bleeding it out in ink

Sometimes, I get anxiety (sometimes I get depressed). During a particularly trying evening full of tension I found myself drawing line after line in my book and was surprised at how successful it was at drawing out the toxins. (...the violent creative act of sharp object marring pristine blank surface...).

It's good to be reminded of this very easy and accessible coping mechanism. In my mind, I see a tiny similarity to the ritual nature of the sand mandalas created by Buddhist monks (that link is to a fascinating video, you really should watch it) but that's mostly my ignorance showing about said mandalas and monks. An atheist, I think that art making is one of the only forms of ritual or worship I currently practice. And, I guess, it's also frequently my therapy.

So, on a recent weekend, during an extended family gathering for the holidays, as the emotional wear and tear took it's toll, I retreated quite a bit into my book. And it worked. (Well, I survived anyhow).

Here's a glimpse at some of what I scratched out: