Can art see you through pain?

Can art see you through pain and heartache?

Self-portrait as oddSpacerThis week has been a roller caster of emotions. Fear, sadness, anger, misunderstandings, darkness and numbness. Black clouds descending.
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Somewhere along the way as I struggled to regain control, an angry fly stuck in life's sticky & treacherous web, I came across and bought a copy of Tracey Emin's ''Strangeland'' in a charity shop. I had read already read the book years ago but maybe because I am navigating such trouble waters and stumbling around muddy shores, this time around it felt incredibly comforting and I connected to it much more strongly. A powerful example of how writing and art can keep some of us out of the abyss. A reminder it is OK to cry, be loud, make a fool of yourself and feel like all you can do is curl up in bed and wait for the pain to stop. I also bought in the same shop a copy of ''Fear and loathing in Las Vegas''...bats, more bats.
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My art is probably the only thing keeping me sane right now. The Good Samaritan on the line told me ''right now it must feel like a conspiracy''. By then I was sitting on the carpet, numb and beyond caring about anything. Yes, it did feel like that, a conspiracy to take everything from me.
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But in the end, the easel is still there beckoning, quiet and non-judgemental. The only constant. Solid wood, impervious to the frailty of flesh and blood. Madening in its silence but strangely comforting. The canvas doesn't care, doesn't know. The paint is non-plussed and willing. And so I continue as if nothing had happened for a few blissful moments, lost in the gesture.