Sunday, March 24, 2013

Art Therapy 101

I took 3 semesters of art therapy classes as CCAD (Columbus College Of Art and Design) in the early 80's under the direction of Bruce Moon. Since it was a course and not an institutional setting, we practiced on each other.  This is a drawing I made for that class depicting a traumatic event from my childhood.  I also took this drawing to my Granville "therapist" who undoubtedly broke my confidentiality and shared it with the larger group (cult).
This is a self portrait about a pink dress that my parents made me wear to a concert where I was too perform.  This was an all state orchestra, and it was an honor to be selected.  I worked hard to qualify, and was indeed proud of my accomplishment, as was my parents.  As I recall, my whole family attended this concert which involved travel.  The problem...they without my consent procured a pink dress for me to wear to the concert.  I hated it.  We fought.  I lost, as I lost most fights with my parents.  I tried to lose the dress by putting it in another locker.  The dress was found, just in time, resulting in another knock out dragem out fight.  I can not remember if it got physical...doesn't matter.   I was forced to wear the dress.
When we began playing the piece (Madam Butterfly?) I found my throat to be closed, tears streaming down my face, and half way through the song, my nose running.  I was not able to play very many notes of the song that I had practiced both at school and all day with the rest of the orchestra prior to the evening.  I also didn't know anyone in the orchestra, let alone the trombone section.  It was an embarrassing disaster for me, as well as my family.  I do not know what ever happened to that pink dress.
I took the drawing to "therapy" in Granville when my mother was dying of lung cancer.  She was diagnosed, and was dead within 5 I didn't really have any time to "reconcile" with her about my abusive background.  I really wanted to, but there wasn't enough time.  I realize that I am breaking my own confidentiality by presenting this drawing, but it seems necessary in order to show you what a monster my "therapist" was and most undoubtedly still is.  My father apologized for the abuses, exactly one week before he was killed.  I forgave him.  I never got that same closure with my mother, or my brother and sisters for that matter.

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