Why Art, or, The Curious Case of a Disabled Artistpreneur
I spent some time over the past months absorbed in creating a business to sell my creations. Setting up shop has been everything the grown-ups say it is, exhilarating, exhausting, maddening, confusing, isolating, rewarding, scary and overwhelming. Any functioning person who does this could be excused for cracking under the strain. Throw chronic illness into the mix and you have the perfect recipe for a spectacular nervous breakdown.
And yet, giving my focus to such a monumental task while trying to keep this carcass going has been a saving grace: absolutely everything I try to do or want to do in life reminds me of my limitations and disabilities, except for art. It's hugely liberating and confidence-building, therefore, to take baby steps towards building something that can support me in doing more of what I love, regardless of the countless challenges and setbacks. It absorbs me in something much wider than the pain, exhaustion, frustration and discomfort of illness. It challenges me in healthy, creative, fulfilling and thriving ways.
Because the reality of chronic illness is this: each day there is some random way in which my body lets me down, usually way beyond my control, and I have to dedicate a lot of time and energy working out how this or that will affect me, how I will recover from it, how much energy I can afford to spend on any activity, planning for the simplest things as if they were strategic battles to defend a precious kingdom.
I have to make a lot of allowances for the times where things just won't work out, where I have to sleep instead, or sit in my chair for hours. The daily management is huge and can be depressing, especially when the illness affects my brain, which it frequently does.
Friends and family are woefully neglected; dust and housework pile up with comical abandon; interactions, no matter how enjoyable, will be draining; an unexpected phone call or visitor can throw the whole day into disarray; going out can be a catastrophe. Washing one's hair is a huge achievement! There are meltdowns; there are infuriating frustrations with self, that one does not present to the public. Yet I feel we need to speak about these episodes more, because we need more understanding and less ignorance in order to better manage this difficult circumstance. Writing this post today is a small contribution towards that.
Art shows me aspects of myself and of life that I am full of reverence for and which hold unending joy and wonder. I am so happy in that world, comforted by the fact that no matter how challenging the day might have been, at least I created something today, something that brings me joy, comfort and spaciousness, and which in turn can inspire others in countless ways.
And when I am not well enough to create with my hands, I can design away quietly in my mind, or at the very least I can admire other people's creations. Bless the Internet. So, is it too dramatic to say that art saved my life? Probably. But it saves the day every day.
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