Before
I became a counselor, I was an art teacher. The setting in which I worked was
not a conventional school and I had the liberty to create my own projects and
make my own curriculum. It was an afternoon program subsidized by a non-profit
organization which a diverse group of children attended while their parents
were at work. Naturally, I presumed it was a time for the children to freely
express themselves where they remained safe. After all, their parents had made
a choice to keep them safe rather than leave them in the not-so-safe
neighborhoods they went home to. The director of the center was a well-meaning,
kindhearted woman whose goal was to have an exhibit for the kids to raise more
funds for the program. I was happy to hear that we had the same idea. However,
a few weeks after working on an acrylic painting, she took me aside and
questioned the work the kids were putting out. She was genuinely puzzled at
what she saw and asked what the paintings were about. She even went as far as
saying one painting looked like “poop”. All I remember is feeling like the skin
all over the front of my body melted to the ground in disappointment. All that
time, I enjoyed listening to the kids talk about their work proudly while the others
seemed lost in mixing up all the colors with their hands skating all over the
canvas. Not once did I consider if their work was worthy of an exhibit or not.
I simply presumed they would be finished, mounted onto walls under spotlights,
and admired for their authenticity. After all, were these children not in this
class to keep them safe in a proactive manner? I questioned my purpose in the
job and soon after quit to go back to school for my masters degree in
counseling.
The
second part of this story is a prequel to the first and explains what made me
decide to choose a career in counseling. I graduated with a BFA from the School
of the Art Institute of Chicago. I was accepted into the school with a
portfolio filled with fashion illustrations. I envisioned myself embarking on a
trip to art school abroad and getting my foot in the world of high fashion.
Little did I know that my long-range plan would be obliterated by the choices that were offered to me at the school. During my first year, I discovered that not
only could I draw- I could perform, make sculptures with found objects, and that Art History was also a study in human behavior during pre-Freudian time. Art school was now more than a stepping stone
to becoming the next Karl Lagerfeld. It became an open door to my soul and a
playground for my senses. For those who may think art school is a waste of
time, maybe you should try going to SAIC. I had fine-tuned my technical skills for
three years in the University of Santo Tomas but Chicago was a different
experience altogether. I was confronted with the necessity of choosing the
right books to read, movies to watch, and even topics to discuss. It,
apparently, is what sets original artists apart from the rest. I began to see
inspiration outside the work of other artists. I saw them in the many colors of
the sky, the way the buildings in Chicago complemented each other to create the
spectacular skyline, and realized that your teacher notices your discomfort of
being in a new culture through the images you create- and that you get a good
grade for it. However, the most beautiful discovery I made was that there was
such a thing as Art Therapy. Though the dream to continue on to postgraduate
studies was not fullfilled, I went back to it almost 20 years later. (What
happened in between will most likely appear in another blog and never again in
my life, I hope). I got married instead and had my four kids. That did not stop
me, though, because I immediately began my search for the perfect activity to
do my art. I struggled to sit still and wanted to work outside the home when I
had the chance. I taught art to children in different settings. Inspired by my
Gaby, who was two when she died, I also searched for work where I could
interact with children with special needs. Fortunately, my art was useful there
as well. I again began to feel a desire to pursue my postgraduate studies but could
not decide if I wanted to specialize in Special Education, Occupational
Therapy, or Physical Therapy. Then one day, in my mailbox, I received a
promotional flyer from Benedictine University with a list of course offerings
ranging from Business Administration to Education to Information Systems. What
caught my attention was Clinical Psychology. For some reason, I became fixed on
the idea. But the story does not end here. I did not go to Benedictine
University for my degree. In fact, it took me another eight years before I
started school again. I once again stuck to the idea of myself as a professional artist.
So
going back to the story about teaching art and the “poop” painting, I realized
that my lack of knowledge about art pedagogy had left me burned-out from being
around children 24/7. It was no longer worth it to keep my patience if the efforts
of the children’s artwork were not going to be recognized appropriately and
wholeheartedly. That’s when I decided to focus on my studies in counseling
psychology.
Throughout
my three years in grad school (and to this day), people gave me a puzzled look upon learning I was an art major. Perhaps, I still give back
a look that’s just as puzzled. I obviously know how it all happened but I
myself cannot put into words what the real connection is. (Sorry to keep you in suspense for nothing.) All I can say is that
my art makes more sense to me now and art also makes sense of what counselees
say to me. The challenge now is finding a concrete explanation for the
relationship.
Today,
I sit in my office, during semester break, writing in my blog when my intention
was to write my personal essay for my application to a doctoral program in
Clinical Psychology. To answer the first question, my true purpose for pursuing
further studies is to engage in research about the efficacy of art work in
counseling and therapy in a diverse community like the Philippines. While I
wish there was an Art Therapy program here in the Philippines that can grant me
the proper credentials to practice as an art therapist, waiting for an acceptance letter and engaging in about five years of research is not going to address the immediate need for creative therapeutic methods today. While validating the efficacy of the method is crucial, there is no law against allowing people to express themselves through safer methods. After all, I was born an artist and creativity has been my biggest saving grace
throughout the most turbulent years of my life. I believe that somehow being an
artist has formed my brain into a self-healing machine. In my practice, many
walls have been climbed, if not broken down, through creative visualization,
role-playing, journaling, and playing- all of which are creative methods.
The tools I was given through my studies are invaluable to both my professional and personal growth.The most valuable lesson I learned is authenticity. Remember what I mentioned earlier about art
school and finding inspiration outside the books to achieve authenticity? I find the same principle applicable in this profession.
(Put simply, it’s thinking outside the box.) So did I really go through a
career change? Or did I just switch media and acquire new materials? I trust the answer will come as I watch my
career unfold into more uncharted territory. I trust the process now. Here I go again.
