Personal Reflection Through Art: Beautiful Imperfections
Words and art by Belle Stockdale
What is the purpose of art? Humans have asked this question for centuries. To me, the most important role art holds is communication. It is a way to convey the unutterable, to share a personal experience with others so they may grasp it, see it, feel it, understand it on a level that conversation cannot impart.
I was in my final year of college when I became sick. After studying acting, and directing for a decade, by my senior year, I was unable to keep up with the many physical demands theatre requires.
When my time stopped being consumed by constant rehearsals on my feet, I turned to art I could create on my ass. It all started with the ugly Ikea table taking up too much space in my tiny apartment. I hated looking at that cluttered, ring-stained surface. It was something so plain and neglected, but I knew it could be transformed into something better. Yet, I was nervous that I would somehow ruin it and be stuck with something I didn’t like. Then I wondered: how could putting love, time, and effort into something make it any worse?
Once I finished the table adorned with cacti and flowers, I felt enormously proud of what I had created, but soon after, felt this strange sense of guilt come over me. I had been taught for so long that “good” art comes from trauma. I was led to believe that the only ways I could contribute to my artwork were through personal pain. I looked at this cheerful, pink image and suddenly felt inauthentic.
I’ve spent so much time creating art out of my trauma and pain. I would force myself to stay in these dark, depressed states in order to create something that mirrored my experiences. And that can be extremely dangerous. It took me so long to understand that my art can be whatever I want it to be.
Ask me a question, and I will answer with complete honesty and transparency. Some of my best and proudest moments as an artist have come from exploring my personal pain and presenting it to others. It can be an extremely effective, proactive, and healthy way to work through trauma and communicate inner workings.
However, my illnesses, my obstacles, my traumas, do not make up the sum of who I am. They are a piece of me; they have contributed to who I am and what I care about, and they are a part of my identity, but they do not define me.
Through creating visual art, I realized something profound: I am allowed to paint what I want life to be as opposed to how I experience it now. I want to surround myself with images of progress, of light and growth, of beautiful imperfections.
I use paint to convey the experiences that words simply cannot express. But, the majority of my artwork is a reflection of where I am going as opposed to where I am now.
I had to give myself permission to do that. When I first started getting really sick, I felt that I should be making images of my pain, yet I found myself constantly creating light images of plants blooming. While before, I had felt the urge to wallow and ruminate, painting broke me out of that box.
I strive to produce art that communicates a piece of my experience. Why can’t that be joy? Why can’t that be fantasy? Communicating your story, your perspective, does not always have to encompass your pain. It took me a long time to allow myself to create art for me and not for other people. It is just as important.
Creating visual art is something I am so lucky to be able to do despite my disabilities, even though most of the time, I feel like sh*t when I sit down to paint. When I feel ugly inside, and riddled with pain, I want to get out of that, not push myself deeper into it. Painting is my escape. It’s how I surround myself with happiness. Don’t get me wrong; I absolutely love paintings that portray true human darkness. For me, though, it is not always something I’m able or want to commit to, and that’s OK, too.
I have learned so much about myself and how to approach life through working with acrylics and canvas. I’ve learned that paint is forgiving. If I mess up, I can paint over it, good as new. The paint forgives my mistakes, and I should, too. I’ve learned that sometimes, you have to walk away from a problem and let it dry before you can fix it. I’ve learned that art can be whatever I want or need it to be.
I have so much pride in my Ikea table now. I keep it clean and tidy and show it off to everyone who comes to visit. I transformed this broken, ugly thing into something that’s one-of-a-kind, redefined, loved by me, loved by all.
I fell in love with painting because I desperately wanted to paint myself. I want to transform this fragmented, damaged, melancholic person I see in the mirror into something beautiful and admirable, into someone I am proud of. I want to love myself the way I love my art.
When I create something beautiful, it helps me see my own value. It helps me see the beauty in myself, the brilliance of my mind, the capabilities my body still has, and I am filled with gratitude and pride. If I am able to transform an inanimate object into a work of art, why can’t I do the same to myself?
