Marilyn Hahn, B.Ed., DCiiAT, PCAT
Surrey, BC

Marilyn currently runs a private practice, impARTations, and mentors apprentice practitioners at the Canadian International Institute of Art Therapy. She has a passion for creating art directives, especially those that can augment self-help and inspirational books. She 100% believes in the power of integrating the hand-heart-mind-soul with therapeutic art making, moments, messages, and media.

We need not venture out into a front yard or forest to respond to the deep enticement of trees, to the message of life they bring us. Trees weep, inhale, and exhale. Some are loners; others seek the thick and dense company of their own. The oak, a man, the ash and willow, womenfolk—slight and fragile. Trees are fixed in metaphors, names, idioms, and ways of seeing ourselves. There are trees of life, trees of sustenance, tools, shelter, and sacred objects, a representation of human attributes, place markers of where we made promises, made love, wrote poetry, carved initials, and mused our destinies.  

Welcome, ladies, and thank you for coming today, our second art making session together.  Today I’m not going to tell you or show you what you’re making but only give you the steps as you need them [groans, gasps, huh’s?!].  Just like life, you don’t always know what’s up or what’s ahead, so you may—no, you WILL—feel lost, dismayed, or disgusted at times, but trust the process.  Trust me.  And most of all, trust yourself as you notice your exiting and entering calm.  After all, this isn’t a what, ladies? [“an art class!!!!,” they shout]… Right!  We’re here to see how art making helps us create and practice calm, show you when you’re in it—and out of it… and the calm you need in life because I’m pretty sure that not knowing where you’re going and how you’re NOT going to get there will most certainly make you feel so-NOT-calm… [more groans]

Seventeen ladies between 17 and 91 years old, silent, surrounded by piles of magazines and numerous white glue bottles, spread themselves out across the library meeting room, some two to a table, others alone. The only sounds: a soft harp YouTube blue-toothed into the room, and a slow, calm tearing of paper into strips, no scissors, the rustling of pages— Step 1— in search of all shades of That One Color that brings them calm.  No one talks, but thoughts are thunderous:  Why am I doing this?!  What’s the project?!  The end game?  How come no instructions from Marilyn other than tear out all the shades of That One Color that’s supposed to calm me, but with all this mess just irritates me?!!  Aaaack!

The ladies have joined my 6-week art wellness workshop, The Art of Calm, graciously hosted by our public library.  We’ve all been cautiously poking our noses out of COVID quarantine but scared to touch one another, scared to get together, scared to share scissors and shy glances in case we catch It and die.  But I hear, Save us with art making. Please!  So how can art therapy save this little community of elders whose average age is 75, when the average age of those who die of COVID is 72?  

Ladies, now sort your paper bits of tints and shades into piles, lightest to darkest, then tear out bits and blobs of blacks and whites… arrange them all in front of you like paint on a palette… Are you feeling anxious, thinking you’re not doing this right?  Great!  You want to hear this inner chatter, so just listen to what you’re thinking…and breathe.  You’re not creating art, you’re creating calm… with one torn piece at a time, come back into calm; one piece at a time calmly move yourself forward… that’s all you need to know for now to practice calm... don’t rush, don’t analyze… just move and breathe… tear the pieces… move... breathe… tear…

I ask the ladies to feel-sense how all the higgledy-piggledy piling of pieces affects them.  Does it all remind you of your ragged-edged relationships, health issues, and finances? The chaos of loose bits, lost scraps, and not-knowing-what-the-heck-is-next of what’s bewildering and waiting for you at home?  One lady looks up at me through tear-laden eyelashes. 

Next, ladies, tear out one color that feels like a pop of a surprise… now tear one-and-only-one image that strongly grabs your attention.  You’ll either gasp or grin when you see it…  Another 15 minutes pass… Now, using only the lightest tints, not the medium or dark shades— Step 2 — glue and layer the torn pieces onto your cardstock, covering the entire surface (Figure 1).  “The entire surface?!” one dear soul laments.  I smile.  ... don’t rush, don’t analyze… just move and breathe… tear the pieces… move... breathe… tear… stay in calm…

Admittedly, the task seemed laborious to those who rush through art making—and life and problem-solving.  And challenging to those with arthritic hands; and daunting to those who “aren’t creative”.  “Like this?” they plead, their begging bowls of fretfulness uplifted.  I don’t know, I twinkle. Do you want it like that?... Reminder, ladies, if you step out of calm, remind yourself it’s just one-piece-at-a-time, one-piece-at-a-time… and breathe… don’t rush, don’t analyze… breathe back into calm one breath-one-piece-at-a-time… The room seems to swell as they all inhale.  One closes her eyes and caresses her pink pieces of calm.  Another reaches for her water bottle, then dives into disorder. Another tosses a wee sliver of beige onto the floor, then defiantly tears out an 8x10” blood red image; she smiles, she settles.

Do you feel like you got a mess going nowhere fast? I ask.  A singsong of “Ya think’s? A stupid question, Marilyn.”  Looks great!  Let’s move to Step 3. Glue down your darker shades onto the bottom third of your piece, piece by piece, as if you’re painting.  Feel the grounding in your body of the dark shades, like feet on solid earth, as you glue (Figure 2) …  Am I imagining it?  No groans?  Are they just getting on with things and going with the flow, staying in calm, and carrying on?  

How are you doing, ladies?  

“Good enough, Marilyn… I didn’t like this part so I glued over it…

My light shade is this deep burgundy red, and, ya, I know you didn’t want dark as a background, but I want it, so I’m just doing it anyways and grounding myself with this salmon color…

I didn’t think I’d like all this pink stuff but … 

I’m breathing!!!… Is it OK if I put the dark ground on the top third? …” 

Mindfulness.  Watching ourselves think.  Watching ourselves take permission.  Watching ourselves problem-solve and stand up for ourselves, be different, do different.  Saving ourselves one breath, one small choice, one unfamiliar piece at a time.  Breathe. Create.  Calm.  Piece by piece…  

Ladies, you know those dark bits you salvaged?  Use those dark shades of your calming color, piece by piece —Step 4 — to … wait for it, wait for it … create a tree in the mid-ground of your process piece (Figure 3).  It will be your Tree of Calm THE size and shape IT wants to be for YOU, with the roots and branches and leaves IT wants to inner-form with you. But don’t imagine a tree first then force your pieces to recreate it; just let the tree form itself as you “paint” it into life… piece by piece…

Tree.  With that one word came a mesmerizing serenity. Something anxious, stewing and squeezing relaxed, landed, discharged, and resolved itself. Work WITH the tree ladies, not against it…Listen to it calmly…It’s powerful, you felt it, I know…trees, ancient and alive…piece by piece…   Soft Ah-ha!’s suddenly filled the room.  The pace seemed to both settle down and speed up.  Shoulders dropped.  Glue-laden fingers and brushes slipped into collaging-fast action.  As your tree emerges, piece by piece, feel where the pops of color want to be glued down…then add black where the shadows reveal themselves…and white where the light wants to land (Figure 4) …don’t rush, don’t analyze…breathe…place and glue, piece by piece, place and glue…piece by piece…allow your Tree of Calm of create you…   

Something shifted; undeniably palpable.  I felt it: Hey, the ladies exclaimed.  This worked out!...I really like this project…Now it makes sense…It doesn’t make sense to ME, but it feels right… 

The power of trees—even though we were air conditioned, shut in, bricked in and glass encased, afraid of each other and infection, lost in a process ironically made possible because Sister Spruce and Brother Birch sacrificed themselves for all the bits and pieces of paper needed to get to this point—despite all this, the power of trees still profoundly reached out to heal our souls.  

What is your Tree of Calm speaking to you about ‘pieces’, about ‘piece by piece’? I ask.  If "all our wisdom is stored in the trees” (Kalwar, n.d.), then what’s your tree wanting to offer you?... Gaze. Listen. Trust your tree, it’s there, waiting for you...  They then begin to speak, those who had been afraid.

I’ve had this disease for most of my life.  I had a glycemic crash at the beginning of this class, but I stayed calm. I ate some food.  I told myself I’ll be OK.  

I titled my piece “Eat, Drink, and Be Merry”… My Tree of Calm is a Christmas tree cookie /  With all my health issues I don’t know if I’ve got another Christmas, but this art piece is showing me to use my time to live a full life even though [she lifts a flap] there are shadows hiding behind some of my pieces.

My Tree of Calm has this branch with pink flowers growing.  Weirdly, it feels good to me using pink, even though I’ve never liked pink until these last two weeks with you all.  Must be all this creative, courageous feminine energy. I think I need more women pieces in my life.”

I’ve always felt the odd one out—like me using dark red as a “light” background color, but it feels right.  My tree is calling me to move back home where I don’t geel as odd.  Pieces of insight.  Fragments of hope.  Parts of a plan—no pushing, no rushing, no forcing—that can only be realized one piece at a time, one step at a time, one trust at a time. 

From all the torn pieces of COVID, disconnection, lives falling apart, and fears of dying, infecting, and not knowing what’s next or what’s the big picture, there emerged pieces of mind, peace of mind, a collective sigh of relief and wonder.  We all assembled and understood the wisdom offered at the foot of our Trees of Calm because we didn’t quit but trusted the pieces.

Mary Oliver (Contreras, 2017) poeticizes: When I am among the trees / especially the willows and the honey locust / equally the beech, the oaks, and pines / they give off such hints of gladness. / I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

All of us are sitting somewhere at a table that’s messy with the ragged, torn up pieces of life, but we must trust to take up and lay down these pieces of life—one fragment, one inkling, one color, and one breath-step at a time—these pieces of a trusting expectation: pieces of knowing it’ll make enough sense when it makes sense, and not one piece sooner.  No rushing, no pushing, no forcing the piece or the process.  Just keep calm and carry on, without any impeding plans or protests, until we arrive at the foot of our wisdom trees who, when we listen, truly serve to save us. And not in the end… but daily.  

References

Contreras, A. (2017, February 14). When I am among the trees: Musings on Mary Oliver. Retrieved January 24, 2023, from https://medium.com/magazines-at-marquette/when-i-am-among-the-trees-musings-on-mary-oliver-bc992e1934b

Kalwar, S (n.d.). Retrieved January 24, 2023, from https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/471057-all-our-wisdom-is-stored-in-the-trees 

Kilmer, J. (n.d.). Trees. Retrieved January 24, 2023, from https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/12744/trees