“Art serves as a helper in times of trouble” (Rudolph Arnheim, To the Rescue of Art)
During my childhood, my mother provided warmth, fair and consistent discipline, and a true feeling of secure, inclusive boundaries separating me from the greater society in which we lived. We were a perfectly happy family; however, it did not last long because my family decided to pursue the American dream.
Tragically, my parents’ original set of American dreams was shattered when my mother died of cancer a year and a half ago. I could not get over the thoughts that I was a direct cause for her death because I always had a feeling that I was dissatisfactory to my mom. Whenever I tried to recall her, I ended up with mixed feelings of grief, hatred and a guilty conscience.
It took me a year to realize what I was really remembering about her is not true. I needed redoubled courage to create a visual image of my mother after her death. From looking at the image that I created, after all, I discovered that I was being truly loved by my mom. I realized she seemed to turn into a cold-hearted and ignorant person due to the hardship in her life as an immigrant, and secondly, I was exhausted from the many months of her illness, during which I had wondered daily if she would still be alive when I came home. The wondering took up a large part of my life, and I felt cheated that I had missed so much.
After the family misfortune, I realized that I have been using art just as a defense mechanism to prove myself and earn credibility from my parents. Life can be so shallow and unrewarding if I live each day with no plan for the future and little thought toward helping others. I realized that have the strength and compassion to stand up to the challenge of a lifetime of supporting them as an art therapist.
My mother and her life was my true inspiration, not only to go for my dreams, but to make sure that my dreams and goals will benefit others and not just me.
