Art Gallery — Canadian Art Therapy Association

Kejegigilhasis, petite mésange à tête noire (Chickadee)

When an image is created in the material world, it was first seen in a dream. Kejegigilhasis, an Abenaki word meaning little black-capped chickadee, flies over the territory and brings messages. She spreads her wings, letting us see her colors and greatness. This little bird, which tends to go unnoticed, dance, sing in our forests, discovers our territories. It is a bird accustomed to our winter feeders, which does not fear humans. That bird walks on the territory, visible to the eye of those who observe and pay attention. She shows us that in the little things of the present moment, it is possible to be amazed and see great beauty.

Sonia De Grand’Maison, MA, MSW, ATPQ
Mashteuiatsh, QC

Sonia De Grand’Maison is a multidisciplinary artist, a member of the Pekuakamiulnuatsh (Ilnu) nation of Mashteuiatsh in Quebec, having grown up in a neighboring village. She has returned to live in her original community of Mashteuiatsh, where she now works as an art therapist. Her cultural trajectory, a blend of Quebecois and First Nations roots, has been shaped by discriminatory laws that long kept women away from indigenous culture. Sonia is determined to deepen her understanding of indigenous traditions and history and to shed light on what has been obscured. In art, she finds a way to embrace her learnings, whether it be through observing the land and wildlife, integrating the words of the language, or adopting traditional artistic techniques such as beading. Through her art and her profession as an art therapist, she aims to reveal the links of human interconnectedness, encouraging personal reflection and contemplation of nature

Particles of Fragmentation

I’ve been thinking about family history, unspoken family rules, and what my legacy will be when I pass. I’m currently in the process of fragmenting, then reviewing each piece, and reconstructing what I want to take into my new assemblage of chosen family. This brings up feelings of grief and loss as well as excitement and love. I’m sitting with the grief of loved ones who have passed, outgrowing friends who were instrumental at pivotal moments of my life, and my personal identity that I never got to love due to the impact of homophobia. Sitting here in deep reflection, feeling empowered in who I am and proud of the love I have for myself. As an art therapist, the more space I can create for myself, the more space I can hold for my clients. It is also a reminder of the rhythm of life, as we flow between disconnection to reconnection with ourselves, others, and the world.

Blue Studio

I work primarily in gouache on printmaking papers, specifically Stonehenge papers, using mixed media techniques to create depth, illusion and luminosity in my work. My paintings are often commissioned subjects, but they are not simply representations of the world around me, but rather an expression of finding and discovering beauty and spiritual connection in ordinary subjects. I carefully choose subjects for my patients that speak to me and evoke an idea of beauty and express them in my art to share with the world.

Yuko Kyutoku, MA, LCATLP
Astoria, NY

Yuko Kyutoku was born in Aichi in Japan. Having grown up both next to the mountain and rivers, her love of nature and the outdoors grew tremendously. Throughout her life, Yuko has always been fascinated by images and how the world is represented through the eyes of others. Naturally, she was drawn to drawings and paintings. This interest was cultivated during her childhood and further developed when she opted to take her Bachelor's Degree in Fine Art, Painting, Drawing, and Printmaking at SUNY Purchase College in New York. After completing her degree, she then graduated from New York University with her Master's Degree in Art Therapy. She is currently working as a therapist at a children's hospital in the city. She loves traveling, visiting museums, reading books, watching films, listening to music, and meeting people, and she makes art based on these rich life experiences. Yuko has had a solo show at the General Consulate of Japan in New York, and her first solo exhibition in Japan at Yada City Gallery, Aichi. She has also received the Juror Choice Award from a SUNY Purchase College representative.

The Painting That Healed My Heart

*Stepping into the Ocean*, watercolour, 9” x 12”, 2022

When we think about art therapy, many of us understand this process as a creativity without judgment that leads to better self-awareness, self-acceptance, and the ability to deal with challenges of life in a more constructive, gentle, and organic way than we usually do, under the pressures of family problems, societal expectations, and in competitive environments at school or work. This was my understanding of art therapy, until my serious health crisis.

On February 7, 2023, I was diagnosed with severe Aortic Valve Stenosis. Difficulty breathing, fatigue, shoulder pain, and an inability to swim, write, or paint were some of the most serious consequences of my condition.

I couldn’t use art therapy as a problem solving tool anymore. I didn’t want to give up either, and I painted a couple of watercolours, trying to ignore the physical pain and tiredness. I was staring at them and thinking that I created these paintings as my last good-bye pieces, because I felt that during my illness my creativity was not in me anymore. Since some of my artwork has been displayed in my art studio/home office/bedroom space, another painting, called “Stepping into the Ocean,” caught my attention.

In October of 2022, when I still felt well, my daughter surprised me with two tickets to Cayo Santa Maria, a small island in Cuba’s northern coast. “You have never been to the tropics,” she said. “It’s time to try something new.” As a Canadian immigrant, a hard-working teacher, and a dedicated wife and mother, my life was seldom about me for more than three decades. I spent summers and holidays traveling to Poland to see my aging parents in their more and more challenging senior years. Exotic trips were out of the question. Going to Cuba, normally easily available to many Canadians, was a very special trip to me, four years after I retired.

Before the trip, I said to my daughter, “I will swim only in a swimming pool. I am afraid of open water, especially a salty ocean. It could be too scary and too sticky.” She laughed and added, “And too wet.” When my daughter was two years old, we spent a vacation at a lake. For years we joked about her first encounter with the open water as a toddler. She was going in and coming out of the water, asking to change her bathing suit because the lake was too wet. This time she was the one to encourage me to do something that I had never done before: swimming in the ocean.

On the second day of our vacation, we went to the beach. “You don’t have to swim,” my daughter said, “Just walk with me.” Once I put my foot in the warm, clear water, I wanted to try the impossible: swimming with fish and observing ocean creatures. The experience was intense. First, I noticed only vegetation. The next day, small fish joined me. Very soon, a whole school of fish were swimming together with me as if they were waiting for my arrival from the early morning. I wanted to express this sensational experience in painting. I made some sketches, took photographs, and brought them back to Toronto with the intention to consolidate my friendship with the ocean in my artwork.

Some landscapes are intentionally created to move our hearts. There are also paintings that tell stories. “Stepping into the Ocean” included these two aspects. It was showing two women, old and young, walking on the beach towards the ocean. Their body language was very telling. They seemed to be talking peacefully. The older woman looked rather insecure. Her shoulders curled down. Her head tilted. She gazed at the sand. The young woman seemed to be very confident, as if she lived through similar moments many times before.

The sand on the beach felt warm. Two large straw umbrellas were left behind to welcome the women back after swimming. Clouds created protective wings in the sky, forming themselves into an angel-like shape, ready to shield the mother and daughter from the heat and anything that could go wrong. The women stepped into the ocean together. The portrayal of an aging mother and her young, strong and caring daughter depicted their changing roles. This time the daughter was inspiring her mother to explore life free of fear.

I was lying in bed and looking at the painting for two months before the doctors completed all the necessary tests on me and were ready to do the TAVI procedure (a replacement of the aortic valve in my heart). On April 12, my daughter took me to the Sunnybrook Hospital in Toronto and a team of doctors and nurses brought my tired heart back to its healthy life. After my daughter and I came home, she decided to stay with me for the entire week to make sure that my incisions were healing and my mobility was improving.

During that week, we both were looking at the same painting, “Walking into the Ocean.” “It’s my favourite watercolour out of all your recent artwork,” my daughter said, “Do you remember how you were scared to swim in the ocean? Now you will try something again–breathe, walk, laugh, and enjoy your life. There are many trips that we can talk about and plan for the future while you are getting better.” We did. We talked about going to Spain and Greece. We dreamt about swimming in open waters again. When my daughter left, I was able to do basic tasks and activities that the doctors included in my recovery instructions. One thing, however, I still couldn’t do; I couldn’t find the courage to paint.

It reminded me about similar difficulties in my past, after I came to Canada. I was preoccupied with finding my way in a new country which sometimes was so overwhelming that painting seemed almost like additional work to do. But somehow I was able to find time to visit art galleries instead. I liked to look at paintings that often brought tears into my eyes or a smile on my face. I imagined Polish landscapes and compared them to Canadian paintings of wilderness. Breathing in Canadian nature and using art as a healing source helped me feel familiar and secure in my new surroundings. That was my art therapy, without touching a paintbrush, just looking at art pieces that were close to my heart.

After the TAVI procedure, it was my own painting that played the same soothing role. All the whispers I heard in my mind were telling me, “It’s not the end of my life. It’s the beginning of my new adventures. When my heart gets stronger, new experiences will be lining up and I will walk towards them the same way I did when I was walking into the ocean for the first time.”

When I am writing these words, I still haven’t picked up a paintbrush to paint or a pencil to draw. But I am not worried. Now I know that art therapy is not limited to creative activities. It extends to any art created previously by us or others that resonates with our feelings during illness. It helps to heal our emotional and physical wounds during challenging moments in our lives. We just have to allow this healing source folded into the art to do its magical, meditative, and soothing work in the moments of need.

Thank you to all my doctors and nurses from the TAVI clinic in the Sunnybrook Hospital in Toronto. Their expertise, care, patience, and kindness were the true gifts in the most vulnerable moment of my life.

Anna Nike Leskowsky
Toronto, ON

Anna Nike Leskowsky was a journalist in Poland. After immigrating to Canada, she worked as an elementary school teacher until she retired in 2018. Her articles and essays, written in the English language, were published in Canadian Teacher Magazine, Canadian Immigrant Magazine, The Toronto Star, and college textbooks. Canadian Art Therapy Association Magazine “Envisage” featured her artwork and reflections about art in the fall issues of 2021 and 2022, and the winter issue of 2023. Anna Nike Leskowsky lives in Toronto.