Suicide and Survival Portraits: Writing and Drawing

Over the last year I did a series of about fifty self portraits--usually when I was feeling depressed and suicidal. I call them the "Suicide Portraits".

Last night, around midnight, I did this blue self portrait. I wasn't feeling suicidal just a little lonely--which is normal-- and that is why I call this one a "Survival Portrait". I have survived the desolation and trauma of broken dreams, a broken marriage, and a broken heart.

With all the portraits I added brief writings, describing my thoughts and feelings. I will eventually publish the drawings and writings together.
Here is the writing that went along with this drawing:

"I never seem to draw myself looking very attractive. I only try to draw what I see and not project any sort of mood onto it, yet the drawings always capture what I am feeling at the time.

I can't call this one a suicide portrait because I wasn't feeling suicidal. Perhaps I ought to call it a survival portrait. Thoughts of suicide still come to me, usually as images of myself hanging or of me sticking a gun in my mouth. But the images are dull and faded like old photographs in an album--like whispers rather than the earlier screams.

I have been so busy with schoolwork that I don't have time to sit around and brood. School has put off my anxiety about the future until another day. It's nice to have more immediate goals.

In the end I may be a crazy mumbling artist living in a cardboard box, but at least I will have taken my shot at honoring the muse. I am doing this by working to get degrees in Fine Art and Creative Writing.

Matsuo Basho, a Haiku and Renku Master, was one of the world's greatest poets, yet he lived in his soggy broken "Banana Hut". I wish I had the peace Basho attained--maybe I will someday have it.

Earlier tonight the rich neighbors--the ones that strung up all the white Christmas lights--had a Christmas party. I heard loud voices and barking laughter then a woman shouted, 'I love you.' A minute later there was the slamming of car doors. Now there is only silence and the sound of the rain."

I don't know why, over the last year, I drew all those portraits. I guess I was trying to get outside the suffering a little bit--to get outside my body and focus on the task of drawing. What I do know is that I felt driven to do it and I know that the process helped get me through the dark time.

Also, I don't know why I feel compelled to share what I draw and write.

One hope I have is that I can share my love of writing and drawing and that, like a spark, it will touch off the tinder in someone's heart.
My hope is that I can share what worked--and still works for me--so that some of it may work for someone else.
In that vein I will share a few things:

Two inspiring books on writing--"Writing Down the Bones", and "An Old Friend From Far Away". Both books are by Natalie Goldberg. The later one is about writing memoir and contains many prompts and exercises.

Two inspiring books on drawing--"Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain" by Betty Edwards. (I found that the best part of this book--for me--is the chapter on Blind Contour Drawing. C.f., Elizabeth Layton and her art that was inspired by this chapter.)

And "Keys to Drawing" by Bert Dodson.

I found these books to be very inspiring and helpful, but you don't have to wait to get the books, you can start now.

Try this: set down with a piece of paper and a pen or pencil. Set a timer for ten minutes. Keep your pen or pencil moving until the timer goes off. (If you get stuck keep writing and just write "I feel stuck, I feel stuck" until you feel unstuck.)
Try the prompt, "I remember...." You can use "I remember..." again and again and later go back and cross most of them out once they have served the purpose of triggering your memory.

Try this: set down with a piece of paper and a pen or pencil. Set on object in front of you-- something that means something to you or that is interesting. Set a timer for ten minutes. Keep your pencil moving until the timer goes off. Follow the edges of the object in front of you as if your pencil tip was an ant slowly creeping along, tracing it out. Draw what you see and take the time to really look. Tip: you ought to look more at the object you are drawing than at the paper.

Remember go easy on yourself and don't let your inner critic spoil the fun.


If you find these tips or books useful I would really appreciate hearing about it from you. Good luck!

It seems as though there are two types of images that I create: one type are the surreal images such as the Birth-Giver drawing (above this writing, on the right) and the other is more expressionistic such as
The Scream. (The image above and on the left.)

I created both of these images last week. The Scream at the beginning of the week--immediately after a panic attack at school--and the Birth-Giver, Friday night, during which I felt much more at ease--I was eating a sandwich and drinking a pint of IPA while drawing; there was also a fire blazing in the wood-pellet stove.

During the execution of both images my mind was almost a blank and my hand moved as if it were moving around on a Ouija board; automatically. (I would never play with a real Ouija board--I have heard some hair-raising horror stories about the use of those things.)

I did make minimal, conscious decisions, for instance before drawing The Scream I knew that I wanted to capture how I was feeling. I chose to draw the outline of a face, but then the unconscious impulse took over.

I also felt nudges as I drew, but other than that--and the conscious choosing of a color palate for Birth-Giver-- I stayed pretty much out of the way.

I always get surprised by what comes out. It feels as though I am tapping into a big, underlying current. It is immense, hidden, and pulsing with electricity. It makes me think of the time I put my hand on the concrete surface of a hydroelectric dam and felt the hum of hidden power.

This buried current comes out of me in images and symbols. Faces appear in my art and walls melt away into flesh. Sometimes the faces are stretched into screams. Sometimes they are half-buried and wrapped in roots.

I am also reminded of Carl Jung and his idea of the Collective Unconscious and how the same symbols occur, among various peoples, again and again: on cave walls and engraved in stone or cut into charred sticks, but always the same symbols--mandalas, spirals, labyrinths, stars, and cross shapes.

I don't understand it all and even though I do try, I am glad that I don't have all the answers.

It is these feelings of mystery and tapping into something bigger that myself that I like so much about doing art in the way that I do art.

I have heard of automatic processes before: the Surrealist automatism of the Surrealists such as Andre Breton and Andre Masson--among others--and also in the free-writing styles of people such as Natalie Goldberg who wrote a book that has helped me to write; it is entitled, "Writing Down The Bones."

Do you, dear reader, create in a similar or different way? I welcome your comments and feedback.