Author: Alyssa Kanitsch

As an artist, I am deeply inspired by imagery that explores tangible metaphors. This is perhaps why I am drawn to the world of fairytale, fantasy, dreams and iconic or religious artwork; especially from artists in the early renaissance. In many of my paintings, I try to use images, landscapes and objects to weave together a story or a sense of nostalgia and distant memory. My favourite art medium is acrylics, however, I also love mucking around with mixed media and pastel, and I occasionally work with oils. I have been known to paint furniture, murals and surfboards, mostly because I love to surround myself with the energy of colour.

Painting Dreams

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Science tells us that we all dream, even if we don’t remember them. We spend such a large part of our lives in the dreamworld. It takes up a solid residency. One could easily imagine that our dreaming lives are every bit as tangible as our waking lives. We live in a duality of experience. One is porous, fluid, and disembodied. The other is rigid, sequential and limited by our physical bodies.

There’s something deeply intriguing about dreams…the phenomenon of waking up knowing you have participated in a storyline, and sometimes remembering only snippets or nothing at all just the vague feeling it leaves you. I always think it’s like some inner sage who is tap tap tapping on the door of my mind trying to tell me some important things. And I feel like I most often miss their memo. There’s confusing elements to dreams also. Confusing how they pay no heed to linear timeframes and socially acceptable conventions. It’s like emblazoned on the dream threshold is the statement: “You are entering into a symbolic space. There are no rules and absolutely nothing will fit neatly in your cognitive boxes”

We would like otherworldly visitations to come as distinct voices with clear instructions, but they may only give small signs in dreams, or as sudden hunches and insights that cannot be denied. They feel more as if they emerge from inside and steer you from within like an inner guardian angel. . . . And, most amazing, it has never forgotten you, although you may have spent most of your life ignoring it. -James Hillman-

Working with dream images

James Hillman has an interesting way of working with dreams. He asks us as dreamers to ‘stay with the image’ and resist analysing it, because in the analysis we reduce it down to a label and void it of it’s transformative power. By viewing the images as sacred in this sense, we are taking our ego, or ‘what it means to us’ out of the equation and just regarding the image in an open-handed, curious way. Rather than a black cat pouncing meaning opposition or manipulation, for instance; we ask how does it feel to have a black cat try to pounce on you? And does the dream image like what you are saying about it? He uses the analogy of going to an art gallery. A painting we are looking at does not want to be compared to another artists work, but rather it wants the viewer to see it in it’s own right. Essentially I think Hillman sees the dream as inhabiting the realm of the soul, the inner person or the depths of who a person is. The parts of ourselves that are so much larger than the ‘facts about us’, the soul is the God-breathed connected self in contrast to the ego self which is covered in these labels, and entered on tasks and one dimensional definitions.

I’m working on a project at the moment where I am recording my dreams as much as possible, and then attempting to draw and paint significant images from them. So far this exercise is adding clarity and depth to my experience within the dream and the possible meaning I am bringing into my awareness. Images automatically carry metaphor and also bring multiple interpretations to the table. These have truly been a wellspring for my creativity, giving me a sense of direction and purpose in my art.

Dreams respond to our intention. The more we pay heed to them, the more they seem to enter into our waking world bringing their treasures to us, showing us that there is much much more to life than what we perceive in our everyday lives.

“Don’t ignore your dreams, in them your soul is awake and you are your true self.”
― Bangambiki Habyarimana

Perhaps in dreams we are our true wise and more larger selves, playing in a landscape that pays no heed to the rules and conventions of the world. We take our place as droplets in the oceanic heart of God, and like weavers we patch up our anxieties and angst and hidden fears, allowing God to wipe our brows and prepare us for the next day.

Studio Days

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I have been finding so much joy in creating lately. I have felt a wonderful sense of ‘release’ from worrying about what I create and how it is received by others. This is liberating! I know I still have a long way to go in this regard, but I can see the slight shift, and it feels like putting on comfy clothes after a long day.

Many artists say “I need to loosen up” . There is this dilemma: we have a desire to put our work out into the world, but we also have internalised the idea that we must create to please an imaginary audience. Hence we become tight and controlled. We long to find the space we lived in as very small children when we created out of a carefree curiosity. We search for the magic that we know is inherent in the creative process.

For me, working on disentangling my inner critic is an ongoing journey. Prioritising little ‘warm-up’ activities, and allowing myself to play and experiment with no needed outcomes have become more and more important.

Here is my latest Studio update. A little snippet of what I have been doing in the last few weeks, with my thoughts and various projects. Following the trail of curiosity and letting things unfold.

Safe in the Arms of Jesus

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No words can express the horror of finding out your child was killed in a car wreck.

I know I’m not alone, I know these sudden deaths happen to so many, causing unthinkable grief and heartache. It’s the kind of broken heart that never heals. However, despite witnessing two close friends lose their children suddenly, and way too early, I never, ever thought it would happen to me.

I think about my son everyday. Yet on the anniversary of Jordan’s death, I can’t help but to walk once again through the unthinkable, like a slow motion picture reel. At eight years, I am amazed how I have been able to continue on. So much has changed. Birthdays and Christmases have come and gone. Jordan’s two younger brothers are now young men. Eight years ago, I truly thought that the world would stop. I would stop. Frozen in a moment. And in some ways I am frozen, or more precisely, altered. Forever changed.

This year I wanted to recount my very first feeling about the tragedy of my son’s death.. At the time, the shock of what had happened made the first few weeks and months somewhat of a nightmarish blur. But I do remember having a vivid sense of Jordan being scooped up by God, into the arms of Jesus like a child.

I tried to capture the image of this as a painting. My way of reaching towards Jordan, of communing with him, of loving him. A way of giving a hug I can no longer give. It’s been a strangely beautiful and sad undertaking. What I ‘saw’ was not a vision in the strict sense of the word. It was more like an impression, a perception, an idea. A sacred flicker of awareness. And more and more, as time moves me forward, I want to incline my ears and heart toward the subtle whispers of the Spirit.

My faith unraveled so much in the first years after Jordan died that I did not think this fleeting glimpse was at all significant. It’s a very dark road to walk where you entertain the idea that God may be like an evil demigod, demanding blood and sacrifice and full of vengeance. Thankfully, I am not in the place I was back then. I’m no longer angry at God, and I do not doubt the existence of God any more either. Far from being distant and uncaring, I have come to believe that all of my tears are kept by God, as tender reminders of love. Even more poignant, God would cherish my tears because God was and is weeping with me all the while. And somehow, I am held through it all.

Despite this inner knowing, I always seem to ask the same question around this time of year. “Where is my son, is he safe, is he well…he is not here… where is he?”. I don’t think I will ever stop asking this question. There is a part of me that is still overwhelmed by the thought that I am here, flesh and blood and breath, and my boy is not.

My beautiful mum-in-law rang me one year and said “…You know I always think of Jordan safe in the arms of Jesus”. She sent me a note in the mail, and wrote in her characteristically shaky hand, the lines of an old hymn;

Safe in the arms of Jesus
Safe on his gentle breast.
There by his love overshadowed
Sweetly my soul shall rest.
Free from the blight of sorrow
Free from my doubts and fears.
Only a few more trials
Only a few more tears

Then she wrote: “I trust in God. Jordan! He is safe.

I must hold these two things in tandem. I trust God…Jordan my child, my heart, is safe and happy. He is home. But I will never stop grieving, because he’s gone from the Earth. They say our loved ones are with us, closer than we think. It’s the idea of the ‘cloud of witnesses’ who are ever present, cheering us on. But most often, Jordan seems so so far away. I feel like a blind person groping around for clues.

Perhaps, we are suspended on the edges of the Real World. On the edge, things are out of focus and unclear. And though we are unaware of it, ‘God is not far from any one of us’ (Acts 17:28). And we are all, whether living or departed connected by the same source of all Life.

Another Painting for the Fridge

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I’m not liking any of my art at the moment, and that’s a good thing.

It’s good, because it means I have been making art as a process, rather than a final product. I’ve been experimenting and being sloppy. Just putting anything on paper and watching with detached curiosity how I react to these strange clunky drawings.. That said, sometimes later on I see some value in something I have made and actually end up liking it a lot.

I have so little energy that I tend to create in short bursts, and this stops me from overthinking. My inner critic is upstaged by a migraine or just the feeling of deep exhaustion. Whilst chronic illness is no walk in the park, it does tend to whittle away at the superfluous fluff of life. Yes, Ms Perfect begone, you meant well but I have no bandwidth for you now.

It’s easy to fall into the feeling of being somehow ‘blocked’ as an artist when you are not making art that seems ‘good’ in your own eyes. Positive thoughts or kind and generous words from friends does not always assuage the lonely experience of frustration and discouragement.

My theory with artist block is that our footprints in the world are unavoidably tangled with our unconscious, and often discouragement points to something deeper going on. I believe creativity is so very important. Dostoyevsky says in his book, “The Idiot”, “Beauty will save the world”…what an intense and weighty statement. Art, I believe, is a homage to any and every kind of beauty. In our world of industrialisation, capitalism, patriarchy, greed, chaos and deep suffering, beauty and our response to it in the form of art- provides a healing salve.

So it’s no wonder then, that we put such pressure on ourselves as artists- even the label feels a bit lofty. If I say I am an artist I have just labeled myself as something I really don’t think I can live up to. But what’s the alternative? I need to find a way to sit with both the importance in creating art and the expendable quality of it. Like, it’s just paint on canvas. It’s just words strung together. It’s just something you may have put on your mum’s fridge when you were a child. It’s pretty ordinary. It’s also alchemical magic and wonder. Both. That’s probably where the magic is located- in the collision of something so ordinary with the ineffable. We are drawing pictures of God. We are responding to a mysterious reality- one that we may have caught a mere fleeting glimpse, a reality that we were previously unaware of. We sit still just long enough for it to make us gasp, and to have our imaginations filled with a story so vast that we only hear and see little snippets. And the storyteller is not us. We notice something lovely or fascinating we didn’t see before. So, we respond, and in the process, complete the alchemical reaction by creating something from our unique perspective.

I often think of the creative process as akin to dreaming. Ineffable images and symbols come bubbling to the surface, and our only job is to make a little bit of sense to them. This is why it’s often not until we view something we have made later on that we see some of the meaning, or the themes that our unconscious wants to bring to the surface. And yet to really find the sense of satisfaction in making art, I must also take on the attitude:”This is just another painting for the fridge”. No good can come from being overly self-conscious. We end up editing all the interesting stuff out. Probably one of the most crucial tasks we have artists is to be as authentically ourselves as we can be. Crinkles, quirks and all.

We might indeed be saying something important, in our art. But, the unchecked wisdom that comes from the unassuming childlike parts of us are perhaps most precious.

I love this encouragement:

“Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.”

Dr Seuss

….A good one for your fridge

Painting the Feeling of a Place

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I watched a Youtube video featuring the wonderful, iconic artist Ken Done. One thing he said really struck a chord with me. In reference to one of his famous beach scenes, he mused, “I’m trying to paint the feeling of what it is like to be at the beach” . This idea of painting the ‘feeling’ of something is so captivating to me. It invites me in to a way of painting that is playful, immediate and unassuming. It’s about fully appreciating a moment in time, allowing for emotions and nostalgia to surface. Abstraction vs realism becomes irrelevant, because it’s all just about subjective experience.

It’s freeing and exciting to lean into the endless possibilities of the imagination, and to trust that our own unique perspectives are both valid and steeped in meaning.

This led me to ponder how my artwork has really documented my life thus far. Even when it is unintentional, art holds up a kind of mirror, often revealing things that go beyond the surface level of the everyday. Pictures show a deeper, more mysterious interior world.. It’s like the process of creating in and of itself has it’s own inherent wisdom.

Art exposes our shadows, reveals hopes, fears and often magnifies the things we love. Many times, I have looked back on older artworks and noticed so many archetypal and symbolic elements to them. They give me a very real sense of where I was at during that particular time. For me, pictures are even more revealing than the written form.

Contemplative teacher James Finley talks a lot about the frustration we can feel that we are ‘skating over the surface of our own lives’. We long for depth, meaning and purpose that transcends beyond ourselves. In the act of creating, we make manifest who we are as image-bearers of God. Perhaps this is why allowing ourselves to slow down and paint or create from our feelings is such a beautiful way to honour the mysterious and wonder-filled act we all innately participate in- the act of making things, and delighting in the process of it.