For me, the answer is art.
It was one of many nights that all blur together. Time melts and expands on hospital wards. I honestly can’t remember which post-procedure or surgery this was, there had been so many. But kiddo had managed to pull his cannulas out again, leaving antibiotics and pain meds overdue. To avoid waking the rest of the ward, we went into the procedure room.
His eyes pleaded with me as he screamed, as nurses struggled to find his collapsed veins and I heard a pop in my brain, like a twig snapping.
This was before more major surgeries, that caused nerve damage, before the stomach paralysis, the gangrene, this was the “let’s try to keep the kid alive” stage of parenting.
Of all the parenting books I read, none had prepared me for this.
Anger in the Shadows
Time passes. You become institutionalised. Life normalizes into a rhythm of emergency rooms, hospital stays, and emergency surgeries. When we came home, we repaired slowly. Kiddo and I drew on the paper I lined the walls of our flat with, small acts of creation amidst chaos.
I attended a Saturday art class at the Slade School of Fine Art. There, I painted giant cats and found silence in deep reds. It was a fleeting escape, a synesthetic hit of calm amidst the unrelenting noise.
Yet, something simmered below. There was no room for big emotions, not when the world was already fragile, surrounded by the War on Terror, the Iraq War, and the financial crash. And certainly not with the weight of caring for a child you brought into all this.
I started to paint, and that’s when I began to find my voice.
The Studio: My Sanctuary
Getting a studio space was transformative. It became my refuge, a place free from pitying looks and the constant demands of caregiving. In that space, I wasn’t defined by my roles. I could just be.
The studio became an emotional time capsule, a pressure cooker for processing everything I couldn’t say aloud. I poured myself into the canvas, anger, grief, exhaustion, all of it spilled out through oils, spray paint, and brushes borrowed, gifted or bought when I could.
The work was raw and unapologetic. The bold, chaotic strokes and screaming figures became pieces of myself I hadn’t dared to acknowledge. I couldn’t paint something pretty, no matter how hard I tried, all I could do was paint what I felt: visceral, primal emotion.
The use of bold primary colours, contrasted with deep black, was not a calculated decision, it was instinctual, a visual manifestation of emotions I couldn’t articulate. This tension between light and dark reflects the constant push and pull of hope and despair.
This was a time of immense internal and external conflict, ones I’ve fought and others I am only now beginning to fully understand.
Evil Blows Thru It, So Good
This is how the series Evil Blows Thru It, So Good was born. Each piece became a mirror of my darkest thoughts, the ones I had to suppress to stay “strong.” I painted with primary colours, red, yellow, blue and black. The black was grief and fear, the emotions I convinced myself I couldn’t afford to show.
Looking back almost a decade later, I see these works differently. I see them as powerful and raw, at the time, I was disassociated from them, unable to process what I had created, criticising my lack of talent. Now, I see the emotive rawness in each piece. They’re a testament to what happens when we allow ourselves to express the unspeakable.
Symbols of Chaos and Catharsis
The screaming figure, the scary bunny, these weren’t just images, they were unconscious confessions of the pulsating fragments of shame, grief, guilt, and fear that I couldn’t articulate in words, yet inhabited my mind between, medication scheduling, and medical emergencies.
Symbols like the Hindu Goddess Kali, embodying birth and destruction, or the war rabbit in a gas mask, standing in a burned out city, reflect the emotional turmoil of the series.
Art as Therapy
Art became my black mirror, a way to process the world and my place in it. It wasn’t about making work for others. It was for me, a lifeline during a time when my sense of reality was consistently being challenged. The canvas became a stage for unfiltered emotion. I knew motherhood was going to be challenging,
Anger, often dismissed as destructive, became a transformative force in this series. It was not directed outward but turned inward, a quiet, chaotic rage echoed in brushstrokes, thrown paint, and, when brushes failed, my hands. Creating these pieces gave me space for stillness and escape. Without it, I might have gone under completely.
Now in my second decade of making art, this collection marks a pivotal chapter in my practice, one that blends personal catharsis with universal resonance. It is the first step in sharing a body of work that reflects twenty years of perseverance, growth, and discovery.
Explore the Collection, here.
This work was my way of surviving. Explore Evil Blows Thru It, So Good, a collection that transforms personal struggles into universal truths. Each piece invites you into the raw, visceral journey of anger and catharsis.
Art as therapeutic catharsis is an undervalued tool. It allows us to access emotions that words can’t touch and offers a space to let them go.
End.
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