There is a bright side

I took a few art classes in high school, and have always loved drawing and painting. Give me a photo and I'll draw it, but don't ask me to come up with any designs from my head. I know I'm not creative and will be the first to admit it.

So lately I've been doing activities that require this creativity that I'm lacking. First, with Laura, I went to Sweet to paint a martini glass. You might've seen the results of that experiment on her blog. Mine's the ugly, uncreative one. I'm embarrassed to even admit it. And no, I don't know what those green seaweed-looking things between the suns are supposed to be.

Then yesterday for our work group's Christmas party, we went to Seize the Clay to paint pottery. Mine's not done yet, but it's completely unimaginative and not a thing of beauty (yet, I hold out hope). I was late enough to Sweet last night that a couple other girlfriends had already painted their glasses, therefore I was not required to publicly display my lack of creativity twice in one day.

Feeling bad about my creativity and artistic skills, I was excited to read in a New York Times article that there is a fine, often blurry line between creativity and mental illness. Specifically, researchers have found many personality traits shared by graduate students in creative disciplines and bipolar patients. It's possible that art is a natural therapy for individuals with mental illness, or mabye a way to express themselves.

Back in my undergraduate years when I studied psychology, I remember the examples of Louis Wain's cats. As his symptoms of schizophrenia worsened, his cats became increasingly abstract. It's pretty fascinating. And beautiful.

I'm no abstract artist for sure. I'm ok with that now.