My friend Kristin just sent me a link to a clip from the The Late Show with Stephen Colbert that aired in November on CBS. Andrew Garfield, the American-British actor, had recently lost his mother and was happy to talk openly about his grief, saying that to him, grief is “unexpressed emotion”. He said he was glad of his grief and that he wanted it to stay with him, because, out of that grief came art.
Grief is an emotion most of us have had to deal with over the last couple of years more than ever before. Grief is something that does not confine itself to the loss of a person, though. Since the start of the pandemic, millions of people have died of the illness causing shock, disbelief and the agony of an unexpected death of a loved one. We experience grief when we lose someone or something. Dictionary.com defines grief as “keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret” and “a cause or occasion of keen distress or sorrow”.
In recent times it is stated that mental health issues have risen considerably. In the UK the Office for National Statistics, stated in May 2021 that family doctors were diagnosing more depression in adults than other conditions. Depression, grief and loss are connected. During the pandemic we have lost more than people. Many have lost jobs, homes, social lives, hobbies, opportunities to interact with others face-to-face. They may have lost their purpose, their drive, their mojo, their ‘normal’. Some, due to being unable to mix outside a small ‘support bubble’ have lost regular contact with people they love. I wager that everyone is suffering from some kind of grief at the moment because have all lost something.
“Art sews up our wounds,” said Garfield. I wrote it down right away. He said it again. I smiled. I may even have punched the air.
Writing about grief is hard, and that’s OK
I’ve been as low as the next person over recent months. It crept up on me as not seeing people became so normal that I almost forgot how to make an appointment with someone precious for a coffee or a walk. I didn’t even see it coming. In fact, like many, I expect, I was seeing people. I was interacting and I honestly thought I was OK. Only that contact was happening over Zoom and those people were not in the room.
I realised a long time ago that I get energy from being face-to-face with humans and that, however, much I might love and appreciate long Facetime calls, nothing can beat real connections in real time.
I don’t believe we have to write about grief, though.
Grief may be unexpressed emotions, as Garfield said, but writing specifically about the things that break our hearts or caused our loss is hard. My father died over three years ago and I still can’t write about him. I don’t believe that it is imperative that we express our negative emotions in our art in order to feel better. For while it can feel productive or positive to make ourselves feel worse and wallow by writing about the sad things, I believe that writing anything, not even connected with our grief is beneficial.
Only, late last year, three people in a row asked me what I was writing.
“Nothing,” I said. I had convinced myself that it didn’t matter. Not really. I mean, I’ve written 32 books and hundreds of articles and thousands of poems. What was there left to prove? Only, I also know, deep in my soul that were I a stick of rock the word ‘writer’ would run through my core. I had started the #100cafechallenge in September but was still only at the ninth café. Had I really only written nine things in 16 weeks? How could I be such a fraud and not be putting pen to paper myself? Those questions began to niggle.
Gratitude journalling is still art
And then I saw that my friend Carolyn Vines of @writing_for_self_reflection was posting a gratitude journaling prompt daily on Instagram for the month of January. I committed to that and, first thing every morning, rather than reaching for my phone and scrolling so hard my thumbs ache, I went straight to Insta for the next prompt and picked up my pen and notebook. Her prompts were unusual and thought-provoking. One day I had to write about the things Covid had given me, another about the things I know I do well. My instinct wanted to be allowed to write about the things that I was fed up about but the prompts simply did not let me. Instead, I had to write about good things – all the time, every damn day! I admit it was a wrench and I had to keep forcing myself to stay on course but deep down I knew it was doing me good.
It may not have been publishable writing but it was art. Not only was it art but every day the act of moving my pen across paper was stitching up my wounds of loss. Not only was this simple ten-minute act mending my mood it also, as if by magic, had me reaching for the phone to message some friends and make some dates to see them.
I don’t even think you have to do the ‘right’ art.
I’m a writer, but sometimes I just don’t fancy it and the muse refuses to descend. I don’t always fancy working either and that usually makes me happy too. Today, Garfield’s words rang in my ears and so I decided that it didn’t much matter what I made as long as I made something. I did fancy cooking (I always fancy eating too so it makes sense!), so that’s what I did instead. So, I made granola and a quinoa salad. I made a blueberry compote and I made some hummus. They didn’t necessarily ‘go’ together but that didn’t matter. I was creating and though maybe not technically art I do think my granola is rather beautiful. Cooking, today, made me feel happy.
Sure, ‘art’ can be an oil painting, a pottery tea set, a full-length novel or a poem, but it can also be ‘doing something’ creative with no purpose other than the doing of it; going through the motions.
My message to you in these troubled times is this: You are an artist – do art, any art. It will start to sew up your wounds and believe me, it IS productive.
