to leave with both dogs. So, I stayed. Of course, it was much more complex than that one obstacle, but the dogs were massively symbolic at this time in my life.

 

Sadly, my attempt was futile, in that he ended up causing one of the dogs' deaths. It was an incredibly traumatic experience. It was also a catalyst, however, for our separation and divorce.

 

It’s strange to reflect on how many years I spent almost entirely in my subconscious. Living in survival mode. Not present. Dissociated and detached.

 

When searching the house and yard for art materials, I came upon a piece of jewelry that induced an unexpectedly strong reaction. In that moment, I saw it as a dark stone in the shape of a heart chained up tightly with wire, eliciting feelings of pain and sorrow.

 

I next came across some thin, round slices of wood. Perfect for floating, drifting lightly atop the water, while simultaneously at risk of being weighed down by the heavier materials surrounding it.

 

My parents' garden and a multitude of cut flowers at various stages of decay in the kitchen provided much inspiration. The wilting roses from Mother’s Day reminded me of how during my marriage, I would notice dried up flowers, berries, and branches from bouquets that provided beauty past their due date. They were reimagined and provided a new feel that was still decorative, natural, and long-lasting.

 

As I clipped the intact roses from their stems, I noticed one in particular had soft, vibrant petals hidden within. Outside, I found a plant on its last legs, offering one last light purple flower with two offshoots to its sides. I immediately saw myself in this flower, barely living, but presenting itself to the world as though everything was ok. The offshoots, of course, symbolized my two dogs.

 

As I was putting the materials together, I kept thinking of a wasteland. A landscape that didn’t look too promising but, when given a harder look, revealed the opportunity for renewal, hope, and persistence.

Clearly, this exercise drew out a lot of meaning for me, and I love how it brought out my creative and somewhat childlike side. I found the connection to purgatory especially interesting. In Catholic school, I thought of purgatory as a place one would unknowingly end up and feel lost. I imagined (or prayed) that my grandpa would be able to retain hope and eventually find his way to a place that was accepting of him.

 

This exercise illustrated to me that I was doing more than I realized to keep hope alive while actively living through trauma—with symbolic acts like saving the often-unseen branches and smaller flowers that are used to fill out a bouquet.

 

This assignment initially put me in a very negative and uncomfortable headspace. As I made my way through the experience, however, I found myself becoming more energized and creative.

 

Reflecting on it now, I notice that I’m lighter, happier, and more knowledgeable than before. I look forward to putting expressive art therapy to use in my practice in the future.