It’s difficult to articulate the extreme fear (justified and unjustified) I felt during the painfully slow divorce process and subsequent health issues. Even so, there was little evidence of this in my sketchbooks, which continued to be my refuge and safe haven during this ongoing crisis.
Once my ex moved out, I was given one month’s grace from the mortgage repayments looming over me. I had a small but steady income from stock illustrations and erratic freelance work, but I had no idea how long these sources of income would last. I was beset with persistent financial burdens, which triggered a very heightened fight or flight response, eventually taking its toll on my health. Some days I was shaky and tearful; some days it seemed my heart was pounding uncontrollably through excess anxiety. Generally I was exhausted and felt at the mercy of events, barely able to keep my head above water. I was the sole provider of financial security for my children, and I felt overwhelmed by the weight of this responsibility. Day in, day out, I was on ‘high alert’ and feeling, at one end of the scale, anger, and at the other, low self-worth.
Towards the end of 2015, I developed a cough and cold that I was unable to shift, because I never gave myself permission to rest. I was still able to fulfil my requirements for my then-agent, building collections around Christmas themes and pretty florals in order to build my portfolio for the Surtex licensing show in May, 2016. I felt that if I didn’t keep my foot on the pedal, constantly churning out art to attract more clients, my financial situation could be critical. I now see I was trying desperately to control outcomes based on a fear mindset.
Quite soon after the new year of 2016, there was a sharp decline in my health, which I can now see affected the style and the mediums I started using. My Instagram posts of this time only allude to having a ‘stinking cold’. By early January, 2016, I felt so awful I decided to seek the help of my GP, who ordered an immediate x-ray. It confirmed her suspicions: I had pneumonia, with fluid in both my lungs. She recommended immediate and extended bed rest for at least a fortnight if not more. Unfortunately, I ignored her advice because I was utterly fixated on preparing for the Surtex show and the financial rewards I thought it would bring. This just exacerbated my illness and slowed my recovery.
I carried on with my sketchbook practice as a way to escape all the different strands and levels of trauma I was experiencing. I found a way to paint within my limits. Typical sketches from this period were basic watercolours with line work applied afterwards, as most of these examples show. The truth of the matter was that I simply could not stay lucid for long enough to concentrate for more than 10 minutes at a time. I would paint quickly, go and have a rest, and then come back again several hours later with some quick pen work. I was only able to complete a page when I had a few moments of clarity and strength.
My two sketchbooks from that time are a reflection of my decreased energy, even though at the time I saw each page as a respite from my laboured breathing and general unease with the situation I found myself in. The flip side of my illness was that I had to summon my inventiveness and problem solving whilst I recuperated. Within the boundaries of my sketchbook, I could still be a creative version of me despite the medication. It may have been partly because I had committed to my first 365 days of paint, which gave me a huge incentive to carry on. It meant I had to be resourceful, imaginative and ingenious in how I could spend my very limited time.
Although I was very slow to recover from the pneumonia, by mid-March, 2016, I generally felt much better. Looking back, it occurs to me that those little black books had fast become part of my ‘safe room,’ which I protected at all costs. I could control what happened within them more than what was happening elsewhere in my life. They anchored me and stopped me from falling into helplessness. I wasn’t creating from a fear or lack mentality within the black covers of those moleskines. They were undeniably my sanctuary, where I felt almost immune to external forces.