Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Art As Therapy Collected Papers 2000 Edith Kramer PDF
Art As Therapy Collected Papers 2000 Edith Kramer PDF
of related interest
Art-Based Research
Shaun McNiff
ISBN 978 1 85302 621 8
www.jkp.com
The right of Edith Kramer to be identified as author of this work has been asserted
by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
I welcome this occasion to thank a great many people for their help and
cooperation in preparing this collection for publication. I thank Gladys Agell,
editor of the American Journal of Art Therapy, for her generous and kind permission
to publish papers that first appeared in her journal. I also give thanks to Claire A.
Levy, who owns the copyright of the articles published in the Bulletin of Art Therapy,
(later the American Journal of Art Therapy) between 1961 and 1983 as well as
copyright of ‘Art Therapy Viewpoints’ (Schocken Books), for her kind and generous
permission to include material from these publications in my Collected Papers.
I owe much gratitude to my colleague Lani Gerity for her competent and
devoted help in selecting and editing these papers. She was also willing and able to
decipher my handwriting and convert it into typescript. Without her, the book
would have never materialized. I thank my colleagues Martha Haeseler, David
Henley, Katherine Williams and Lani Gerity for their collaboration on several
panels presented at the American Art Therapy Association annual conferences. I am
also grateful to Jill Schehr and Kerstin Kupfermann for the collaboration efforts
published here.
I thank my colleague Vera Zilzer who contributed essential ideas to the article
on the ‘third hand.’ Throughout some 20 years of friendship, her critical mind and
eye have greatly enriched my understanding of art therapy and of my own art.
I am grateful to Gabriel Fernandez and to the Reverend Carliss Smith for
permission to include material from their adult artistic productions in this book.
Finally I must thank all the many young people with whom I have worked
throughout the years. They have taught me my profession and given me joy in my
work.
Edith Kramer
May 2000
New York City
Preface
9
10 ART AS THERAPY
understated feelings about the Holocaust and about living through that
period in history. Ending with this chapter gives us, the readers, a sense of
returning to the beginnings of art therapy, to Kramer’s teacher Friedl Dicker
teaching art to children in Terezin, helping them keep hope and dreams
alive, and then not surviving Auschwitz herself. There is something in this
chapter that teaches us about the possibility of finding meaning in sorrow
and suffering, and finally a strong sense of resolution and reconciliation
through the making of art or through helping others to make art.
While reading this book we gather from the content and from the process
as well, from the quality and depth of the writing, that the essentials for
art-making (or for writing a book, or enjoying our lives) are the same
qualities that go into making an art therapist. We need attention, focus, a love
of the language of art and image, and an enjoyment of playing with ideas.
Kramer reminds us that we have in our possession as art therapists a kind of
philosophers’ stone. If we are willing to take the time and effort to work
toward a unity of process and product, we have in the work we do the secret
of attention which transforms base metals into gold. Kramer is fond of
quoting Orwell’s concerns for the fate of language from unthinking accept-
ance of simplifications and degredations. C S Lewis’s story ‘The Shoddy
Lands’ spoke of a similar concern for the fate of our ability to notice and
enjoy the world around us. But here Kramer guides us through a very rich,
thoughtful, and deep landscape.
Some of the work in these pages came from panel discussions which
originated in the sharing of ideas over a pot of tea (two thirds Earl Gray and
one third Lapsang Souchong – Elinor Ulman’s favorite tea). This exchange of
ideas is a wonderful thing to take part in, so I would invite you to make
yourself a pot of ‘Elinor Ulman tea,’ find a comfortable old couch in which to
sit for a time, and begin a dialogue with Edith Kramer on art and art therapy.
Enjoy looking at the multitude of things she enjoys looking at. Take delight
where she takes delight, find outrage, sorrow, and strength where she finds
these things, and feel a broadening of your experiences in the process.
Due to the constraints of publishing, not all of the pictures from the
original sources could be reproduced here, but we have carefully docu-
mented the original sources so that those who wish may find them quite
easily.
Lani Gerity
May 2000
Hamilton, Ontario, Canada
PART 1
Introduction – Personal
History as Artist and Art
Therapist
CHAPTER 1
Credo, as an Artist
and as Art Therapist1
Credo as artist
I see my tasks as an artist of our time to be twofold and interwoven: to
celebrate that which is perishable and endangered, and to nourish and
cultivate the capacity for experiencing. This faculty is imperiled as our
perceptual apparatus, programmed to distill meaning from the complexity of
the natural environment, is bombarded by the cacophony of meaningless
auditory, visual and kinetic noises of the industrial environment. Assaulted
by the screams and whisperings of seductive promises, admonitions and
threats of the advertising industry and of politics. We must learn to disregard
these stimuli.
The urban environment perforce renders us somewhat autistic. We avoid
eye contact in crowds for fear of making contact with a madman or a
criminal. Working in windowless rooms, where temperature, light, and air
are controlled by powers beyond our reach, we become habituated to stoic
resignation. Survival increasingly depends on suppressing stimuli. But being
protected from overstimulation has as its price an ever-increasing incapacity
for emotional response to perception – a kind of living death.
Not submitting to such death entails facing these stimuli and making
sense of them, even though they may be disconcerting or repellent. As
experience is translated in imagery, the monstrous becomes comprehensible.
For example, no plants can grow on soil poisoned by industrial waste, yet the
huge cylindrical bodies of chemical tanks, exposed to wind and weather, take
on formal dignity that can stand up against the beauty of the wilderness they
have invaded.
Urban life is full of contradictions, and our figurative work reflects it.
Turning to as yet undefiled woods and meadows, we celebrate the timeless,
15
16 ART AS THERAPY
but also the fragile and endangered. Our perception of nature is no longer
tranquil. The act of perceiving is a slow process. It cannot be hurried by
employing mechanical devices. The painter must be on the spot. Docu-
menting a split second of existence via the camera cannot replace the inte-
gration of messages that reach us, not through the eye alone, but through the
totality of an active and receptive mind. I never use a camera. I paint on site,
or else I make sketches on site and use them for more complex work in paint,
collage, sculpture and mosaic.
The pedagogic methods of the Bauhaus have been formative in my under-
standing of the visual arts. However, my style has remained consistently rep-
resentational. Personal expression remains subordinate to the task of inter-
preting the subject with respectful comprehension.
Reflections
Artists who matured at the beginning of the twentieth century, before World
War I, were in full possession of the artistic heritage of the Western world. A
Picasso, a Matisse, a Kokoschka, a Paul Klee had internalized Western art
from the Greek, the Etruscan, the Roman art, down to the discoveries of
Impressionism. They could, on this basis, also accommodate Oriental art, as
well as African masks. Their heritage gave them unprecedented sovereignty.
The impetus of their trust enabled younger artists to follow in their footsteps,
pushing the limits of art further into the surreal, the abstract, the raw.
To us, the artists of the end of the twentieth century, the art of the Western
world has become history, in Europe as well as in America. We can admire it
and study it, but we no longer own it. The weight of accumulated wisdom
that empowered the revolution of modern art is no longer with us. Lightweight
novelty frequently replaces discovery. It is interesting that some of the most
powerful art of our time embodies the tragedy of Western culture’s perdition,
as Anselm Kiefer’s forceful and often jarring work attempts to portray the
historical, mythological and literary themes of post-war German culture.
In the face of the gap that separates our present from the culture and art
that came to an end with the termination of World War II, how should we go
on?
Our historical situation is unfavorable. Art has always flourished best
when it served some social function. Being amoral, art may serve religion,
serve to enhance the power and prestige of kingdoms or aristocratic strong-
holds, or celebrate the self-respect of a rising middle class. It can celebrate the
cruelties of Assyrian kingdoms, as well as the sufferings of Christ, or the
CREDO, AS AN ARTIST AND AS ART THERAPIST 17
Madonna’s joyful love of her infant. It cannot serve a lie. A cruel system that
proudly asserts its cruelty can bring forth magnificent art. Systems such as
Stalin’s Russia or Hitler’s Germany, that deny the suffering they cause and
demand of artists to create a false front, inevitably bring forth mediocre,
empty art.
Our Western democracies require different kinds of lies. Imagery must
promote consumption at all cost. There seems to exist no social function that
would require the contribution of art that is not deceitful, yet the hunger for
genuine art persists even in our culture.
In the opening chapter of my (1971) book Art as Therapy with Children, I
presented the idea that the absence of art in everyday life, and the unfulfilled
longing for art experiences, has contributed to the rise of the profession of art
therapy. In addition, art therapy seems to constitute a rare area wherein the art
indeed serves a social function. Inasmuch as art and psychotherapy both
imply a search for inner truth, the endeavor is not inimical to art. Evidently,
we cannot expect that art as therapy will bring forth much great or good art.
It is unlikely, though, to bring forth pretentious or deceitful productions.
To artists in search of some field wherein their skills, imagination and
artistic integrity can be useful, art therapy constitutes an acceptable
profession.
In my own life, I have kept my art and art therapy quite separate. My expe-
riences as a practicing art therapist have reassured me that art is not an
entirely esoteric, narcissistic pursuit: that it can make sense, provided that I
approach my task modestly and respectfully.
2
As art therapist
I perceive myself as a specialist who combines the general qualifications of
being a competent artist with specialized capacities in the field of psycho-
therapy and education.
The theoretical framework of my understanding of child psychology is
based in the main on Freudian psychoanalytic thought. The emphasis,
however, is on the idea of art as therapy rather than on psychotherapy which
uses art as a tool. My therapeutic medium is as old as mankind. Since human
society has existed the arts have helped man to reconcile the eternal conflict
between the individual’s instinctual urges and the demands of society. Thus,
all art is therapeutic in the broadest sense of the word. The artist who applies
modern psychology in the field of art has to adapt his methods to the
medium so that the therapeutic value of art is heightened by the introduction
18 ART AS THERAPY
References
Kramer, E. (1971) Art as Therapy with Children. New York: Schocken Books.
Kramer, E. (1977) Art Therapy in a Children’s Community. New York: Schocken Books.
Langer, S. (1962) Philosophical Sketches. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.
Notes
1 This is an altered and condensed version of an article first published in the American
Journal of Art Therapy 36, May 1998.
2 Part of this text is adapted from Kramer, E. (1977) Art Therapy in a Children’s Community.
New York: Schocken Books.
CHAPTER 2
I am gratified to find that the generosity and openness to the new and uncon-
ventional which I encountered when I first came to this country in 1938 is
still alive in 1996 even within academia.
Although I have participated in training art therapists on a graduate level
since 1959, I am myself devoid of any academic degree. When I initiated my
first art therapy program at Wiltwyck School for Boys in 1950 (see Chapter
9), Margaret Naumburg had already written her first books and introduced
the term ‘art therapy’ – but there existed no academic training program for
art therapy.
I was fortunate to be among the few individuals who carried on the good
work initiated by Naumburg in the United States and Adrian Hill in England.
My friend and comrade in arms, Elinor Ulman, whom Norwich University
has also honored with a doctorate, was also engaged in this pioneering effort.
It is sad to be now the sole survivor of this little group.
That no formal training existed in what was to become my bread-
and-butter profession had many advantages for a person like myself. Being a
committed painter, I would have found it nearly impossible to endure the
frustration of having to devote several years of my life to a study that would
have curtailed the time I could devote to my art.
Also, my studies would have burdened me with debts that would have
made it necessary to work not just to feed myself and pay the rent, but to pay
back my student loans. Young art therapists must now contend with these
matters, and it can be a very painful predicament.
Instead of undergoing formal training, I could build upon ideas and infor-
mation that came to me in the late 1920s and the 1930s in my native Vienna,
20
A HISTORY AND LINEAGE OF ART THERAPY AS PRACTICED BY EDITH KRAMER 21
work with the endangered children of our inner cities, children living in
violence, without hope and direction, destined to perish emotionally and
(often) physically.
Here I must correct a misunderstanding that seems to crop up repeatedly. I
was never in any concentration camp. I escaped all that in 1938. I observed
Dicker’s work in Prague, under much more benign circumstances.
Much of my heritage is in art, art education, and psychoanalytically
informed psychotherapy. Equally important in enabling me to practice art
therapy was my Freudian psychoanalysis with Dr. Annie Reich, a Viennese
who was willing to take on a fellow refugee for a pittance. Psychoanalysis
gave me personal experience of the power of unconscious processes and the
power of transference and countertransference. I attained the self-knowledge
essential for dealing with the pitfalls that arise out of one’s own psychic vul-
nerability. I learned to recognize transference phenomena in the individuals
in my care, so that I would not paint myself into a corner, and that I would not
be tempted to abuse the power transference lends to the therapist.
Even though so much came to me informally from my childhood and
youth in Austria, it could only come to fruition in the US with its openness to
new ideas, with its many universities that were willing to allow a person who
had ideas but lacked degrees to teach students.
I began teaching in 1959 after my first book had been published and have
continued to teach to date. During these 37 years, art therapy has expanded
enormously. Art therapists work in schools, hospitals, and rehabilitation
clinics. They work with elders, with prisoners, with the physically and
mentally handicapped – the field is expanding constantly. Art therapists
write articles and books. Young art therapists know more than we old-timers.
It is on the basis of so much achievement that I venture to voice concern, not
just about the training of art therapists, but about certain trends within the
intellectual life of our time, both in the US and Europe.
In the early days, art therapy enjoyed benign neglect. We sat in on rounds
and conferences and learned from them. Occasionally, we reported on our
work. No one on the staff knew much about art therapy. We could develop in
splendid isolation. Elinor Ulman and I concurred that we kind of enjoyed
that state.
During my seven years at Wiltwyck, the 15 years at Jacobi Hospital’s
Child Psychiatric Ward, and 14 years at the Jewish Guild for the Blind, no
one made any specific demands except that I work well with the children in
my care and maintain good working relationships with the staff. No one
A HISTORY AND LINEAGE OF ART THERAPY AS PRACTICED BY EDITH KRAMER 23
asked for reports. The only advice about keeping records came from my wise
friend and protector, Dr. Viola Bernard, who cautioned: ‘Do write things
down … You may think that you will never forget, but you will!’ And so for
seven years, I wrote a diary every night I worked at Wiltwyck School. Those
illegible scribbles comprehensible only to myself were indeed invaluable for
writing my first book in 1958, Art Therapy in a Children’s Community, later
published by Schocken in 1977.
And so I continued to write diaries. I noted misgivings, victories, failures,
mistakes, and surprises. No one prescribed the form the diary had to take.
It is good that art therapy interns are now asked to write reports – that
they are supervised during their internship by experienced art therapists. But
I am worried about the kind of writing, the strait-jacket forms to be filled out,
lists to be checked. In particular, I have misgivings about requirements to
state treatment goals at the onset of therapy. How can one predict what may
happen or what a patient ought to achieve?
The essence of art and of psychotherapy is flexibility and openness. It also
implies tolerance for periods of disorganization and turmoil as ingrained
habits of defense lose their hold and new organization is only in the making.
Where is the space for listing such subtleties?
Art therapy is one way to discover strengths and/or weaknesses. To use
such findings we must be inventive and open to the unexpected. You might
arrive at a goal you may never have foreseen! And so I ask: What happens to
the inner-directed individual within today’s system?
For example, what about multiple choice exams? Are they destructive to
original thinking? Are inner-directed individuals at a disadvantage in the
system? Or can they flourish outside that system? Art therapists have done
well without multiple choice exams – will we remain capable of differen-
tiated complex thinking if we submit to them?
I am also concerned about the pseudo-scientific language we are induced
to use in professional life. ‘Newspeak’ is all around us! (I advise all young
people who have not read Orwell’s 1984 to read the appendix on Newspeak .
According to Orwell, Newspeak was created with the aim of reducing the
number of available words, eliminating ambiguities, multiple meanings, and
subtle differentiations, so that the tools for independent thinking would be
eliminated.)
Consider how many words have died by the term reinforce! (Friend and
fellow pioneer Elinor Ulman said she only knew of reinforced concrete!)
Confirm, drive home, support, insist, accept, single-out, persuade, instill
24 ART AS THERAPY
References
Gradin, T. (1996) Thinking in Pictures: And Other Reports from My Life with Autism. New
York: Vintage Books
Kramer, E. (1977) Art Therapy in a Children’s Community. New York: Schocken Books
Kris, E. (1952) Psychoanalytic Explorations in Art. New York: International Universities
Press, Inc.
Lowenfeld, V. (1957) Creative and Mental Growth. Third edition. New York: The
Macmillan Company.
Note
1 This commencement address was given in August 1996 to the graduates of the Masters
of Arts in Art Therapy Program, Vermont College of Norwich University, and was sub-
sequently published in the American Journal of Art Therapy 35, November 1996.
CHAPTER 3
Some of you may question why I, with my heavy accent, born and educated
in Austria, should have taken it upon myself to speak about the quality of
language in art therapy; and this, when I am known as one of the most ardent
exponents of the central function of art in art therapy.
But then again, it is not so surprising. I grew up in a tradition of respect for
language, for in the contemporary Vienna of my youth, intellectual life was
dominated by Karl Kraus, an implacable enemy of sloppiness, sentimentality,
mendacity and faulty grammar, wherever these things appeared in print.
Kraus was convinced that language was an infallible indicator of the spiritual
and moral state of society, that the decline of civilization brings about the
degradation of language, while, in turn, deformed and degraded language
compounds the process of social disintegration. He mercilessly persecuted all
abuse of language via his journal Die Fackel (The Torch), a publication he
financed and edited single-handedly from 1899 until the rise of Hitler in
Germany in 1933.
In England, Kraus’ ‘torch’ was carried on by George Orwell, whose
exquisite 1946 essay, ‘Politics and the English language,’ should be required
reading for writers in any field (Orwell and Angus 1970). Orwell’s profound
concern for language culminated in his masterful exposition of ‘The
Principles of Newspeak’ – the appendix, but probably the enduring core of
1984, his greatest work. ‘Newspeak’ is undoubtedly upon us, soon to replace
standard English, reduce vocabulary, narrow and distort meaning, and rob us
of the instrument for thinking new thoughts.
26
ART THERAPY AND LANGUAGE 27
we not also hope to help individuals feel empathy for others, to develop a
capacity for friendship or comradeship, to bolster their ability to
compromise, to be considerate or to defend themselves when attacked? Or
do we think only of acquiring the habit of saying, ‘Thank you,’ and ‘Please,’
‘Excuse me,’ ‘Good morning,’ and ‘Good day,’ as we help people to learn
social skills? I see the wasteland of contemporary education when I read of
social and conceptual skills.
I have been working up to two words entirely born of Newspeak:
‘maladaptive’ and/or ‘adaptive’ behavior patterns – words greatly favored by
educators. In Big Brother’s world, adaptive behavior is unequivocally
desirable; maladaptive patterns are to be extinguished. The question to what
situation or demands the individual has to adapt does not arise. Eichmann’s
behavior was eminently adaptive to Nazi Germany. From Socrates to Moses
to Jesus Christ to Freud or Einstein, the behavior of individuals of moral
fortitude and independent thought was more often than not maladaptive
within their environment. Indeed on more modest terms, the ideas of art
therapy pioneers were eminently maladapted to the establishment in which
they strove to make a place for art therapy. Diplomacy, the ability to
compromise and to adapt to different circumstances was necessary, but a firm
decision to stick to one’s own ideas was essential.
I hope and trust that readers of this book are individuals sufficiently
maladapted to be committed to battle for the human rights of the individuals
in their care, to defend them against a system that would reduce them to
numbers devoid of individuality, that would make them adapt if it kills them.
Inasmuch as we adopt Newspeak words in our thinking and writing we are in
danger of losing the fine distinctions that enable us to think about the people
in our care and about our own actions in a differentiated and precise manner.
Newspeak is all around us and it is difficult to resist.
As art therapists, we are trained to perceive subtle distinctions in artwork,
to observe how each individual uses art materials, to respond to the subtlety
in people’s work and behavior. Being visual people, we have less practice and
often less interest in words. Maybe we are inclined to defer to the verbal
people who dominate our society, to imitate their way of speaking and
writing. Maybe we are inclined to believe that the way these highbrow
people express themselves is better than our unsophisticated language.
The battle between Therapese and English is unending. The exponents of
Newspeak are in power. When I advise my students to write man, woman,
child, they say, ‘But we are required to use male and female when we write
ART THERAPY AND LANGUAGE 29
reports for our internships.’ They tell me terms such as ‘social skills’ are on the
charts that they fill out at work. All I can tell them is to avoid Newspeak when
they think about their work, to ask themselves in what way is this boy who
lacks social skills unable to get along with his peers? Is he too shy to speak up,
or does he interrupt when others talk? Is he involved in fights or is he
terrified of violence? In which way exactly has his or her behavior improved
or deteriorated? Avoid Newspeak when you talk with colleagues and when
you write.
Reading professional literature can be deadly to one’s style as well as to
one’s mind. Indeed, whenever I set out to write, I am careful to read for infor-
mation before I begin. Once I am writing, I deliberately avoid reading any
professional literature other than Sigmund Freud, Anna Freud, Winnicott
and nowadays, Oliver Sachs, so that I will not be infected by Therapese,
Educanto, or Newspeak. Today I should add ‘Technobabble’, a close relative
of Newspeak, to the list of enemies of the English language. I leave it to the
new generation to battle with this emerging evil.
Let’s not resign ourselves to the narrowing of mind and spirit that occurs
when we succumb to the prevailing tendency to replace English with a
lifeless artificial language lacking in the quality we strive to uphold in our
profession.
References
Orwell, S. and Angus, I. (eds) (1970) The Collected Essays, Journalism and Letters of George
Orwell, Vol 4. Harmondsworth: Penguin.
Strunk, W. (1979) The Elements of Style. Third edition. New York: Macmillan.
Ulman, E. (1992) ‘The war between therapese and English.’ American Jounal of Art Therapy
30, 3.
Note
1 From the American Journal of Art Therapy 32, November 1993.
PART 2
Exploration of Definition
Edith Kramer and Elinor Ulman1
33
34 ART AS THERAPY
Note
1 This is a condensed version of an editorial published by The American Journal of Art
Therapy 16, October 1976.
CHAPTER 5
36
THE UNITY OF PROCESS AND PRODUCT 37
This brings us back to the false dichotomy of process and product. When
concentration on process results in systematic neglect of or disrespect for its
natural culmination – the product – the patient is deprived both of his goal
and of the reward for his labors. The processes that are fostered in such
incomplete endeavors must remain primitive and abortive and thus they
cannot serve as models of healthy functioning.
Note
1 This chapter was first published in Ulman, E. and Levy, C. A. (eds) (1980) Art Therapy
Viewpoints. New York: Schocken Books.
CHAPTER 6
39
40 ART AS THERAPY
for communication. Works of art, on the contrary, are formed, and their com-
munication is pleasurable for the artist and the audience.
We find that form and communication belong together. The artist com-
municates with his or her audience in a language of symbols and conventions
that are commonly understood. We can understand style and the changing of
styles as the result of the interaction between the artist and his or her society.
Thus, societies which change slowly, for example, the culture of old Egypt,
produce a static, slow changing style of art, while our Western world, which
for the last 2000 years has been changing and developing with ever-
increasing speed, has seen constant changes and transformations of style.
When social changes take place so rapidly that the development of a style
cannot keep pace with the changing state of society, art is apt to become
formless. Left without a form in which to cast his or her message, the artist
evolves a private language and, with this, art ceases to be communication in
the true sense of the word.
Thus art depends on society and contributes to society. We find that art
adapts itself readily to the services of any field which happens to be an
important factor in the cultural life of a people. According to the changing
historical situation, art contributes to magic, religion, politics, the crafts, and
many other fields. In some instances, such a state of amalgamation is reached
that it becomes nearly impossible to distinguish the several elements. Magic
and art form such a unity in totem poles and masks. Craft and art become one
in medieval tapestry or in Indian pottery. We find that art enhances the effec-
tiveness of any function to which it contributes while, in turn, art flourishes
best as it contributes to other fields. But this holds true only as long as such a
unity remains a productive, well-integrated factor in society. Art is exceed-
ingly sensitive to social chasm, falsehood and hypocrisy. For instance,
religious art degenerates as soon as the religious life of a people declines. The
quality of a craft declines when improved methods of production make a craft
obsolete. Art becomes lifeless and empty when it serves an outdated,
fossilized power system. In such historical situations art becomes isolated
from its official social functions and is reduced to serving the individual. We
can see such developments in the flourishing of Roman portraiture during a
period when the official formal art consisted of lifeless imitations of Greek
sculpture, or towards the end of the nineteenth century when the term ‘l’art
pour l’art’ (‘art for art’s sake’) was coined to express the artist’s isolation from
society.
ART THERAPY AND SUBLIMATION 41
Sublimation in art
Artistic sublimation begins as the artist replaces the impulse to act out his
fantasies with the act of creating equivalents for his fantasies through visual
images. Those creations become true works of art only as the artist succeeds
in making them meaningful to others. The complete act of sublimation, then,
consists in the creation of visual images for the purpose of communicating to
a group very complex material which would not be available for communi-
cation in any other form. Form and content become an inseparable whole.
The need for this kind of communication has many sources. For one, there
is the repressed material itself which pushes to the surface and demands ful-
fillment. Then, there is man’s paramount narcissism which cannot suffer that
any part of his person has to remain hidden and unloved, so that he is moved
to exhibit his hidden self through his creations. In doing this the artist
sacrifices part of his primitive narcissism by transferring his love onto his
creations, which he endows with all the beauty and perfection he is capable
of so that they may be admired and loved as he wishes to be loved himself.
The final reason, which embraces all the other reasons, is man’s great need to
overcome the isolation which is part of human life. Through art man can
partake in the inner world of other men without losing his integrity as an
individual, and find security and pleasure in this communion.
We can see that works of art always remain emotionally charged. Conflict
is formed and contained, but only partly neutralized. Art differs here from
most other forms of sublimation. For instance, when aggressive energy is
sublimated in constructive work like carpentry, the result will not be a
monument to the carpenter’s aggression, but a useful, emotionally neutral
object like a table or a chair. Or, the result of the scientist’s curiosity will not
be an expression of this curiosity, but objective truth. But every work of art
contains a core of conflicting drives which give it life and determine form and
content to a large degree.
ART THERAPY AND SUBLIMATION 45
For example, all great portraits contain the artist’s intuitive knowledge
and understanding of his subject along with an interpretation of the subject’s
position in society, so that the spectator who may never have seen the living
person obtains through the portrait the intuitive knowledge and awareness
of another human being. The portrait, then, is born of the desire to possess
and preserve the essence of a human being. The instinctual root of this desire
is the small child’s wish to incorporate and devour the beloved object. It finds
its earliest cultural expression in cannibalism, head hunting, the smoking of
heads, embalming practices and so forth. In those primitive forms love and
care are exercised in the preservation and the adornment of the trophy, but
the initial possession is possible only through an act of destruction. In
portrait painting intuitive understanding, observation and technical skill
replace those primitive methods. So that, in the ideal case, far from feeling
threatened and robbed by the artist, the person whose portrait is being
painted becomes more aware of himself and feels more fully alive as some of
his essential being is eternalized in the picture.
The energies of primitive libidinal and aggressive impulses are used in the
developing of technical skill, power of observation and depth of under-
standing. But the basic need for possession and incorporation remains active
and is fulfilled, although in a transformed manner. Indeed the depth of
intuitive knowledge which is the essence of great portraiture could not be
obtained without the help of those unconscious wishes. In the artist’s com-
passionate or merciless or dispassionately objective interpretation of the
individual we can feel an echo of the mixture of love and aggression which is
at the root of it all. And we can observe an unconscious awareness of those
processes in the reaction of the public towards portraits, which often is a
mixture of awe and revulsion, admiration and distrust towards artist and
portrait.
This digression into the psychology of portrait painting illustrates the
artist’s precarious position. While his craft demands a strong ego capable of
great perseverance, concentration and precision, his raw materials are
untamed instinctual drives, so that in order to remain creative the artist has to
remain sensitive to the unconscious forces within himself and in others, and
has to permit his impulses to come close to the surface. This explains why we
often find in artists the highest level of sublimation coexisting with
instinctual and impulsive behavior. The balance between sublimation,
repression and instinctual gratification varies with individual artists. The
artist may be impulse-ridden or ascetic; he may be a slow, steady worker or
46 ART AS THERAPY
Note
1 This is a condensed version of the chapter ‘Art and society’ from Kramer, E. (1977) Art
Therapy in a Children’s Community. New York: Schocken Books.
CHAPTER 7
In this chapter I will pursue ideas that have been my concern throughout a
long career in art and art therapy: the relationship between art, art therapy
and society at large. This chapter falls into three main parts. Part one is
devoted to the realm of the ‘Third Hand,’ a metaphor I have coined to
describe an area of the art therapist’s functioning wherein artistic
competence and imagination are employed in the empathic service of others.
Clinical examples of both success and failure in the use of the Third Hand are
given.
The contemplation of obstacles encountered in the attempt to serve
others with empathy and skill leads to a group of themes discussed in the
second part, titled ‘Alienation and art therapy.’ My investigation focuses on
conditions inherent in our highly industrialized society that affect artists,
therapists and patients alike – conditions that increasingly deprive people of
opportunities for vigorous, constructive action that confirms their sense of
autonomy and selfhood. These conditions engender a pervasive sense of
depersonalization and alienation that affects all of us to some extent. Besides
coloring the quality of the psychic distress that prevails in Western industrial
society, alienation also influences the character of contemporary art. I will
discuss how the alienating effects of the modern world interfere with art
therapists’ capacity for empathic pictorial communication.
The inquiry into the influences of social conditions on the professional
conduct of art therapists leads to the third part, ‘Pictorial communications
and self-betrayal.’ In this section I view critically some images meant to
embellish the art therapy profession’s communications to the public at large.
Samples are offered from an extensive collection of pictorial self-betrayals,
47
48 ART AS THERAPY
Jacky
Nine-year-old Jacky had received little care or training of any kind. When art
materials were offered, he was at a total loss. His few independent attempts to
50 ART AS THERAPY
draw produced the kind of oval and circular shapes characteristic of a child’s
earliest scribblings. In his helplessness Jacky expected the teacher to draw
and paint for him. His behavior was alternately demanding and defiant and
frustrations enraged him and he would verbally abuse me.
A change occurred before Thanksgiving: Jacky came to the art session
wanting to paint a big turkey on a platter, to be hung up in his group’s living
room. Jacky could be persuaded to draw the platter. Here he could use the
oval shapes which came easily to him. I had to draw the turkey, but Jacky was
ready to draw potatoes and radishes, and here again he could use his round
shapes. Fired by success and the thought of good food, he also added carrots
and celery, a glass of milk and rolls. He colored the picture with great
enthusiasm and without smearing and developed more skill than he had
seemed capable of previously. Jacky painted several replicas of the turkey.
Each time I had to help with the bird, but Jacky did the rest.
For once I had not worked instead of Jacky. Rather he and I had
cooperated on a common task. Soon Jacky ventured beyond turkeys and
foods, and painted castles, boats, stars and other things. He acquired the form
perception and muscular control necessary for his new subjects. With success
Jacky’s behavior changed. He was less demanding, became cooperative and
his rages and verbal abuses diminished. It is interesting that Jacky was just as
much enraged by the wrong kind of help as by no help at all. On several
occasions a young student tried to help Jacky with his pictures. The young
woman had not yet acquired a reliable Third Hand. Her drawing was too
small and complex for Jacky’s understanding. He was bewildered and
needed her constant help. This enraged him to a point where he abused and
tortured the student throughout the art session.
Art therapy sessions are held daily in a spacious studio where a sizable
number of patients, sometimes as many as 12, can work side by side – not as a
group, but as individuals with a common interest in art. Each person is free to
choose subject matter and art material, and Zilzer addresses herself to each
patient individually. A variety of art materials is available. However, Zilzer
has found colored pencils offered in abundant variety to be particularly
congenial to the majority of her patients. The medium requires patient appli-
cation, but it rewards even the unskilled with highly differentiated color
effects when several colors are superimposed – effects that could not be
attained by using crayons or pastels. At the same time the struggle for control
entailed in working with wet tempera is avoided.
Phoenix in flight
Adam, a chronic schizophrenic in his twenties, was able, with the support of
the day hospital’s program, to live at home. He had been working diligently
on a colored-pencil drawing of a large golden-brown bird with black wings,
flying high against a sky-blue background: a phoenix. But since the bird’s
wings nearly touched the paper’s edges, any movement of them would be
constrained, and thus the sense of flight was lacking. Moreover, the bird’s tail
was cut off altogether.
Zilzer looked at the completed drawing. ‘Let’s give it a frame,’ she
suggested. Turning away from Adam, she quickly stapled the picture onto a
larger sheet of white cardboard. Then, using a soft lead pencil, she faintly
drew on the framing white paper the outline of a tail that harmonized with
the curved forms of the bird’s body and wings. Then she handed Adam’s
picture back to him. Zilzer’s drawing was so faint that Adam could easily
have disregarded the lines or erased them had the suggestion implied in
Zilzer’s drawing been uncongenial. Adam, however, chose to integrate the
addition. He energetically colored the tail in the same brown that he had
used for the bird’s body, and he colored the rest of the white paper in the
same blue he had used for his sky. Thus the frame, in effect, disappeared, and
the extended sky gave breathing space to the phoenix, now whole and truly
in flight. No words were exchanged, yet a message was conveyed and
integrated (see Figure 7.1).
Adam had created an image of rebirth and liberation. It would remain a
symbol not to be fulfilled in real life. We note that the bird has no feet that
would enable him to come to rest, though two tiny protuberances below the
belly could be interpreted as representing claws. Zilzer wisely refrained from
any pictorial or verbal suggestions concerning the bird’s coming to earth. But
even the symbol of flight had been out of reach. To have mentioned the
absence of a tail and sufficient space for flight, even while offering assistance,
would have been to confront Adam with how mutilated and confined he felt.
Such a confrontation would have been beyond his endurance. Simple
acceptance and praise of his original drawing would have confirmed that
everyone, even Zilzer, had given up hope for any change. The art therapist
had to find a way of giving support that could be integrated without
dialogue – a way of giving support on a preverbal, essentially symbiotic level
without, however, establishing a symbiotic dependency. In this Zilzer
succeeded.
Experiences such as Adam’s cannot bring about any fundamental changes
in a chronic patient. However, inasmuch as schizophrenics habitually live in a
world of symbols and fantasies rather than in the world of reality, the
symbolic experience of rebirth could help sustain Adam’s remission and give
more substance to his limited existence.
55 ART AS THERAPY
A place to rest
Mrs. Smith was a severely depressed, middle-aged black woman. Her three
grown children no longer shared her home. This left her extremely isolated
and despondent. She had a great need for personal dignity and kept herself
well-groomed and well-dressed in spite of her depression. But she found it
difficult to accept her black skin and was given to drawing pretty white ladies
with blond hair and blue eyes – defensive, unattainable ego ideals that could
bring no comfort (and which probably even helped maintain the depression).
Her decision to make a picture of herself and her children at the beach was in
itself a victory. She wished to represent herself at ease in the grass. However,
she could not manage to make her body touch the ground. It remained
floating. Unlike Adam, she was able to ask for help. Zilzer obliged by adding
the outlines of a little bench to support the floating figure. So encouraged,
Mrs. Smith was able to complete her picture (Figure 7.2). She even ventured
to give herself and her children their own dark skin color. At this juncture,
Zilzer intervened once more, offering an orange pencil to use along with the
dark brown Mrs. Smith had chosen. The mixture would do justice to the
golden glow of Mrs. Smith’s skin. Again the intervention was made in the
patient’s ‘handwriting’ and in keeping with her developmental level. To raise
the groundline and so place the body directly in the grass, for instance,
would have been a maneuver beyond the patient’s pictorial understanding.
The addition of a piece of furniture could be integrated. The completed
picture still speaks of the isolation and depression. The three children remain
floating, and Zilzer wisely made no move to ground them. The three flowers
at the left (symbolic images of the children) are grounded, but much distance
separates them from the tree. It appears as isolated as the mother. Close to
mother and well-grounded sits a black cat, and above the mother hovers a
huge dark bird. Powers of darkness still seem very close. Everyone is very
still: there is as yet no interaction. But there is for Mrs. Smith a place to rest
and give form to her longings and aspirations.
Failures in intervention
The preceding examples tell of success. But we must also consider failure or
flawed empathy.
that expressed much deeper cruelties and more murderous fantasies than
their big fist pictures. The paintings were artistically worthless because they
were shallow and formless. The boys had shared in an entirely conscious
sadistic fantasy. In expressing their ideas, they had lowered their standards of
achievement. Instead of sublimation there had been regression.
My invitation to show the big fist had only emphasized Raymond’s help-
lessness and his orgy of sadistic fantasies could only lead to new masochistic
acts. The group’s commiseration with Raymond’s plight had satisfied his
need for acceptance and compassion, but at the price of a collective
regression to Raymond’s emotional level, which made the experience thera-
peutically futile or harmful.
I had been seduced. In order to console the child I had catered to his
sado-masochistic symptoms. I ought to have calmed the child and then
suggested to him that he paint a picture, not as revenge, but because he
enjoyed painting. If Raymond had painted a picture after calming down, it is
unlikely that it would have had direct bearing on the incident. If, however,
Raymond had painted a sadistic picture in response to the incident, this
would have had different emotional meaning. Raymond’s painting would
have expressed his own strength and comeback, not illusory strength
borrowed from the therapist, and might have been more valuable for
Raymond.
Raymond’s story illustrates the futility of an attempt to channel
aggression by consciously diverting it into symbolic action. Such an escape
will lead to regression and remains therapeutically valueless or harmful.
It is noteworthy that the art therapy program was at the time sufficiently
well established, so that the group felt that the session had deteriorated and
all the bloody eyes were duly relegated to the garbage pail.
Alienation
More perceptive than others and traditionally functioning as a mirror of
society, artists began responding to alienation before it became a widely
recognized phenomenon, and they continue to do so. Those who have
responded by attempting to master alienation and to present man’s individu-
ality as it persists within or in spite of the modern environment are in the
minority.
Some artists – for example, Alberto Giacometti – mirror our world’s
isolation and despair. Others depict its brutality, painting in ‘exhilarated
horror’, as Francis Bacon put it. Artists like Andy Warhol seem to have
acquiesced in the boredom and repetition of the commercial world;
60 ART AS THERAPY
left to distinguish one person from another. But perhaps the almost exclusive
use of letters has other causes as well.
Graffiti originated among the semi-literate and the illiterate. (The fashion
has also been taken up by more educated and privileged young people in
search of adventure, but I will not discuss their contribution in this context.)
On the whole, the pattern was set and is being perpetuated by those who
have failed to attain the literacy that would enable them to rise in the world.
Perhaps as young people graffiti-makers found themselves coerced into
attending school, where they were unceasingly offered reading material they
could not or would not take in, as would be the case if the reading material
was of or from a different culture. (This practice is like that of an earlier time
whereby children who had not eaten their supper were served the same food
for breakfast and lunch the next day – the food becoming more unpalatable
with each serving.) No wonder then that the letters take on a bloated,
menacing, and destructive countenance as the illiterate make them their own,
identifying with the powers that hound and destroy them.
Inasmuch as they epitomize the ills of our time – depersonalization,
repetition, violence, and the hypertrophic proliferation of letters to the
detriment of pictorial images – graffiti frighten us and make us angry.
However, many graffiti exhibit vitality, rhythm and a sense of composition.
These qualities attest that graffiti are also rooted in the persistent need to
create form, even while the inclination to decorate is perverted into the
impulse to deface. Graffiti-making attracts the artistically endowed among a
population that lacks opportunity to cultivate such gifts in other ways. Partic-
ularly on the outside of subway cars and on walls surrounding empty lots we
see the beginning of a new folk art in the raw.
Comment
Can art therapists help young graffiti-makers to rise above mere identifi-
cation with the aggressor, help them to find forms that could define a more
differentiated sense of self ? The question leads to the broader issue of art
therapists’ training. How does the art of our time and the training prepare
artists who would be therapists for their calling? We find that it prepares
them admirably for dealing with manifestations of depersonalization,
depression, fragmentation and images of total annihilation. This is essential,
for art therapists must be ready to accept and validate their patients’ or
clients’ states of mind as manifested in their art. Often the art therapist’s
function is mainly to help give form to fantasies, dreams, hallucinations – to a
62 ART AS THERAPY
gamut of pathological imagery. For some clients the benefit of art therapy
remains confined to providing opportunities to give form to such content.
Yet as art therapists we can never abandon all hope for change. And our
work confirms that changes can occur. As we float with the schizophrenic we
hope that some day the tip of a toe may touch the ground. We hope that
where there was only a stump or a claw, a hand may grow – conceivably a
hand capable of holding something or somebody. We hope that the empty
gaze or a piercing defensive stare may change to eyes that can see. We hope
that aggressively bloated initials may give way to forms that truly tell of their
maker.
But what about the art therapist whose own figures are incompletely
grounded, who cannot draw a hand that holds, who cannot convincingly
represent actions and feelings? Could such an art therapist know even what
exactly to hope for in a patient’s drawing, being unable herself to imagine
where or how a foot could touch ground or what a hand would look like
when it works or when it clasps another hand?
Among the drawings that applicants for art therapy training are required
to produce in the admissions workshop of the university where I have taught
for years we seldom find fragmentation or gross distortions of body image,
but again and again we find figures insufficiently grounded. We find that the
majority of applicants cannot draw hands and feet in action; that the
applicants have great difficulties in making their figures look at something or
somebody. Insufficient training alone cannot account for these inabilities.
Rather I see in them a symptom of the mild autism I described earlier. The
mental health professions could not survive if they had to be staffed by
people totally free of the pathology of their time.
To illustrate my point I will described drawings by two applicants for art
therapy training. Two were drawn by applicant A, a nurse who was seeking
additional training in art therapy. She was admitted with the understanding
that she would take art courses to make up for her lack of artistic skills. In one
drawing she depicts two children in her care, sitting with their Christmas tree
and toys on the children’s ward. In the second we see ‘A’ herself, terrified
because a toy has exploded. The children sit rigidly; the artist cannot make
them appear to play or even look at their toys. Nor is she able to turn her own
head and eyes towards the explosion. Only a frontal stare is available to her,
and yet she is able to draw well-proportioned figures of children and herself
and to suggest her nurse’s uniform convincingly.
THE ART THERAPIST’S THIRD HAND 63
Another example of this lack of awareness was a sign in which art therapy
patients were depicted as sad, overly simple, featureless creatures bearing
little relation to actual humans. This sign was directed to prospective students
and mercifully probably never reached any future patient. For the message is
clear: patients are faceless ciphers – handless, helpless, misbegotten. Again it
is conceivable that some commercial artist was entrusted with publicity, that
the sin is one of omission, of inattention to pictorial messages. But what does
this say about art therapists’ awareness of pictorial messages – surely a crucial
skill in the profession?
Figure 7.4: Drawing after the bulletin for an AATA conference held in New York
THE ART THERAPIST’S THIRD HAND 65
The cultural, racial, and social differences of greater New York can be
bridged. The logo designed to celebrate an art therapy conference in New
York wants to convey this hopeful message. Yet the bridge, beginning and
ending in limbo, suggests not an arched structure elegantly traversing space;
rather it suggests a clothesline on which the black contours of an endless city
are precariously perched, or maybe an awning that hides the lower portion of
the buildings that make up the city. In the center, the Empire State Building
(still New York City’s penis symbol in spite of the higher Twin Towers) seems
about to pierce the highest one of the range of mountain-breasts that hovers
over the city. A grandiose rising sun (or is it setting?) dominates everything.
Did the message miscarry because the artist knew the desperation of this
great city, knew of the near impossibility of bridging our deeply divided
world? Did such knowledge of the tragedy of our time cause the artist to
belie the logo’s professed optimism? Instead of suggesting the unifying
power of great architectural structure, the logo portrays incongruity, precari-
ousness, and grandiosity.
Figure 7.5: Drawing after a tree used for the 1982 AATA Conference
66 ART AS THERAPY
Even more disturbing incongruities characterize the logo devised for another
conference held by AATA in 1982 – a tree. The professed message was clear;
‘Standing like a tree, art therapy is verdant.’ But this tree anxiously clutching
the ground cannot grow, for a rigid, triangular configuration entirely unlike
the organic roots and trunk interferes; it severs base from crown. No wonder
that the leaves – drawn in yet another style, reminiscent of art nouveau – seem
to shrivel inwards. The tree’s crown appears to have been clipped by a giant
pair of scissors into a circular shape. The arc of mutilated stems and leaves
produced thereby is antithetical to the majestic effect of a tree’s crown.
What caused these incongruities? What made artists forget what they
have learned from the writings of Emanuel Hammer (1968), Buck (1981)
and Bolander (1977) about the psychological significance of the various
parts of a tree and their interrelationship?
The most impressive elements of the symbol are the tree’s roots and trunk.
They seem darkly alive with anxiety, and anxiety that is well-founded. For all
of us must anxiously wonder whether art therapy or any of the helping pro-
fessions will survive in a political climate devoted to profit and military
power and hostile to the poor and sick. But it is hard to admit to anxiety. The
trunk’s anxious gesture is not allowed to unfold. The logo forbids it graphi-
cally by capping the unruly trunk. Then an artificial crown is substituted
above in place of full, natural expression.
I suggest that massive denial of anxiety shaped this logo; that the
repressed returned to distort and contradict the optimistic message; that the
same denial that formed the tree also blinded both the artist and those who
approved of the design to its pictorial meaning.
Happy holidays?
What happened next to the tree was even sadder. It was uprooted and stuck in
a pot – thus its troubling roots in anxiety denied entirely. Then the leaves of
the crown were further clipped to resemble the triangle of a spruce tree. The
addition of a stereotypic wreath further commercialized the image, and in
this guise the tree was sent out as a holiday greeting card. Perhaps this image
has another message. Christmas is a good time for happy people whose
wishes are being fulfilled; whose families are united, loving, and prosperous.
It is a time of desperation for the isolated, poor, bereaved and institution-
alized. Pressured to help manufacture symbols of Christmas cheer, art
therapists are depressed by the desolation underlying such attempts. Was the
THE ART THERAPIST’S THIRD HAND 67
Comment
The images discussed in this section (selected from a large and growing
collection) appear to exemplify three major problems of our culture. First, the
conference program demonstrates the inclination to indulge in aggressive
gestures and to ascribe a healing effect to doing so. This practice confounds
simple discharge of affect with self-expression. Second, the image of the
patients tells of the depersonalization and alienation pervading our social
services. Third, the bridge, the tree and the greeting card show the malign
effect of unwarranted optimism and denial of unwelcome truth.
It is not easy to withstand these tendencies, for great social forces uphold
them. But art therapists can and ought to pay closer attention to the pictorial
language of their own communications to the public. To do so will save us
from betraying ourselves and the values we stand for.
I found it impossible to soften the polemical tone of my discussion of
these interpretive lapses on the part of art therapists. Certainly art therapists
cannot be expected to be immune to the ills of their society, but this particular
kind of blindness cannot safely be glossed over; its implications for art
therapy education are too important.
References
Agell, G., and others (1981) ‘Transference and countertransference in art therapy.’
American Journal of Art Therapy 21, 1, 3–24.
Bolander, K. (1977) Assessing Personality Through Tree Drawings. New York: Basic Books.
Buck, J. N. (1981) The House-Tree-Person Technique. Los Angeles, CA: Western Psycholog-
ical Services. (Originally published in 1948.)
Hammer, E. (1968) Use of Interpretation in Treatment: Technique and Art. New York: Grune
and Stratton.
Kaplan, F. F. (1983) ‘Drawing together: Therapeutic use of the wish to merge.’ American
Journal of Art Therapy 22, 3, 79–85.
Kern-Pilch, K. (1980) ‘An illustrative case of art therapy with a terminally ill patient.’
American Journal of Art Therapy 20, 1, 3–11.
Kramer, E. (1962) ‘Art therapy and the severely disturbed child.’ Bulletin of Art Therapy 5,
1, 3–20.
Kramer, E. (1993) Art as Therapy with Children. Chicago, IL: Magnolia Street Publishers.
Kramer, E. (1998) Childhood and Art Therapy. Chicago, IL: Magnolia Street Publishers.
70 ART AS THERAPY
Notes
1 A version of this chapter was originally published in the American Journal of Art Therapy
24, February 1986.
2 The material in this section is presented in cooperation with Vera Zilzer, ATR, and is
published with her permission.
PART 3
Clinical Work
CHAPTER 8
In the practice of art therapy, diagnostic evaluation and therapeutic effort can
never be separated. In the turmoil of art therapy sessions the messages
conveyed by work in progress call forth an intuitive response that is informed
by the immediate situation as well as by past experience and academic study.
Ultimately, however, we must contemplate productions at leisure, analyze
them from many viewpoints, and plan ahead. In work with children, we have
found that the art therapist’s multiple tasks are facilitated if a specially
designed art therapy session precedes the child’s admission to the art therapy
program.
Such a procedure was initiated in 1974 by Edith Kramer with the
assistance of Jane Fields, ATR, under the auspices of the Department of Child
Psychiatry of the Albert Einstein Medical College, Bronx, New York.
Kramer’s use of this procedure was documented in a film produced by the
American Art Therapy Association (1976.)
The evaluation session is conducted in the same spirit in which we
ordinarily work with children. But working conditions are organized more
systematically, the aim being to gain as much information as possible within
the single session.
The reader should understand from the outset that the procedure
described below is not intended to be comparable to the clinical psycholo-
gist’s battery of tests. It is designed for use by art therapists experienced in
working with children. We have found that in such hands it can be highly
informative, complementing the multidisciplinary team’s clinical findings.
The present paper is intended to encourage other art therapists to work in a
73
74 ART AS THERAPY
Jaime
Jaime, an eight and a half-year-old boy of Puerto Rican descent, oldest child
of an intact marriage, was referred for intake at the outpatient clinic.
Complaints included academic failure, facial tics, difficulty remembering
words, stuttering, constant fights at school and at home, enuresis and diffuse
anxiety.
Presented with paper and pencil, Jaime drew a tiny man at the very
bottom of the paper (Figure 8.1, at bottom left) but abandoned the drawing
when he realized that he had placed the head so low that there would be no
space for his man’s legs and feet. He tried once more at the bottom right and
succeeded in drawing a whole man with a tiny head. But again he was dissat-
isfied. He turned the page over and attempted a skyscraper, but it remained
suspended in midair.
AN ART THERAPY EVALUATION SESSION FOR CHILDREN 79
Jaime’s face lit up when he was offered tempera paint. Placing the gray paper
in the vertical position, he drew a tall oblong in firm red brushstrokes. Then
he divided the area inside the oblong into four pairs of oblong shapes, using
black vertical and white horizontal lines. The whole was designated an
apartment building and the pairs of rectangles windows, one pair on each
floor. Each pair of windows was painted in a single, solid color: unmixed
blue, yellow and purple, and a brown created by mixing (with a little
prompting) purple and orange. He then declared that he knew how to make
pink and did so, taking great pleasure in mixing a strong shade. However, he
seemed reluctant to claim the color as his own. He went so far as to suggest
that if a stranger came into the room and admired the pink, Jaime would say
that the art therapist had mixed it. He was relieved when this hypothetical
sacrifice was firmly refused by the art therapist’s assuring him that she would
most certainly tell anyone who asked that Jaime had made the pink himself.
(It is conceivable that Jaime’s offer to concede ownership of the pink to the
woman art therapist may have been, in part, motivated by a reluctance to be
associated with a color that has a feminine connotation.)
Jaime was at a loss about where to use the pink. All the windows had
already been covered in. For the sky he could conceive only of the conven-
tional white clouds and a yellow sun. To imagine an entirely new addition to
80 ART AS THERAPY
the picture seemed beyond him. He finally used the pink to write his name
vertically alongside the building, and so confirmed his ownership of the
color. We might question whether the pink color and placement of the name
parallel to the building’s walls might also imply an element of passive
surrender. In effect, the name clings to the symbol for father instead of being
planted on its own firm ground.
While Jaime was painting he chattered about his father’s job as superin-
tendent of an apartment building. He told a story about replacing his sick
father on the job, but admitted that this was a tall tale. Admiration for father
and identification with him, as well as fantasies of superseding him, were
thus clearly expressed. In the light of this talk, we can see the four pairs of
windows, each pair identically colored, as expressing a kind of twinship –
that is, identification that comes close to a primitive merging with the
admired person.
Jaime used the clay playfully at first, making and remaking several rudi-
mentary, mask-like faces. Later he constructed a cylindrical container,
complete with two handles, and a lid with a handle. He worked quickly and
skillfully. He explained that this was a garbage can, and squashed it gleefully.
He could not be induced to make a lasting object out of clay. He concluded
the session in high spirits, asking when he could come back for more art.
In reviewing the evaluation session we found that its most interesting
aspect was Jaime’s responses to the three art materials. Pencil and paper
brought forth feelings of insignificance and defeat. Both of the people he
drew are tiny and misshapen. The first one sinks below the page into the
void. The second one achieves only a precarious foothold at the paper’s edge.
Even when Jaime retreated to a simpler theme of a skyscraper, he could not
make it stand on the ground.
Though Jaime cannot rise to the demands made by line, he does respond
readily to the pleasure offered by color. Once he has been given the oppor-
tunity to use a whole tray of it, his performance improves dramatically.
Jaime’s colorful apartment house is well constructed and rests firmly on the
ground, albeit attached to the paper’s bottom edge. Mixing color does not
lead to regression; indeed, color is used in service of taming affect – red is
toned down to a vivid pink.
However, even the pleasure of color cannot help Jaime progress beyond a
certain point; his range of ideas and shapes remains restricted. The rich color
and the solidity of the apartment house make it easy to overlook the lack of a
door and the absence of any structure on the roof (no chimney, TV antenna or
AN ART THERAPY EVALUATION SESSION FOR CHILDREN 81
other protrusion). Both painting and drawing show evidence of a rather low
level of intellectual functioning. But the painting tells us of a vitality and
inner strength of which the drawing gave us no inkling.
Clay brings about a resurgence of self-denigration on Jaime’s part, as
evidenced by his choosing to make a garbage can. However, he has attained
some mastery as he successfully constructs and then gleefully smashes the
receptacle. We recall that the janitor-father must deal daily with cans like this
one. By destroying an object that is closely associated with his father, Jaime
loses the power to act constructively. He is reduced to an endless doing and
undoing with clay.
Throughout the session Jaime’s attitude toward his work oscillates
between self-denigration and pride. He uses the art therapist in the main as an
impersonal source of supplies, but her presence is real enough for him to
engage in cautious testing and he feels relief when he finds that he need not
bribe or appease her.
Jaime did not learn anything new during the session – he already knew
how to mix pink. He was oblivious to spoken suggestions and would not
venture beyond the familiar. However, he seemed cautiously hopeful most of
the time. He could be expected to become less constricted and more able to
take in new ideas in future art therapy sessions.
In sum, we see a needy child functioning mainly on a phallic level, one
still struggling with Oedipal conflicts. The relationship to father seems to
entail both identification and an inclination to passive surrender. Jaime
responds very well to symbolic giving, provided that it consists of proffered
material that affords an opportunity for emotional experience. (He
responded immediately to the expansiveness and the appeal of color.) He can
use such gifts to muster his own inner resources, to help himself by means of
symbolic action. However, he cannot at this point make use of incentives that
are offered more indirectly though potentially helpful verbal suggestions or
encouragement.
Jaime was seen for eight months in art therapy sessions with a small group.
Plans for other therapeutic intervention failed to materialize. In art he used
paint and clay almost exclusively. Inner division was often expressed through
the juxtaposition of pink and black. Even though many of Jaime’s problems
remained unsolved, his academic performance improved and behavior
disorders abated during this period.
82 ART AS THERAPY
Kenny
Kenny, an eight-year-old boy, was first hospitalized on the pediatric unit of a
large city hospital with second degree burns covering 25 per cent of his body.
The burns were sustained during a fire in his home. The fire’s cause was unde-
termined; Kenny was home alone with his younger brothers and sisters at the
time. Their mother had been absent from the home for days and was conse-
quently charged with criminal neglect.
The burns that covered Kenny’s back, neck, arms and hands – requiring
two operations and a body cast – had been successfully treated during his
three-month stay on the pediatric ward. However, during this period, staff
became concerned about Kenny’s psychological reaction to the trauma. He
had become difficult to manage and also evidenced breaks in reality testing.
He was therefore transferred to the inpatient children’s psychiatric ward for
evaluation and treatment of what appeared to be a chronic disturbance
stemming from years of neglect and abuse.
Kenny was not a complete stranger to the art therapist. He had been on
the ward for some time, and his case had been discussed in staff meetings.
This must be kept in mind to understand the art therapist’s responses to
Kenny’s behavior and productions. Kenny was aware of the art therapy
program and had been asking for his turn to come for his special art session.
He was a small, wiry black child with a coy expression and elfish smile that
contrasted with his darting eyes and suspicious manner.
He entered the art room in constant motion. The materials were set up,
and Kenny was asked to make a pencil drawing of ‘anything you would like.’
Initially, Kenny showed no interest in the art materials, preferring instead to
focus all his attention on the art therapy student who was observing the
session. The anxiety manifested in his restlessness was also indirectly
verbalized as he complained that this student was ‘ugly’ because of a large,
red birthmark on her cheek that Kenny called her ‘scar.’ After fearful giggling
about this, he sat down and slowly drew a picture of a person (Figure 8.2).
His smirk and careful observation of the student soon revealed that he had
chosen to draw a portrait of her. By creating a likeness of this feared person
Kenny managed to keep a watchful eye on her. His skillfully detailed
drawing appeared to help him control his anxiety.
Kenny chose to use clay next. At first he playfully explored its consis-
tency. However, his behavior soon regressed as he smeared the clay, smelled
it, and called it ‘doo-doo.’ The unstructured character as well as the consis-
tency of the clay proved to be overwhelming for Kenny; his response to the
AN ART THERAPY EVALUATION SESSION FOR CHILDREN 83
making this decision, he turned his attention to his palette of colors. ‘Green
for the leaves’ was missing, and when he was led to discover how he could
magically make this color from yellow and turquoise, his face broke into a
joyful smile. His pleasure soon faded as he studied the other available colors.
Defiantly he announced that he would not use black because it was ‘bad.’
Once assured that he could use whatever colors he wished, he set out to paint
his apple tree.
Kenny had a hard time deciding on his colors. There was much vacillation
and deep concentration on and concern for this highly invested tree. The
trunk was originally painted green, as was the leaf area; the apples were all
red. At this point they had no stems. Kenny was displeased with the tree in
this state, being unable to decide what color to paint the trunk. Finally he
painted the trunk black and added stems to the apples, painting the stems
brown. He said of the stems, ‘These can be brown but not the apples.’ The
final product received much praise as Kenny beamed with pride and delight.
Note that the apples’ stems were not attached to the tree’s crown and the tree
could not stand on its trunk. Thus the product gave the impression of a
long-handled saucepan holding apples.
At this point the art therapist encouraged Kenny to use his colors on
paper. He quickly painted an image on the paper using black paint and then
wrote the name of the observing art therapy student above it. Clearly, he was
repeating his pencil portrait with the paint. However this time his affect
changed noticeably as he dipped his brush into the red paint to color the
‘scar’ on this image. After placing the red mark on the face, he used his
paint-filled brush to smear out the student’s name, while tearfully saying,
‘I’m ugly – my face is ugly, that’s why I want to kill myself,’ and quickly
painted the stop sign. There was a dramatic change from Kenny’s high activ-
ity-level when he first entered the room. Now he was slow-moving and sad
(Figure 8.3).
Since the art therapist had met Kenny earlier and knew he was receiving
psychotherapy, she was able to address him directly, speaking to him about
his sadness and suggesting that his doctor might be able to help him with it.
Had this been her first meeting with Kenny, she would have focused on
Kenny’s production, pointing out that he had painted a stop sign, an action
that showed both his desire to put an end to his sad mood and his capacity to
bring forth an appropriate signal.
While the art therapist was speaking to Kenny, he sat slumped in his chair.
Working slowly, he picked up his brush and painted his own name on his
AN ART THERAPY EVALUATION SESSION FOR CHILDREN 85
Figure 8.3 Kenny’s painting of the student with the ‘stop’ sign
Tom
Not every evaluation session yields informative products. Tom’s work is not
shown because the most interesting aspect of this session was his unusual
AN ART THERAPY EVALUATION SESSION FOR CHILDREN 87
Summary of findings
The three cases presented above demonstrate how the art therapy evaluation
depends on the art therapist’s role as facilitator of the creative process, as well
as on the magnetic power of the art materials.
Latent strength was perceived in all three children. In Jaime’s case the art
therapist’s findings tallied with those attained by conventional methods. The
session was useful mainly because it supplied Jaime with one enjoyable
experience during a long, stressful day at the clinic and this enabled him to
look forward to his subsequent visits.
In Kenny’s case the art evaluation not only confirmed the team’s assess-
ment but also revealed more profound depression and suicidal potential than
had been apparent in either his everyday behavior or in the psychological
evaluation. Greater inner resources than had been apparent in the conven-
tional evaluation procedures also became apparent. It was probably Kenny’s
first introduction to ceramic clay and this helps to explain the primitiveness
of his initial response. The art therapist had to demonstrate to him the possi-
bilities of the material by making a figure for him. This done, he quickly
responded to the invitation to symbolic action by setting out to create an
apple tree, a benign maternal symbol. Apparently the opportunity to use the
art materials, together with the art therapist’s active participation, had helped
Kenny to mobilize his inner strength and so become able to provide himself
with a good object of his own making. In this attempt, he had to face his
profound sense of worthlessness. Feeling like a rotten apple, he at first tried to
90 ART AS THERAPY
omit all brown and black and so create an entirely good object. The supreme
victory was achieved when he succeeded in incorporating the ‘bad colors’ as
emotionally neutral elements of his tree (elements that did not impair the
tree’s goodness) – a remarkable feat of integration.
Jaime made similar use of a good opportunity when he was presented
with a full tray of tempera paints. The good object he created for himself was
masculine, a tall building such as those his father took care of. However the
feminine element is not entirely omitted and his creation was not totally free
of conflict. Jaime created the color pink (a color our society associates with
femininity) and expressed both his pride in the vital beauty of his color and
his inclination to submission by using the pink to write his name parallel to
the paternal apartment building. Even though the art therapist did not have
to intervene as actively as in Kenny’s case, it was essential that she take a
definite stand at this juncture. She had to assure Jaime that she would not
compete with him or rob him of any of his powers, such as authorship of the
pink paint; that he was accepted and respected in all his complexity and with
all his inner contradictions.
Self-denigration appeared in the end in both Jaime’s and Kenny’s
sessions. Nevertheless, work with art materials became highly invested, and
both boys looked forward to good experiences in the future. The sessions
both revealed the boys’ despair and mobilized their inner strength.
In Tom’s case his chaotically hyperactive behavior had thwarted the
clinical team’s attempts at diagnosis and prognosis. The art therapy session
brought forth much latent strength. It showed that Tom would respond to
the art materials’ magnetism and that he had a fairly good idea of how they
should be used, even though his hyperactivity foiled his attempts at using
them constructively. His own inventive way of controlling stimuli showed
that he was eminently motivated to combat his disabilities.
After medication had been initiated, the second art therapy session gave a
clearer picture of the extent of Tom’s developmental lag and showed him
ready to accept outside help in wrestling with his hyperactivity.
b) Painting: Affect, response to color (e.g., anxious, eager, able to handle the
excitement of color, overwhelmed); color preferences; emotional response to
the mixing of color. Does the child respond to the esthetic quality of color?
Is he able to generalize from the experience of mixing color (e.g., blue and
white make light blue; therefore, red and white make light red or pink)?
The ability to generalize gives evidence of the child’s capacity for
conceptual thinking.
4. General
Did any learning take place? Are there clues to the child’s capacity to muster
inner resources through artwork? Do observations concur with or contradict
the findings of other team members? Did art activity contribute to
expression of personality traits not otherwise in evidence? Is the child a
candidate for art therapy?
symbolic gratification by using the art materials that suit him best, even while
his pathology and life situation remain as yet unchanged.
Naturally we also meet children who present us with emotional deadlocks
and offer no clues to therapeutic strategies. We sometimes perceive, as well,
areas of weakness, specific danger points and modes of regression. However
we have found that our negative observations have tallied more often than
not with the whole team’s findings and have only occasionally contributed
new elements to the general diagnostic picture.
The evaluation sessions have proved outstandingly valuable as a screening
procedure for art therapy, one which at the same time provides an effective
beginning session for the child. The success or failure of our attempts at
helping, as well as the children’s own ways of helping themselves, inform us
of the kind of support that may be needed.
The session itself may even serve as a turning point. The children we work
with have usually had little inspiration and guidance in learning to take
AN ART THERAPY EVALUATION SESSION FOR CHILDREN 93
pleasure in their own functioning. The gleam in the mother’s eye (Kohut
1966), rewarding them for a creation and thus spurring them on, has been
absent or rare. Often we are among the first to provide it. However, such is the
resilience of childhood that even among the severely damaged, a single
experience can often awaken latent ego-strength that otherwise might have
been overlooked. Such an awakening can be a harbinger of gains to be made
in systematic treatment in art therapy, play therapy or psychotherapy. To
make these possibilities evident is a particularly valuable contribution of art
therapy evaluations with children.
References
American Art Therapy Association (1976) ‘Beginnings and assessing clients for
treatment.’ (Color film). Baltimore, MD.
Kohut, H. (1966) ‘Forms and transformations of narcissism.’ Journal of the American Psycho-
analytic Association 14, 243–72.
Winnicott, D. W. (1973) Therapeutic Consultations in Child Psychiatry. New York: Basic
Books.
Note
1 This collaborative chapter was originally published in the American Journal of Art
Therapy 23, October 1983, while some of the first half is revised from parts of a chapter
on ‘Art therapy’ by Edith Kramer and Elinor Ulman, which appeared in C. R. Reynolds
and T. B. Gutkin (1982) (eds) The Handbook of School Psychology. New York: John Wiley
and Sons. Reprinted by permission of the publisher.
CHAPTER 9
94
LEADERSHIP AND CULTURAL TRADITION 95
The quality of his work did not suffer from this compromise, as it probably
would have suffered if Martin had denied his own ideal and adopted the
group’s values (see Figure 9.1). Martin’s position was vindicated when a real
Ethiopian king, Haile Selassie, visited the US. At this point Martin created a
vogue for painting African kings that was eagerly adopted by his school
mates.
Eventually Martin’s feelings about Ethiopia changed. He did not give up
his ideals, but he accepted the reality of his life in the US and had less need to
idealize a past of which he had no personal knowledge. His need to use art
for creating ego ideals that could include black people remained, but he now
painted African-Americans, idealizing them in a realistic manner. His portrait
of his mother (reproduced on the cover of this book) is a good example.
Freed from his single-minded preoccupation, his subject matter became
more varied, so that he was the originator of many fashions and fads in the
school.
Discussion
Martin’s story shows an artist’s work being rejected because of his cultural
background. The artist chooses a subject matter which touches upon
prejudices in a group. A negative emotional reaction to the subject matter
makes the audience blind to the artistic value of his work.
Historically such situations occur frequently when two cultures mingle.
There is usually an initial period of mutual misunderstanding and disorien-
tation, and consequently a decline of the arts. The ultimate outcome depends
on the relative cultural and economic strength of the two groups, on the
degree to which their two moral codes are at variance, on a time factor and
other conditions.
It might happen that a people which conquers a culturally strong group
by military power adopts the culture of the conquered people, as happened
when Ancient Greece was incorporated into the Roman Empire.
Insofar as one can compare an individual case with historical events, we
might say that Martin constituted a culturally strong minority within a group
who conquered this group by the strength of his talent, his intelligence and
the power of his convictions. This could not have happened if Martin had
given up his convictions instead of expressing them in disguise. If Martin had
capitulated before group pressure, he would have lost his past, his ideals and
his integrity as an individual. His creative capacity would probably not have
survived such a loss. If, on the other hand, Martin had insisted on his convic-
LEADERSHIP AND CULTURAL TRADITION 97
tions with a martyr’s zeal, and had survived physically, his style and subject
matter would probably have become stereotyped and repetitious. He would
have remained isolated, and it would have become very difficult for him to
develop as a person and as an artist.
In spite of his talent and intelligence, Martin could not have survived the
initial period of his adjustment unaided. The device to hide the meaning of
his paintings under the disguise of American Indians was of his own choice,
but he could not have maintained it without sharing the secret with the art
therapist. Nor could Martin and his schoolmates have resolved their ideo-
logical conflicts without adults who helped to clarify the true relationship
between Ethiopia, Africa, and African-Americans. The therapeutic aim was
to help the child to adjust as an artist and as an individual in the group,
without robbing him of his cultural heritage, and to make the positive values
which Martin had to offer become a part of the cultural life of the group.
Kings
Of all new subjects which Martin introduced at the school, his Ethiopian
kings made the most lasting impression.
The fashion of the kings was perpetuated by Carl, an African-American
child. Temperamentally he was Martin’s opposite. He painted slowly, with
much attention to detail. His colors were muted and soft. His painting
seemed set in a minor key. Carl was tremendously attracted to Martin. He
imitated him and competed with him. When Martin was discharged, Carl, as
the next best painter, inherited Martin’s position. Even then he continued
measuring himself against Martin. Carl was a child who expected failure.
Many of his paintings showed a hero who is being slain.
Carl had much reason for this tragic sense of life. His father was a
delinquent who was seldom out of prison. The family existed on the verge of
destitution with little hope for change. Carl’s longing for ideals and cultural
values could not find fulfillment at home. He felt menaced by his father’s
violence and the brutalized home situation which evoked his own dormant
aggression. He lived under a cloud of depression. Because of his personal
history, problems of racial discrimination became highly charged emo-
tionally. Beneath the question of whether African-Americans could assume
leading positions in society at that time loomed the question of whether he
could rise above his father. The desire to be re-born white screened the desire
to be rid of the delinquent father and his own delinquent tendencies.
98 ART AS THERAPY
When Carl took over Martin’s African kings, their image became charged
with Carl’s conflicts, and what had been an episode for Martin, became for
Carl a major preoccupation. Carl perfected the kings, gave them their final
iconic form. Figure 9.2 shows one of Carl’s most beautiful kings. It is quite a
self-portrait, a fine-featured melancholic man who carries his honors with
quiet dignity. The monocle in his right eye gives a strange asymmetry to the
face, as if some part of the personality remained ambiguous. The picture is
painted on gray paper. Except for the yellow-golden jewelry all colors are
subdued. Dark blue, dark purple, a little red and a spot of bright green at the
open collar give a dignified overall effect. Space is handled beautifully; the
straight line of the scepter gives balance and interest to the composition. The
painting fulfilled Carl’s need for beauty, dignity and success. Yet there is no
exuberance in the work. It is fulfillment within the limitations of a basic
depression and deep resignation.
Carl’s imitators closely followed the pattern which he had established.
Although choice of color and arrangement of ornament and shade of skin
color varied, the basic form remained unaltered. Among the innumerable
kings that were painted in that period, there was not one who did not wear
the same type of crown, not one without monocle in his right eye. It would
have been impossible to induce a child to paint a monocle-less king. He
would have been incomplete. There was among the many kings only one
with a monocle in the left eye, painted by a left-handed child.
Carl had taken the monocle from comic books, where they are worn by
rich men. Originally he had used it in a painting of a white man in evening
dress. From there he carried it over to the kings. To Carl the monocle
probably had unconscious significance. It might have symbolized the split
between good and bad and the shady hidden side of his character. Some of
the symbolic meaning might have carried over to the others. But the persis-
tency of the monocle is above all a phenomenon of group behavior. We are
observing how tradition is formed and perpetuated.
As the painting was cast in its final form, it was adopted by the multitude
and perpetuated without further changes. Every detail from then on was an
attribute of the symbol king, and only a very strong and independent mind
would have questioned any detail or attempted to alter it. Because of the fast
turnover in population the form was preserved, not for a century, but for only
two years.
Among the children the symbol of the king continued to serve as a means
of expressing problems of self-esteem and self-evaluation. The license to
paint African kings or kings with dark skin persisted. Carl’s need for culture
and beauty was also retained in a subtle way. As an object of identification the
king remained on a higher, more civilized emotional level than, for instance,
the Indian chieftain as the boys imagined them. The king carries a scepter,
not a raised tomahawk. His crown is the work of complex craftsmanship,
unlike the chieftain’s headgear which retains the character of a trophy.
Indeed, the children who chose to paint kings were as a rule more mature
emotionally and, in turn, the painting of kings had a civilizing influence on
the children. Therapeutically the king had been valuable at first for Martin,
later for Carl, and in the final analysis for the whole community. However,
100 ART AS THERAPY
Prisoners
The next example is the history of an episode which lasted barely three
weeks and involved just a small group of boys. The originator of the fashion
of painting prisoners was Jerry. At the time of the episode Jerry was
recognized as one of Wiltwyck’s ablest painters. He had a great need for
display. He affected a somewhat theatrical, blustering, he-man attitude.
Strutting about with a thrust-out chest, clenched fists and an exaggerated
frown, he also developed a peculiar abrupt and blurred kind of speech.
visible (feet and hands are outside the picture) conveys a feeling of help-
lessness, almost mutilation. The face is expressive; a broad, tightly-closed
mouth contrasts with small, weak eyes, without pupils.
Walter had much reason to feel strongly about prisoners. His father was
serving a long sentence and had been in and out of jail all of Walter’s life.
Walter did not admit this. He told boastful tales about his father’s wealth and
power. Jerry’s prisoner gave Walter the courage to express his concern about
his father’s fate symbolically.
Fletcher was another child who was inspired by Jerry’s prisoner. He
painted a bird’s eye view of the prison and its fortifications. Prisoners were at
work breaking stones, loading them into pushcarts, and carting them off.
Fletcher was an habitual runaway, who pilfered and committed acts of
vandalism. His salvation was his love of constructive work. He was an
excellent carpenter and builder. His clear logical mind, manual skill and
passion for work made him the school’s master craftsman. Fletcher described
his addiction to work in these words: ‘Other boys try to get out of work; I am
LEADERSHIP AND CULTURAL TRADITION 103
a boy who tries to get into work.’ Fletcher had no ability to play; idleness
inevitably led to delinquent acts.
In his painting Fletcher depicted the one thing which could make prison
life bearable to him: hard labor. Fletcher had good reason to be concerned
with the life of prisoners. In spite of an understanding of right from wrong, in
spite of a talent for leadership and constructive work, his tendency for asocial
acts persisted. Fletcher could easily end up in prison, and there he would
certainly survive only if he were given enough work.
Bernard depicted the prisoner as a monster. Against a deep red back-
ground loomed the head and long torso of a prisoner. His long arms reached
to the bottom of the page. The hands were out of the picture. Although
facing the viewer the prisoner’s face was without mouth and nose. His right
eye was almost covered by a large scar. The left eye was square inside a
rectangle, placed in the middle of the forehead more like a Band-Aid than an
eye. Another large scar traversed the prisoner’s left cheek. The painting had
the character of an apparition from a nightmare, expressing neither anxiety
nor guilt or rebellion. It expressed a feeling of depersonalization and incom-
pleteness and evoked unease in the viewer. The prisoner was beyond human
empathy or moral code.
Bernard came to Wiltwyck when he was barely 10. He was undersized
and sexually underdeveloped in that his testicles had not yet descended. With
his blond hair, blue eyes, and rosy complexion he looked like a little doll.
Bernard was an expert thief, specializing in picking ladies’ pocket books and
lifting wrist watches. He did not wish to grow up, but planned to remain
small and cute and live by theft. Even after he had ceased stealing, Bernard
took pride in his skills. One of his favorite jokes consisted of lifting a wrist
watch without the owner noticing and then innocently asking for the time.
The prisoner painting showed Bernard’s deep feeling of estrangement
from mankind. Successful stealing was equated with proof of potency and
completeness, and failure with mutilation and loss of face. In Bernard’s
prisoner no attempt was made at working through the guilt and anxiety of
delinquency. Rather it showed the terrible results of being unsuccessful.
Discussion
Among the children who painted pictures of prisoners, Jerry was the only
one who found a solution for the fears and conflicts which were attached to
the idea. Jerry’s equilibrium was based on a kind of withdrawal into
104 ART AS THERAPY
Monsters
It is to be expected that part of the production of disturbed children should
be given over to bizarre and fantastic subjects and that evil and uncanny
themes should play an important part in those productions. Devils, dragons,
ghosts and monsters, and the fabulous creatures of science fiction, embody
LEADERSHIP AND CULTURAL TRADITION 105
the forces of evil for the children. It would be a mistake to believe that the
painting of fantastic subjects would be free of convention and stereotypes.
There exist definite stereotypes for the representation of men from Mars,
devils and even monster faces which have to be adhered to.
Clyde
When Clyde’s mother died after a long illness he painted monster faces
exclusively for many months. These were painted swiftly, under enormous
pressure. They were too incoherent to lend themselves to imitation. Figure
9.5 was painted when Clyde had attained a certain measure of control over
his emotions and with it his artwork had become more intelligible. Figure
9.5 expresses the very essence of fear of the dark: a rectangular sheet of paper
is covered with black. Upon this surface appears a pair of large, round white
eyes surrounded by short yellow-white rays. Two parallel rows of brush-
strokes suggest teeth and mouth; other lines and dots combine to form nose,
eyebrows and two angry lines on either side of the mouth, all in white.
The features do not seem to be part of a solid head. They seem to float
upon the dark, forming a face but ready to change into different configura-
tions or to disappear at any instant like an hallucination or a bad dream.
monster had yellow lips and teeth, and the cavity of the mouth was black.
The nose was a complicated form with two large curled nostrils which almost
gave the impression of a head within a head. Black lines around mouth and
eyes added expression to the face. Everything was neatly outlined in black.
The background was painted in loose red brushstrokes. In spite of its mon-
strosity and cruelty the painting possessed a bizarre kind of beauty. Harry
was inordinately proud of his masterpiece, and could not wait to have it
exhibited in the dining room. In an attempt to ascertain whether Harry had
any idea that the painting was gruesome I suggested that it should be taken
off the dining room wall for Easter when parents and baby brothers and
sisters would be visiting, because some of the little children might be
frightened by the monster. Harry seemed taken aback. He evidently did not
conceive of his painting as frightening.
Matthew
Matthew had come to Wiltwyck about a year before the monster episode. He
was then ten and a half years old. He suffered from a permanent sort of
diarrhea that led to frequent soiling. The symptom had persisted through
Matthew’s childhood and seemed to be psychosomatic. In art therapy
Matthew made minute drawings of fish and weapons, carefully shaded with
pencil. The drawings showed intelligence, skill and a strong sense of compo-
sition. Later Matthew tried painting larger pictures of the fish and weapons
he had drawn so well. He seemed to be reaching out for greater scope and
freedom, but somehow was paralyzed. Whenever Matthew used color he
soon grew dissatisfied and impatient and ended by smearing and splashing
paint until his drawing was obliterated.
Discussion
Harry and Matthew both had very disturbed mothers. Harry had painted his
first monster after visiting his mother in a mental hospital. It was believed
that, Matthew’s mother had somehow encouraged the diarrhea and soiling
problem, a symptom which belonged to Matthew’s infancy. One might
conjecture that in both cases, in order for the boys to live with these
disturbed mothers they had to ingest some of the mothers’ primitive
concepts and patterns which the children should have outgrown normally.
Harry, at 11, seemed unevenly developed. He was advanced intellectually
and possessed a sense of humor. He was able to master the mechanics of
everyday life. He was overly polite, anxious to please, and afraid to show
negative feelings toward persons in authority. On the other hand Harry
seemed to have no concepts of the nature of other people’s feelings and
110 ART AS THERAPY
reactions, and there was a withdrawal into a private world where neither
moral values not the laws of nature had much meaning.
Harry painted his monsters with calm deliberation. Each head maps out
his concepts and ideas with the precision of a scientific illustration. The
paintings are frightening to the spectator because of the archaic and cruel
ideas which they embody, but Harry did not master anxiety through painting
monsters. He had established an inner balance which kept his fantasy world
pleasurable and free of anxiety no matter what the content would be. His
anxiety was directed outwards. Harry was over-anxious to please and afraid
of doing wrong, but felt no qualms about inventing the most fiendish plots or
painting the most gruesome scenes. His clear and cold representations of
fantasies that normally remain buried and chaotic helped other children who
were haunted by vague feelings and fantasies of the same nature to give form
to their ideas.
Matthew’s alternating depressions and regressions during painting must
have been caused by such fantasies because monsters freed him of a painting
block. That it was possible for Matthew to free himself to such a great extent
through just one episode of painting monsters adds weight to the conjecture
that Matthew’s disturbance was induced by his mother but had not taken
deep roots in his personality. Matthew’s later paintings of boats and weapons
show assertion of his manhood and independence. His subsequent devel-
opment towards a greater realism and awareness of the world around him
was in keeping with the emotional and developmental level of a child of his
age, enhanced by more than ordinary talent and sensitivity.
Note
1 A great deal of the material presented in this article was first published in Kramer, E.
(1977) Art Therapy in a Children’s Community. New York: Schocken Books.
CHAPTER 10
112
CASE HISTORY OF ANGEL: ART THERAPY AND THE DISTURBED GIFTED CHILD 113
Angel’s home life, it appeared, had always been chaotic. There was much
coming and going of relatives all living together in crowded quarters. There
seems to have been no intentional cruelty in his upbringing but rather a
casual kind of neglect of Angel’s feelings and needs, balanced to some degree
by equally casual warmth and affection on the part of mother, grandmother,
step-father and assorted relatives.
Because Angel’s massive withdrawal, disturbed identity feelings and life
endangering gestures seemed ominous, he was admitted as an inpatient to
the child psychiatric ward of Jacobi Hospital.
The first six months on the ward brought many symptomatic improve-
ments. Although Angel obviously lived to some extent in a world of fantasy,
his total withdrawal at home seemed to have been a temporary reaction to
immediate stress. He soon made friends with the ward personnel and
emerged as an appealing, warm little boy.
He learned to speak English but never recovered whatever Spanish he had
previously known, retaining, however, a Spanish accent.
Angel’s most persistent symptom was his involvement with Superman. He
continued to spend much time watching TV and devised a homemade
Superman cape which he wore constantly. He often stood before a mirror,
saying, ‘Not Angel, Superman!’ When he occasionally relinquished the
Superman identity, he explicitly declared: ‘Today I will be Angel.’ He
received intensive psychotherapy, seeing his doctor three times a week in
individual sessions. He responded well and his therapist considered his
long-term prognosis to be excellent.
In an intelligence test given in the first year Angel achieved normal, in
some areas high-normal scores, but was considered to have higher potential-
ities. Rorschach and Thematic Apperception Tests yielded fantasies centered
around a tiny creature who magically overcomes a huge threatening one, but
ultimately meets disaster himself. Angel’s capacity for reality-testing was
lower than it should have been at his age.
Several months after his admission to the ward Angel began to draw, and
soon drawing became his major preoccupation. His favorite subjects were
Superman, Popeye the Sailor, and other figures from TV and comic books.
Angel’s works were masterful simplifications of the cartoon images. His
repertoire was not limited to the comic book type of drawing. He could draw
anything he pleased, but his heart was in his drawings of Superman and
other imaginary heroes. He drew with astonishing speed and decisiveness,
114 ART AS THERAPY
and his output was enormous. He gave his pictures away to anybody for the
asking, and loved to see his work displayed all over the hospital.
I became an art therapist at Jacobi Hospital when Angel was six years old.
Children were seen twice a week in groups of three to four, each session
lasting from about one to one and a half hours. We used ceramic clay, crayons,
pastels, tempera paints, paper and scissors.
Angel was at this time the undisputed master-artist on the ward. He drew
almost continuously. Indeed it was felt that drawing was Angel’s preferred
defense and that his state of mind could be gauged by the intensity of his
drawing. When he was upset, drawing became more obsessive; when he was
at ease he could relinquish his preoccupation to take part in ward activities
and school work.
By this time Angel had given up wearing his Superman cape. It seemed as
if drawing Superman had replaced direct impersonation, and in this sense his
use of drawing could be considered progress in spite of its obsessive
character.
Angel’s Superman drawings had one unusual feature. While most children
concentrate solely on the flying Superman, Angel was also much occupied
with Clark Kent’s transformation. He often depicted the moment when
Clark Kent sheds his eyeglasses and business suit and turns into an omni-
potent flying being (see Figure 10.8, p.127). Later we learned that Angel had
harbored the idea that his father who worked in a factory that produced
eyeglass-frames had made Clark Kent’s glasses.
When Angel discovered that I was a ‘real’ artist, he began making use of
my skills. His approach was unusual. He did not ask me to draw for him, or to
help him with specific problems. He only wanted me to draw his portrait. A
pattern developed which remained virtually unchanged throughout his first
year with me. Immediately upon entering the art room, he kept up a steady
chant, ‘please draw me,’ until I was ready to comply. Then he climbed upon a
high cabinet and struck an heroic pose. I was supposed to sketch this pose
lightly, draw his features, but leave out his hair and the details of his clothes.
He then made the sketch over into a picture of one of his heroes, Tarzan,
Hercules, Superman and later the Beatle Paul McCartney. In this process
Angel’s bold crayon strokes obliterated my tentative lines.
Once Angel’s wish had been fulfilled he was usually able to work on his
own for the rest of the session. He often reciprocated by drawing my portrait.
He also drew the other children and obligingly depicted them in the guise of
CASE HISTORY OF ANGEL: ART THERAPY AND THE DISTURBED GIFTED CHILD 115
assorted heroic characters. Outside the art room Angel continued to work on
his own.
When I asked him why, when he could draw so well, he needed me to
draw him, he replied, ‘I cannot see myself.’ This is strange reasoning for a
seven-year-old. At this age most children rarely look at things in order to
draw them. They depend on schematic representations that are modified
slightly to fit different situations.
It seemed as if Angel needed my sketches mainly to alleviate profound
insecurity about his very existence. Once I had graphically documented my
perception of him, Angel’s adaptations of my drawings made his fantasies of
being Tarzan, Hercules or Paul McCartney more real and more gratifying.
My participation in Angel’s graphic reincarnations lent them a higher
degree of reality, for naturally they looked more life-like, and also the
identity between Angel and his drawings was dramatized. In this sense I
supported his delusional world by participating in it. On the other hand, just
because of my participation, Angel’s heroic drawings took on the character
of disguises through which his actual self could be perceived. Our cooper-
ation freed Angel from depending on sterile, commercial models, binding
him instead to a living artist who was ready to help him become independent
of her. Angel created a drawing of the art therapist drawing him which illus-
trated the situation perfectly. Angel seemed to be posed on my shoulders, still
partially fused with me but ready to leap beyond me. His face (an excellent
likeness) was intent and determined, but his limbs, hands and feet were small
and weak, while my arms were muscular, and the pencil in my fist was big and
phallic. The superior strength still resided with me, and Angel was growing
by using me as a springboard.
Ordinarily one would expect that such a dependency would block a
child’s artistic development but somehow Angel was able to integrate my
contributions without losing his artistic individuality. His need to introduce
elements of reality into his pictorial fantasies by incorporating my realistic
sketches ultimately led to observations of reality on his own part. When he
drew his friends in the guise of various heroes, he looked at them, and
achieved remarkable likenesses and life-like gestures. This growing capacity
for observation and realistic rendering became an autonomous skill that
could be used outside the magic circle of Angel’s fantasies. He learned to
draw any object he saw, and developed an understanding of visual
phenomena such as foreshortening, overlapping and modeling far beyond
his age. My portrait, drawn when Angel was seven years old, demonstrated
116 ART AS THERAPY
the vitality and precociousness of his graphic work when it was serving a
living relationship rather than a fantasy.
Considering Angel’s severe disturbance, his drawing was remarkably well
integrated. He tended, however, to draw figures with disproportionately
large shoulders and torsos tapering down to weak legs. This appeared to be
an expression of his situation. Virtually abandoned by his family (they rarely
visited him) he existed in limbo, with no solid ground under his feet. When
he took over my drawings his legs attained normal size and his feet were
solidly planted.
It is interesting that Angel’s precocity was limited to drawing. He seldom
used paint and could not handle it competently. He did not seem to
experience any pleasure in colors and color combinations. When on rare
occasions he attempted to embellish his drawings with color, the result
looked as if a younger child had tried to color in an older child’s work and
had done a bad job of it.
Angel’s clay sculpture was adequate but not exceptional. His subject
matter was more child-like; he made piggy banks, animals, ash trays and the
like. He had little patience for finishing his work.
We may ask what was the inner meaning of Angel’s Superman fantasies
and their derivatives, why did drawing become the preferred vehicle for their
expression, and how did drawing attain some measure of autonomy from the
fantasies.
Angel’s fantasies were concerned with heroic figures of a kind that appear
regularly in the fantasy life and the art of latency boys.
The giant with magical powers embodies the adult whose strength,
knowledge, and sexuality appear miraculous and unfathomable to the small
child. The unfulfilled childhood wish for adult power and potency is the
driving force behind children’s fascination with heroic figures. The character
of the different heroes and the manner in which they are depicted reflect the
child’s concepts of the adult and of adult sexuality, and this in turn depends
both on his psychosexual development and on the actual character of the
adult figures in his environment.
For example, a child who is able to depict good, solid, heroic figures
without being exclusively obsessed by them is probably one for whom the
tension between his desire for adult power and his feeling about his natural,
slow maturation is not unbearable. Such tension is likely to be just intense
enough to act as incentive for growth. We can assume that the child is
struggling with a partial resolution of the Oedipus situation, but that his rela-
CASE HISTORY OF ANGEL: ART THERAPY AND THE DISTURBED GIFTED CHILD 117
made at the time of his admission, at age four years and three months, in this
new test Angel showed greater orientation to reality – idiosyncratic and
autistic associations had entirely disappeared along with his previous preoc-
cupation with death and violence. What used to be Angel’s typical Oedipal
story – an omnipotent though tiny creature who defeats the big one and then
meets catastrophe himself – was no longer in evidence.
In Angel’s drawings the fantasy of an omnipotent figure persisted, but it
became a big person who does not meet with destruction. However, even
during the time when he fantasized about a tiny person who overcomes a big
powerful one, but ultimately meets disaster, his drawings told a different
story. Clark Kent turns into Superman, but Superman does not disastrously
turn back into Clark Kent. Could it be that Angel was able to ward off the
tragic element of his fantasy in his art, because as a draftsman he commanded
very real power? Although he was a helpless, neglected child he possessed in
his art a precious gift and through it he surpassed not just his contemporaries
but most of the adults around him. While we cannot credit Angel with a
conscious, intellectual knowledge of the meaning of his endowment, we can
assume an intuitive feeling of some great power at the core of his being that
helped maintain his personal integrity and his capacity for ultimate recovery.
The extent of an artist’s powers were brought home to me during a fateful
event. I was working on the ward in 1963 when President Kennedy was
assassinated. I first heard of it from the children, as they came running to the
ward from the hospital’s school, terrified, full of the catastrophe. On the ward
one of the practical nurses, a black woman from Texas who usually was one of
the most stable, competent, and motherly caretakers had an hysterical attack.
She could not stop her sobbing and crying, tearfully repeating over and over
again that the President ‘should never have gone to Texas. Nobody knows
what Texas is like!’
Among the children pandemonium reigned. They reenacted the assassi-
nation over and over again, shooting each other and falling down dead. I felt
quite helpless, unable to restore order or sanity. Finally I got hold of Angel
and asked him to draw a picture of how the president was killed. He immedi-
ately set about drawing a cops and robber-like scene. The children’s mood
changed radically. Rather than enacting the assassination, they all began
drawing pictures and dictating stories about the president’s death. The theme
dominated the children’s productions for several sessions.
CASE HISTORY OF ANGEL: ART THERAPY AND THE DISTURBED GIFTED CHILD 119
In the course of the year, Angel drew several stories about himself and
actual or at least plausible achievements such as a feat of mountain climbing
or a dance. Nevertheless, most of his drawing continued to depict super-
human, often brutal deeds. His subject matter had been enriched by
Christian iconography, and from the idea of God and Devil a dawning
concept of good and evil emerged.
One such picture depicted the fight between the Good Angel and Lucifer
turned devil. It is interesting that the story from the life of Jesus which
fascinated Angel above all others was Christ’s temptation. To this child who
had always dreamt of flying it seemed almost inconceivable that Christ
renounced the power of flight when the devil offered it to him.
At the same time Angel developed a burning interest in Greek mythology;
the deeds of Hercules, Theseus and Odysseus had to be told and retold. One
drawing created from these tellings depicted Hercules as a baby strangling
the snakes while his father comes to the rescue, torch in hand, but Hercules
has already saved himself unaided – a perfect representation of Angel’s wish
for a superhuman, invincible babyhood.
A psychological test given when Angel was eight years old sums up both
his progress and the persistence of his pathology. Angel achieved an IQ of
112. His concept of spatial relationships, ability to manipulate objects with
his hands, and fund of general information suggested a capacity in the
superior range, but his common-sense judgment was found to be quite
immature when compared with his high intellectual capacity. Concerning his
ego-ideals, Angel was not able to fill the prescription for a male that he had
written for himself. He identified with a fantastic brute of a man. He set such
impossible goals for himself that he was in fact self-castrating.
To conclude, even though a hollow artificial symbol of masculinity was
the driving force that brought about the blossoming of Angel’s art this
faculty constituted his greatest strength. There was no fragmentation nor
were there any bizarre elements in his production. He developed an
increasing capacity to perceive reality and to broaden his subject matter.
During his first two years at the home, art therapy sessions were held on
the premises. In the third year it was felt that Angel needed to broaden his
horizon and therefore I took him each Saturday afternoon on sketching trips
to various points of interest such as the Metropolitan Art Museum, the UN, or
the Bronx Zoo. At other times we held art sessions at my studio.
Angel was ten years old when he declared during a time at my studio that
he wanted to write his ‘self-biography’ (Figure 10.1). He determinedly set
CASE HISTORY OF ANGEL: ART THERAPY AND THE DISTURBED GIFTED CHILD 121
out to dictate his life’s story to me and to illustrate it. He also insisted that I
add my recollections of him to his own account. This led us to look at his old
drawings and choose two of them to illustrate his early style of work. In the
following session Angel added a passage on his hopes and worries about the
future and drew a picture of his future home.
Angel had now produced all the material needed for his book. He could not,
however, have completed it without some technical help. His original
drawings were made on sheets of paper of different sizes, some of them too
large. I therefore photographed them all and had eight-by-ten inch prints
made. I also typed the story, which had been taken down in longhand. Since
both narrative and illustrations were well conceived and entirely his own,
and the whole undertaking was an important step in Angel’s development, it
seemed worthwhile indeed to help him succeed in completing his book.
Angel composed a dummy, working with scissors and paste to put photo-
graphs and text together. He added some new illustrations as he went along.
A number of Xerox copies were made for him from this dummy.
122 ART AS THERAPY
I was born on March 18, 1957, in San Juan, Puerto Rico. Nothing really
happened until I was two years old, and then it all began. I ran away, and then
my father found me and gave me an ice cream cone (Figure 10.2).
My father was playing baseball with other people one day. One guy hit
the ball too far and it came to me. I thought it was something to eat and tried
to lick it. My father came and took it away. After the game I had my picture
taken with a baseball cap.
CASE HISTORY OF ANGEL: ART THERAPY AND THE DISTURBED GIFTED CHILD 123
A sister was born two years after, but she was alright for she played with other
girls instead of bothering me.
When I was four years old I came to Jacobi Hospital because of what I did
to my brother. I met Doctor Fossum (Figure 10.4), a nice man over there just
like a social worker. He is a talking doctor; he helps you with your problems.
When I wrote this book at the age of ten, I was in Kennedy Home at the
Bronx, and Dr. Fossum came to see me every week on Friday, in case we have
something to talk in private.
124 ART AS THERAPY
And then I met Miss Kramer (Figure 10.5) when I was six years old. I already
could draw. I am a very good drawer, and reading is one of my hobbies too,
but I did not read until I was in Kennedy Home.
When I started drawing I first drew stick men, and then I drew circle men
and then men that looked like the cartoon of Dick Tracy.
Every time there was no art lessons and I was not in school the nurse
would take some drawing paper and crayons and coloring books, and I
would do some of both of them. And then when four years passed, I went to
Kennedy Home. And then when I got there Miss Kramer came on
Wednesdays but now it’s changed to Saturday. And Mrs. Morton comes on
Tuesday and Dr. Fossum comes on Friday.
CASE HISTORY OF ANGEL: ART THERAPY AND THE DISTURBED GIFTED CHILD 125
And then when I was nine I got into the seven feet swimming pool and when
I got on the diving board I got scared and I overcame the scaredness (Figure
10.6).
And then at ten I made up a song. Here it goes in the tune of ‘The Whole
Wide World in His Hand.’
I got a big family, oh yes (repeat two more times)
And they do something all day
I got a little brother, oh yes (repeat twice)
And he keeps bugging me all day
I got a tiny tiny sister, oh yes (repeat twice)
And she plays house all day
I got a big father, oh yes (repeat twice)
And he complains all day
I got a little mother, oh yes (repeat twice)
And she keeps house all day
Miss Kramer’s story: I am Angel’s art teacher. I am helping him to write his
self-biography. He asked me to write my impressions of him when I first met
him when he was six years old.
At this time Angel could already draw very well, and he was proud of it.
On the walls of the hospital I saw many pictures of Superman which Angel
had drawn.
When I told Angel that I was an artist he asked me to draw something for him
and so I drew his portrait. He took it and added a long black necktie to the
drawing and then he drew a picture of his father beside it and gave him a long
black tie too. He explained that his daddy would let him wear his tie next
time he came for a visit. I thought this little boy likes his father very much and
thinks a lot about him.
Next Angel drew a picture of Superman picking up a house (Figure 10.7). I
wondered in my mind what house this was, but I did not at this time ask
Angel about it. Now, as we were talking about the story Angel explained the
house was Jacobi Hospital, and that Superman would throw the house, but
that he would run fast, and catch it again, and put it where it belongs.
Next Angel drew Clark Kent taking off his coat and his glasses and
turning into Superman (Figure 10.8). Now, Angel explained that he thought
when he was six years old, that his father made Clark Kent’s glasses. He got
the idea, because his father was at this time working in a factory where frames
for eyeglasses were made.
Comment
Angel’s story of his infancy, where father protects and feeds him and mother
is not mentioned, reflects real experiences. Mother seems never to have been
able to give her children much care and warmth. Angel’s stepfather, who had
known him since he was a baby, always treated him as if he were his own
child and had been, insofar as he was able, a kind and faithful parent to him.
It is interesting that in his account of the etiology of his Superman fantasy
Angel stresses jealousy of his younger brother, an element to which, in my
earlier account, I gave relatively little weight. On the other hand, Angel says
nothing about his need for omnipotence, a motive which I had stressed. It
seems likely that Angel was unconscious of the latter aspect of his distur-
bance because the need for omnipotence persists, while he could admit to the
sibling rivalry because it had been successfully worked through in psycho-
therapy. At ten years of age Angel still maintained a stream of fantasies about
the heroes of television, and in times of stress he withdrew into his fantasy
world.
Angel’s presentation of his development as an artist and of the three
people who worked with him for so many years needs no comment. The
likenesses of his doctor and of the art and occupational therapists are
excellent.
In his song about his family, Angel permits himself to express negative
feelings in a jocular form, but he also improves on the real situation by
bringing back his mother and thus restoring the family’s unity. At the time
the song was written mother did not keep house for her husband and
children. On home visits Angel stayed with his paternal step-grandmother
who kept house for his step-father and Angel’s two half-siblings.
Angel’s conquest of the water is the major success story of the book. On
the title page we see him coming up after a high dive, and the whole book is
dedicated to his swimming teacher. When Angel learned to swim and dive,
his early fantasies of possessing the power of levitation were to some extent
fulfilled. The transformation of the shivering little figure on the diving board
CASE HISTORY OF ANGEL: ART THERAPY AND THE DISTURBED GIFTED CHILD 129
into the victorious diver recalls his earlier drawings of the transformation of
Clark Kent into Superman. Thus Angel accurately portrayed his state, poised
between fantasy and reality but moving toward the conquest of the real
world.
Reflections
Angel’s autobiography constitutes an eloquent testimonial to the value of
continuous treatment geared to a child’s special needs. It testifies to the
importance of continuity in the therapeutic relationship, to the need for
teamwork, and last but not least it shows how art therapy can help the feeling
of identity to crystallize and the sense of past, present, and future to develop.
Children who live for a long time in institutions suffer from changes of
personnel. Counselors, social workers, teachers, therapists come and go. The
child can draw little sustenance from an endless succession of personalities
even though each of them may be well-meaning and competent. If he allows
himself to be drawn into strong relationships he finds that his attachments
inevitably end with loss. After a while he learns to hold himself aloof. He
keeps his relationships shallow, and so it comes to pass that a great many
children who live in institutions grow up to be empty people even when the
adults who took care of them were kind and well-trained. Ultimately these
conditions erode the child-care worker’s and therapist’s professional zeal and
capacity for empathy so that they are also in danger of becoming hollow
shells.
An encounter such as this one with Angel is, therefore, a sustaining
experience also for therapists, who must as a rule face tragedy and can seldom
contribute to the good outcome of a situation which is not without hope. It
remains tragic that Angel’s story is exceptional not only because of his rare
gifts but because the kind of help which he received is unusual in our public
institutions.
Soon after completing his self-biography, vacation time presented an
opportunity for discontinuing our weekly sessions. I continued to keep in
touch with occasional visits.
When Angel was ready to enter high school he moved to a group home.
He won a place at the High School of Art and Design and developed out-
standing skill in drawing from nature.
The fantasy of grandeur and fear of a disastrous downfall that was evident
in the psychological test given when he was five years old persisted in his
130 ART AS THERAPY
Soon after this letter Angel joined the Navy, where he made a successful
career. He married and is father of a daughter in her early adulthood and a
school-aged boy. He never gave up working on his art, taking art materials
along on his missions. Having entered the Navy as a very young man, he is
soon to retire. He intends to devote much time and energy to his art. Figure
10.9 testifies to his enduring gift and increasing capacity to depict relation-
ships.
Figure 10.9 One of Angel’s more recent drawings of a mother and baby asleep.
CHAPTER 11
The desire to give symbolic shape to ideas and experiences through art is a
part of childhood. Blind children are limited to three-dimensional represen-
tation, but their need for art and their joy in the work of their hands is as great
as that of seeing children.
The blind child’s opportunity to attain control of his own person and of
his environment is greatly restricted. Even in the most familiar surroundings
there are constant small changes of which the child remains unaware. Even
though hearing, smell and sense of vibration compensate for the lack of
sight, the world remains to a large extent elusive and fraught with hazards.
For security, information and understanding the child must rely heavily
on the spoken word, but even that has its difficulties. Since he learns the
language of the seeing, most information reaches him intermingled with
expressions that remain unintelligible. Those of his experiences and
sensations that are peculiar to blindness, on the other hand, are seldom put
into words by the seeing.
The sensitive parent or teacher does her best to empathize with the child
and to take both his limitations and his special sensory experiences into
account as he communicates with her. Education must nevertheless be
focused largely upon interpreting a seeing world to the child and training
him to function in it. By necessity the blind child learns to accept information
on faith. He becomes used to relinquishing his own ideas, to disregarding his
own perceptions whenever they do not tally with the concepts of the seeing.
He is in danger of becoming overly compliant and passive, of losing touch
with himself. The fantasies and ideas which are thus sealed off from the
process of maturation are apt to persist in their original form and to exert a
regressive influence upon the child’s personality. To strengthen the feeling of
identity and to develop initiative and independence it is important to give the
132
ART AND THE BLIND CHILD 133
blind child every opportunity freely to express his very own ideas. In this task
the art therapy program is important.
Materials
The chief materials used in the art therapy program are ceramic clay
containing fine grog which gives it more body and diminishes the danger of
explosion in firing. Wax, papier mâché and other materials that lend
themselves to three-dimensional work are used at times.
The hand
The hands, particularly the fingers, are important organs of perception for
the blind and this function takes precedence over the hand’s function as a
tool. The children are trained to perceive objects with a light touch, being
careful not to damage them as they feel them. This creates a conflict which
makes it hard for some children to use their hands forcefully in sculpturing.
However, when they have learned to use them both to perceive and to give
form the children’s hands move with rare grace.
Space
The blind person who perceives space by touch includes in his concepts all
spaces that he feels with his hands. The inside of a mouth, the hollow of a
tree, the underside of his sculpture are, to the blind, integral elements of his
work. To fully comprehend a blind artist’s ideas the seeing should not only
look at the work, but feel it.
Size
The blind are inclined to work on a large scale because details must be big
enough to be distinguished by touch. Moreover, in a world in which much
escapes them and where they are forced to form many concepts via
down-scaled models, handling substantial life-sized objects increases the
feeling of reality and is in itself valuable.
Developmental pattern
In all children’s art schematic representations precede more realistic work.
Emotional meaning largely determines the size and manner of representation
134 ART AS THERAPY
in the beginning and to some extent influences art throughout life. Since the
experiences of blind and seeing children are not exactly alike, the pattern of
development differs in detail. A number of differences are particularly
striking.
The seeing child whose earliest perceptions are dominated by the sight of
the mother’s face usually begins the representation of human beings with the
face, conceived as a large round shape complete with eyes, while other
features make their first appearance somewhat later. The blind child depends
on hearing the mother’s voice. To him the face has little significance; he is apt
to represent the ears exaggeratedly large, attached to a relatively small head.
The mouth is usually represented according to the sensory experience as a
deep hollow space. The expressive function of the lips, which figures so
largely in the work of seeing young children, is usually not part of the blind
child’s early concepts.
The eyes are an emotionally loaded area. Their representation depends
largely on the child’s feelings about his eyes. Some blind children
over-emphasize eyes, others omit them.
Free motility is, under normal circumstances, one of the most precious
early achievements, and so many children represent legs and feet earlier than
arms and hands. The blind child must learn to restrain his impulse to run, and
this is apt to influence his representation of legs. They are often undersized or
show inadequacy in some other way.
Arms and hands on the other hand are the blind child’s most important
means of experiencing and mastering the world. They are often made
enormously long. It is interesting that the toes are frequently represented as a
kind of additional set of lesser fingers.
Clothes, which figure largely in the work of seeing children, are neglected
by the blind child whose sculptures express primarily his own bodily
sensations. For example, the blind child will rarely model a shoe; instead, he
sculptures his feet and toes as he feels them inside his socks and shoes.
Teaching method
The method of working with the children is based on the recognition that
there can be no short cuts in art. It is essential to elicit each child’s own ideas
and help him to give them form. Only when we accept them unconditionally,
however bizarre or limited they may seem, is it possible for the child to grow
beyond them.
ART AND THE BLIND CHILD 135
Examples
Karin
Karin, blind since she was eight months old, knew that elephants are huge
animals possessing a magnificent trunk. She therefore endowed each of her
elephant’s four legs with big hand-like feet, each possessing five fingers. She
also adorned her elephants with strong hair made of rolls of clay (Figure
11.1).
136 ART AS THERAPY
Christopher
Nineteen-year-old Christopher began the clay head of his statue of ‘Eve’ by
fashioning two deep hollows in which to place her eyes. He also built a
complex oral cavity, taking great pleasure in constructing the inside of the
mouth (Figure 11.2).
All this was to become invisible when eyes and eyelids were placed in the
two hollows and lips and chin were constructed over the gaping mouth. Yet
the sculpture’s intense life is bound up with a working process wherein the
hollow spaces that are invisible to the sighted are an essential element of the
blind young man’s concept of a woman’s face.
Further Reading
Burlingham, D. T. (1961) ‘Some notes on the development of the blind.’ Psychoanalytic
Studies of the Sighted and the Blind. New York: International Universities Press.
Burlingham, D. T. (1964) ‘Hearing and its role in the development of the blind.’ The Psy-
choanalytic Studies of the Sighted and the Blind. New York: International Universities Press.
Burlingham, D. T. (1965) ‘Some problems of ego development in blind children.’ The
Psychoanalytic Studies of the Sighted and the Blind. New York: International Universities
Press.
Fraiberg, S. and Freedman, D. A. (1987) ‘Studies in the ego development of the congeni-
tally blind child.’ In L. Fraiberg (ed) The Selected Writings of Selma Fraiberg. Columbus,
OH: Ohio State University Press.
Lowenfeld, V. (1952) The Nature of Creative Activity. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Lowenfeld, V. (1957) Creative and Mental Growth. New York: Macmillan.
Willis, D. M. (1965) ‘Some observations of blind nursery school children’s understanding
of their world.’ The Psychoanalytic Study of the Child, Vol.20. New York: International
University Press.
CHAPTER 12
138
CASE HISTORY OF CHRISTOPHER 139
tioning as the therapeutic arm of the Jewish Guild for the Blind’s psychiatric
clinic. There he responded well to compassionate firm handling. He became
attached to his teachers, was able to learn Braille and his behavior improved.
I began working as art therapist at the Guild School when Christopher
was 12 years old. (For an account of my work with Christopher at the Guild
School see Kramer 1993.) It appeared that Christopher had excellent tactile
perception and memory and much talent and enthusiasm for working with
clay. His earliest subject matter was dominated by identification with the
aggressor. He sculpted many wild well-defended animals. The masterpiece of
this period was a large three-horned rhinoceros.
A change occurred when the family left Harlem and moved to a
one-family house in the Bronx, where life was somewhat less violent. Chris-
topher became interested in the wild birds he heard singing in the backyard.
He sculpted a tree from ceramic clay that harbored six pairs of nesting birds
in its branches. His passionate interest in birds culminated in a five-foot high
sculpture of a blue heron (a picture of which can be seen in Kramer 1993).
After he left the Guild School at age 14 Christopher’s school life was
fraught with difficulties. He remained rebellious, unable to comply to con-
ventional discipline and teaching methods. He particularly resented
sculpture classes for the blind that were limited to making casts from
commercial molds. Instead he worked at home making wax sculptures of
animals.
Christopher’s home life remained difficult. Mr. Miller had died before his
sons reached adolescence. Mrs. Miller, a hard-working practical nurse, was
unable to control her sons, who soon became delinquent and drug
dependent. To sustain their habit they even threatened and robbed their
mother. Mrs. Miller’s daughters never became delinquent, but the older one
soon gave birth to a baby girl which she had to raise at home without the
father’s assistance. The family depended heavily on the steady income that
came to them from fostering Christopher, but this did not give him any
status. His position in the family remained marginal. He was frequently
ill-fed and ill-treated. However, when his social worker wanted to find
another, better foster home for him Christopher absolutely refused to be
moved. To him Mrs. Miller was mother and he only left home when he was
able to set up house by himself.
During the ups and downs of his school days I never lost touch with
Christopher. He continued to make wax sculptures of animals and consulted
me about them in long telephone conversations. When at age 17 he was
140 ART AS THERAPY
entrusted with a seeing eye dog so that he could travel I invited him to come
to my studio every second Saturday evening to work at sculpture. These
evenings began with a nourishing meal. He then worked for two or three
hours and went home by subway.
Christopher was at that time ready to sculpt a human head. From his work
we see how the blind must orient themselves by establishing powerful forms
that appear exaggerated to the sighted (Figure 12.1). We also see Christo-
pher’s capacity to integrate them into an impressive sculptural whole that is
comprehensible both to the sighted and to the blind.
Christopher had at this time converted to the Pentecostal religion. He had
acquired a ‘spiritual mother’ and relied heavily on his religion for emotional
sustenance and control.
Three casts of his head were needed, one for himself, one for the spiritual
mother and one for myself. Accordingly I made a rubber mold from which
several copies could be cast.
When Christopher felt the first cast I had made he was devastated. It was not
right at all! The head absolutely needed more work. He worried whether I
felt that he was an ‘ungrateful bastard’ for being dissatisfied. I assured him
that he was just a typical artist. Artists are never satisfied with their work.
Since the original clay head had remained intact and workable, I offered that
Christopher continue to work with it. If the alterations he made would
indeed be a substantial improvement I would be willing to make a new mold.
Accordingly Christopher set to work. The new version was infinitely
stronger and clearer than the first one (Figures 12.1 and 12.2).
The event was typical. Christopher frequently undertook changes, often very
radical ones while he worked at his sculptures. These were constructive even
when they entailed such radical action as taking a kitchen knife and cutting
off a nude’s breast. ‘Don’t worry,’ he would say, ‘I will make a better breast.’
Christopher’s actions in real life were not so benign, nor was the fate of his
142 ART AS THERAPY
completed sculptures secure once they had left my studio. During the 15
years he worked with me he made one serious suicide attempt. He also went
through an unhappy and violent marriage that ended in separation. In an
excess of rage he destroyed a plaster cast of a nude 5’5’’ tall on which he had
labored for three years. In a storm of self-hate he destroyed a plaster bust that
embodied his self at seven years of age (Figure 12.3).
How close he was to violence can be fathomed from the following account.
He told me that he had stabbed an empty metal can with an ice pick in order
to find out if he could kill a man. He declared that he had found that he
would not be able to kill.
CASE HISTORY OF CHRISTOPHER 143
mentalist religion he had embraced gave structure and control, while art gave
him inner freedom and pride in solid accomplishments.
Discussion
When among one’s patients one encounters an exceptionally talented
individual one feels compelled to help beyond and above one’s ordinary
duties. To help Christopher I had to be willing to give of my time. I also had
to be a competent sculptor. Indeed I had to acquire skills in building armature
and in casting that I lacked. I also had to be an art therapist. Otherwise I
could not have been able to steer my way, circumventing transference and
countertransference, nor could I have accepted his destructive and
self-destructive acting out. At the same time I had to refrain from behaving
like a therapist. Unless I treated him as my student rather than as a patient, I
would have lost him. Nevertheless I had to be alert to any insights that came
from him, without offering more emotional help than could be given within
our circumscribed relationship.
Christopher’s story convincingly tells what ‘art as therapy’ can mean.
References
Kramer, E. (1993) Art as Therapy with Children. Chicago, IL: Magnolia Street Publishers.
CHAPTER 13
146
THE IMPORTANCE OF LINES 147
associated her fear of being locked in my office with a time in her childhood
when her furious mother had swept the contents out of the refrigerator,
pushed Eva inside, and locked it. Star, a Native American woman who was
Sylvia’s lover, secretary and housekeeper, as well as Eva’s nanny, opened the
refrigerator in time to prevent Eva from freezing or suffocating to death.
Sylvia, a famous professional singer, had become furious when Eva inter-
rupted her lovemaking with Star, their routine before Sylvia left for her
evening performance. When I made her aware of the connections between
her present distress and her past experiences, Eva calmed down and her
shivering stopped. With her trust in me restored, and good reality-testing
reinstated, Eva was able to return to her job at the agency and function
normally.
Eva’s background
Eva’s life story was fraught with catastrophes. While listening to what she
called her ‘Scenes from hell,’ I wondered at times about the validity of her
recollections, and hoped that they were not just distorted but entirely untrue.
However, medical records, school reports, legal documents, as well as contact
with relatives and other people from her past revealed that most of her
memories were accurate.
Eva was delivered by Cesarean section and was subsequently made to feel
that she had destroyed her mother’s life. Sylvia, a heroin addict, instilled in
Eva overwhelming feelings of guilt for this ‘crime.’ Sylvia’s husband, Frank,
was a drug dealer on whom Sylvia relied for her drugs. She consumed pills
like candies, and made Eva take them too so that the child would sleep while
she was away at her singing engagements. There seemed to have been a
fusion of identity between mother and daughter, an enmeshment which may
have caused the mother to project onto Eva her own problems regarding
separation.
There were also signs of the mother’s genuine wish to take care of Eva in a
different way than she had been taken care of by her mother, Katherine, who
was involved in illegal gambling and often had to move quickly with her
family to avoid the police. Thus, as a child, Sylvia often found her home
empty when she arrived there from school. In panic, she would gather up her
siblings and collect clues as to her parent’s whereabouts. Giving pills to Eva
may have been an effort to numb the child to an awareness of painful
separation. Gradually, Eva, like her mother, began to rely on pills as a way of
relieving psychic pain.
THE IMPORTANCE OF LINES 149
Eva was sexually abused by Sylvia, Frank and their friends until she was
about eight years old, at which time Frank was imprisoned. Even when Sylvia
did not actively participate in the abuse, she never prevented it. Eva told me
that her mother used to say, ‘“I love you but I don’t like you” – and she would
say it with such hatred in her voice.’
Eva always considered herself to be ‘the cancer of the family – the bad
seed.’ Sylvia’s manager, Erick, had in fact fathered Eva, and Frank seemed to
sense that he was not Eva’s biological father. This might explain why Eva was
more severely abused than her siblings.
Sylvia, Frank and their friends would abuse Eva to arouse themselves,
then push her out of bed and force her to sit naked on the floor with her legs
spread wide apart. Sylvia’s bedroom was walled with mirrors so Eva was
confronted by the activity in her mother’s bed. Sometimes she was pushed
into a closet and left there, often for an entire day. To console herself, Eva
wrapped herself in her mother’s nightgown. When Sylvia discovered that it
comforted her, she ripped the nightgown to pieces and threw it away, as if
she resented Eva having any comfort or security.
Sylvia also destroyed her treasured toys, like the dolls she was given by
Erick on his frequent visits. Eva did manage to hold onto one thing – one of
the syringes her mother used to inject heroin – by hiding it in her sock, shoe,
or hair until adulthood. Eva finally had a funeral service for this object,
which represented her mother, after psychotherapy had helped her to accept
her mother’s death.
In early childhood, Eva was cared for during her mother’s rehearsals and
performances by an older sister and sometimes by her grandmother,
Katherine, of whom she was very fond. Katherine was obese and she over-fed
Eva from her three refrigerators. Eva had fond memories of Katherine
bringing her to the park to play and on several occasions she rescued Eva
from having to accompany the family to the police station after they were
arrested.
Eva also was cared for from the age of three until she was eight years old
by her mother’s companion, Star, who never abused her. Star brought
structure, meaning and fun to Eva’s life, engendering in her feelings of
security, predictability and trust. Eva fondly remembered their weekly walks
to the park to watch the seals play; they would buy a balloon and a pastry on
the way home. Star taught Eva to read, ride a bicycle and ice skate.
Eva went to a summer camp where performers frequently sent their
children. At first, she was among the youngest campers there and became the
150 ART AS THERAPY
Eva’s presence. When Eva discovered that a classmate of hers had been asked
to appear in the picture as her stand-in, she tried to hang herself, but was
discovered and rescued by neighbors.
When she was 13 years old, Eva’s mother forced her to undergo extensive
plastic surgery on her face so that she would more closely resemble Sylvia.
Throughout her childhood, Eva’s mother had insisted that Eva could only
become worthwhile and beautiful if her face were changed. Sylvia finally
arranged the surgery after discovering that she had a malignant melanoma on
her own nose. Because local anesthesia was used, Eva could hear when pieces
of bones from her chin were dropped into the receptacle for garbage. She said
she felt that what little sense of identity she had was lost.
Sylvia arranged a party to celebrate Eva’s transformation, and called it her
‘new birthday.’ Sylvia’s friends raved about the likeness between mother and
daughter. When Eva later brought this to psychotherapy, I reassured her that
her own emotional expressions would gradually transform this artificial copy
of Sylvia’s face into a face that truly belonged to her, one that reflected her
mind and her unique personality.
That same year, Eva’s mother died from cardiac complications following a
hysterectomy. It was difficult for Eva to accept her death, particularly because
relatives and friends kept up the illusion that Sylvia was still alive. She was
laid out for burial in the dress she had worn at her last performance and her
recordings were played throughout the week of Shiva, the period of
mourning in the Hebrew religion.
Eva felt that Sylvia continued to live through her, and Frank, then out of
prison, reinforced this perception by calling Eva by his wife’s name, and
insisting that they live together as husband and wife. When she refused, he
rented out their house and later sold it along with all of Eva’s belongings,
including a treasured drawing board her mother had given her.
The courts placed Eva in the custody of her older married sister when
Frank showed no interest or capacity to care for her, but Eva felt it was worse
than living at home. After a year, Eva arranged to live with a high school
teacher and her family, a woman who had recognized Eva’s artistic talent. Eva
paid for her room and board by doing household chores and baby-sitting.
After completing high school, she attended art school for six months but left
because of incidents involving drugs at the school, where she felt like an
outcast. She returned to her hometown and tried to reconcile with Frank,
who broke her nose. She did not continue to see him.
152 ART AS THERAPY
Eva married a photographer, but the two were divorced after a year. It was
impossible for her to adjust sexually to the marriage. She returned to school,
completed a bachelor’s degree in counseling, and got a job. She lived with
various people and had one serious love affair with an older, married man.
Their relationship broke up when Eva moved in with a newly employed psy-
chotherapist at the college.
Eva was told by this woman that she would be cured only by
re-experiencing the horrors of her past. These sessions took place on campus
during the night when no one was nearby to hear Eva’s screams. She came to
doubt this type of ‘technique’ when she noticed the therapist’s excitement.
Eva held a job as a counselor in an agency that dealt with youthful
substance abusers. She was considered a devoted and effective counselor,
conscientious and hardworking – in her own words, a ‘workaholic.’ Eva had
a dog to which she was also devoted. She alternately treated it lovingly and
abusively. Eva, at times, felt that the dog was Sylvia reincarnated, because her
mother had told her that she would come back as a dog after her death.
Eva made weekly visits to Sylvia’s grave, talking to her through a metal
pipe she had inserted into the ground. She maintained a strong conviction
that Sylvia was not dead and said she expected to see her mother on the
street: ‘One can never trust her.’ On the anniversary of Sylvia’s death, Eva
would return to the hospital where her mother had died and demand to see
her, often becoming violent and accusatory toward the staff. When she began
psychotherapy, Eva was terrified that if she began to talk about her
childhood, Sylvia would come back and punish her as she had done when
Eva, as a child, began to disclose to a teacher how she got the bruises and cuts
on her body.
Drawing to survive
Since early childhood, Eva had always drawn pictures, but her mother had
ripped them up in fear that their content might reveal something about their
home life that would be damaging to her career. Eva managed to find ways to
defy her mother, learning drawing techniques for camouflaging content
which she knew her mother would not accept.
Eva could record her experiences in drawings. Hundreds of drawings that
she had produced prior to her psychotherapy kept her from being totally
overwhelmed by past experiences. When she began bringing her drawings to
our sessions, Eva was not fully aware what they depicted. Only as she showed
them to me and began talking about what occurred to her while studying
THE IMPORTANCE OF LINES 153
them, did she gradually become aware of their connections to her past.
During the course of our work together, Eva brought in drawings she had
made prior to her psychotherapy and also about 100 which she had made
while she was in treatment. She never drew in my office, always in her own
home.
Our sessions were highly structured so that Eva would feel safe and secure
that I would not allow her to act on her sexual or aggressive impulses; our
communication was to be in words only. If she appeared to be under the
influence of drugs, I asked her to leave because productive work could not
occur. Given a choice of seating, Eva picked a rocking chair and placed it
close to the door so that she could catapult herself out of the room at the end
of the session. Our parting was difficult for her.
A strong therapeutic alliance was immediately formed. She idealized me
for several years before she could dethrone and cathect me with bad parental
images and work these through. In fact, she temporarily became addicted to
me as a replacement for her drugs, which she stopped using after 18 months
of psychotherapy. She never missed a session, and circled the block where my
office is located several times a day to reassure herself that therapy was not
just a dream.
Eva attempted suicide after our first month of psychotherapy. She had a
transferential experience of my leaving on vacation as being rejected and
abandoned by her mother. We took steps to make her feel safe during my
future absences. I made a recording of my voice telling her all that she had
accomplished in her therapy and what was left to be done in order to provide
Eva with a sense of accomplishment and continuity. I also included music on
the tape and read poems that related to her. This tape provided a link similar
to the one with her mother’s tapes which she had listened to when Sylvia was
performing abroad. I also made a sleeping bag that she could crawl into
should she feel overwhelmed by her fears. This was reminiscent of the
nightgown of Sylvia’s that Eva had wrapped around herself as a child. The
sleeping bag and the music represented early transitional objects and as it
turned out, also became a reminder of Star, because Native American women
use a bag called a papoose to carry their babies. These objects also served as a
reminder of her relationship with me. I stressed that in contrast to her
childhood, she was no longer a helpless victim and that our relationship
would continue as long as she needed it.
From the beginning, I tried to create a corrective social and emotional
experience. Empathic listening, supportive validation of her feelings, clarifi-
154 ART AS THERAPY
Swedish toy horse. The picture she made has a humorous double meaning:
how she experienced me as a person with energy (like a Swedish work horse)
and that she had called herself ‘work horse’ on a business card she designed
when she was thinking of seeking work as a commercial artist.
Eva began enjoying herself more, and sailing became one of her favorite
activities. In Figure 13.2, she painted a star on one of the sails of the boats,
symbolic of the woman who used to take care of her as a child and guide her,
the good mother whose caretaking attitude she now could identify with in
the interest of self-preservation and enjoyment in life.
When her psychotherapy was coming to an end after eight years, Eva asked
to make a few videotapes which she hoped might help others in ‘putting
156 ART AS THERAPY
some of her drawings, Eva began by talking about the importance of placing
oneself in a milieu conducive to growth and putting oneself together ‘in one
piece’ – psychotherapy.
Summary
I have found that if a person who is experiencing difficulties in daily func-
tioning that stem from past experiences has a talent, this talent can serve as a
powerful agent in regaining mental health. In Eva’s case, her strength was in
her art. She was able to express at the outset of therapy, for example,
preverbal memories and feeling states in her drawings and paintings which
she could not fully convey in words. Later in psychotherapy, her talent
became less a way of communicating and working through traumatic experi-
ences than a source of pleasure, reflecting the capacity for sublimation, ‘no
more messes.’ Eva, it seems, possessed unusual strength, a strength that
enabled her to survive abusive treatment with a relatively sound mind.
THE IMPORTANCE OF LINES 157
vient to Eva’s mother, but a protective, kind and competent caretaker to Eva.
Also, there was respite from abuse during the summers at camp.
Finally, beyond what we must surmise as Eva’s exceptionally resilient
physical and mental constitution, there was the gift of symbolic living in art.
Drawing pictures constituted a sanctuary of self-communication where the
unthinkable and unspeakable could be given form.
The drawings represented in this paper (a tiny selection of innumerable
similar works) impress as inextricable mixtures. Pornographic imagery,
obsessive, compulsive repetition as well as elements of sublimation coexist.
We learn from Eva that certain repetitive features of her art embody
maneuvers she had discovered as a child to help herself endure pain and
disgust when she was being abused.
Counting constituted one such maneuver. Eva said ‘… once I stumbled on
counting, it gave me a way of lasting…’ We learn that Eva’s counting was
linked to the sense of safety she had experienced as a small child when she
felt the bars of her crib as she pressed her back against them. We can follow
up the connection between an experience with tangible objects and the
abstraction of numbers and lines which allowed her to be reassured not just
by the crib bars, but by anything that was countable and/or linear.
A picture entitled ‘Counting’, for example, represented a huge erect penis
covered with and surrounded by innumerable precisely drawn lines.
Apparently, these somehow contained the image and made it less threatening
to Eva.
Eva also used circular shapes to retain a sense of unity, continuity, and
selfhood. Whenever she succeeded in imagining a circular form in space she
‘did not get lost in everything…’ In ‘Lost in space’ (Figure 13.3) we see at the
very center a tiny, beautifully drawn figure of a little girl who has her back
turned toward us. She is sitting cross-legged upon a snake-like shape that
terminates in the upper left as a penis shape. The girl and the area on which
she sits are free of the lines, dots, and rounded black shapes that obsessively
cover the rest of the picture. It is also reassuring that the several gigantic
penises are turned away from the little figure.
Scarcely visible among all this is a small circular shape upon which the
child’s gaze is concentrated. There is an incredible contrast between the live,
sensitive quality of line in the drawing of the child and the obsessive, rigid,
brutal style which permeates the rest of the picture. Eva was able even before
she began psychotherapy to draw herself as an alive, complete person, even if
only seen from the back. It almost seems as if Eva discovered in childhood the
THE IMPORTANCE OF LINES 159
‘The crib and the building blocks’ (Figure 13.4) embodies both Eva’s
sexualized, fragmented world and her attempts at reconstruction. She
explains that the gray lines represent the bars of her crib, invaded by
snake-like penises. We recall that feeling the bars upon her back as she
pressed herself against them provided her with a sense of safety and
160 ART AS THERAPY
intactness. But the bars in front of her eyes provided no safety. Looking
through them, she saw her parents’ violent fights. As she said, ‘…whenever
they were not hurting me, they were hurting each other.’ In her painting she
does not depict fights. Instead, she has drawn numerous building blocks
adorned with images of various body parts. Conceivably, these could be
assembled to construct a whole person, if only a sufficient number of images
of non-sexual body parts could be found.
As a child, Eva loved to play with building blocks. She now used these benign
toys as metaphors for the task of constructing a whole self. The blocks are
skillfully drawn in perspective. Nevertheless, confusion reigns. The blocks
seem to be floating, and occasionally to interpenetrate. The laws of optics are
reversed: blocks in the background are much larger than those nearby. Yet in
order to assemble a whole picture, the blocks ought to be all of the same size.
THE IMPORTANCE OF LINES 161
We see that Eva usually experienced the bars of her crib as confining,
which contributed to her fragmented perception of her violent and
sexualized environment. In another picture, however, she created a benign
world, seen through the white bars of her crib. The bars symbolized the
framework of reasonable rules and limitations established by Star, Eva’s
beloved caretaker who helped her acquire skills and a sense of self. Even
though it appeared rather rigid, it constituted a victory. It is one of the few
pictures that she created that was free of sexual imagery and all the black dots
– the ‘cancer cell’ – that invaded most of Eva’s drawings.
This kind of combination of graphic perfectionism and spatial confusion
appeared frequently in Eva’s art. One example of this was the cover of a
booklet she made which she called ‘Scene in hell’. It was a skillful example of
op-art, a style that depends on precise drawing used as an assault on the
system of visual perception. Contradictory clues of spatial relationships were
simultaneously offered to the onlooker. Therefore, the image kept moving
and it was impossible to determine its position in space. The cover prepared
us for the confusion, the fragmentation to be found in the booklet’s hellish
pages. Eva had made the book before she began psychotherapy. Telling her
story just to herself or an anonymous audience, was not sufficient to prevent
her self-destructive acting out. Later on, with the aid of psychotherapy, art
could become a means of replacing deeds with communication.
One such artwork which Eva brought to a session was a drawing done on
a scratch board which she had covered with black ink (see Figure 13.1). At
this time, she had compulsively scratched and cut herself. The scratched-in
images in her drawing stood out white against the inky black, while Eva’s
face and arms were entirely free of injuries. The image as a whole thus consti-
tutes an act of sublimation. Acting-out was replaced by a complex multi-
faceted communication which relied on the act of vigorously incising lines
onto a hard surface.
Within the picture, displacement, defensive maneuvers, transference
phenomena and sublimation coexist. In the center is a baby holding a giant
hypodermic needle above her head. The baby’s white outlines are drawn
with superb sensitive realism. The figure is reminiscent of the little girl of
‘Lost in space’ (Figure 13.3), but while that child has turned her back to us,
the scratch board baby is facing us, though we cannot see her face because it
has been relentlessly scratched into an undifferentiated white mass. The same
has happened in the lower right half of the picture, where a mother holds her
baby in beautifully drawn arms. The faces of both mother and baby have
162 ART AS THERAPY
been scratched out. Eva also appears as a misshapen being clutching her
bizarre transitional object, a hypodermic needle, swelled to gigantic propor-
tions. Her features can be discerned within a midst of scratches. Well-defined
eyes are turned suspiciously to the left. In the upper right area appears the
face of the plastic surgeon who had performed surgery on her face, complete
with a surgical head-lamp. Somewhat below the center of the page, a small
black nude – lacking hands and feet – seems suspended in space. She appears
to be hollow. A scratched-out white area extends from her crotch to her
stomach.
The similarity in the shape and size of three hypodermic needles and
three crutches is noticeable. Both crutch and needle signify illness and imper-
fection. The crutches tell us of Kupfermann’s temporary impediment (she
had injured a leg and was temporarily on crutches) and the needle of Sylvia’s
doom. Equating them, Eva may have made a first step in relinquishing her
mother’s needle which constituted a destructive crutch in her mother’s life.
Kupfermann’s crutch helped her to regain health. Even though the drawing
tells of injuries Eva sustained in early childhood, it is free of the black dots
that obsessively intrude upon most of her artwork. It is indeed entirely her
own and constitutes an act of liberation.
In Eva’s imagery, black dots symbolized cancer cells. We recall that her
parents conceived of Eva as ‘the bad seed,’ ‘the cancer of the family.’ The evil
that permeated the parents’ life was unloaded upon their youngest child, who
could therefore be abused with impunity. Helplessly exposed to the powerful
projections of her parents, Eva was forced to introject their image of her, the
cancer cells, which continuously invaded her artwork. Sometimes the cancer
cells, as well as the stylized penises and vaginas and the defensive ‘countable’
black lines, were drawn in a brutally rigid style, quite different from the
quality of lines Eva used when she depicted her own ideas, thus giving the
impression of parental introjects invading her artwork.
Disturbing as they are, the endlessly repeated intrusions were essential in
working through Eva’s experiences of being treated as ‘the bad seed,’ of
repeated narrow escapes from death at the hands of her parents. They had to
find symbolic representation again and again until their impact gradually
diminished.
Eva’s art gradually changed in character. The kind of pictures she did
toward the end of her psychotherapy were no longer sexualized but
depictions of reality. The ‘Dala Horses’ was an example of how, later in her
psychotherapy, Eva was able to produce more benign artwork. It showed an
THE IMPORTANCE OF LINES 163
Conclusions
I have discussed just a few of Eva’s pictures. In preparation, Kupfermann and I
looked through the innumerable works done by Eva before and during
treatment – a grueling undertaking. Most of the work repeated the tale of
Eva’s pathology. The exceptions, some of which have been discussed in this
paper, have the quality of the miraculous just because of their rarity.
I have never worked with Eva, who needed no art therapist to open the
door to symbolic living. An exceptionally talented individual, she discovered
the importance of lines on her own. Later on in her psychotherapy, she came
to understand the meaning of the drawings she had been driven to make.
In this context, Ernst Federn’s observations are interesting. A psychoana-
lytically trained social worker, he worked for years within the Austrian penal
system where prisoners are encouraged to engage in artwork. Space and
materials are available, but there are no art therapists at work within the
prison system.
Federn, who worked with severely disturbed individuals, many of whom
were serving life sentences, observed that those who are able to do artwork
have a better prognosis than those who don’t, regardless of how crazy and
pathological the artwork may be.
Visual, auditory and kinesthetic experiences precede the acquisition of
language. This may be one reason why the visual arts as well as dance and
music can give form and structure to experiences that happened too early to
be cast into words. Or else, the arts may constitute a language that can tell of
happenings so outlandish, cruel, guilt-laden and forbidden that they must
not or cannot reach verbal consciousness. Often experiences of the latter kind
– though they occurred later in life – touch upon preverbal material. When
visual images so replace the spoken word, it is essential that artmaking be a
highly invested pursuit, engaging the creator’s skill, concentration and time
in a supreme effort. Work thus produced attains a life of its own, feels real. Art
therapy can be a powerful aid in maintaining emotional balance. It can also
serve to complement verbal psychotherapy, as this paper documents.2
References
Federn, E. and Nunberg, H. (eds) (1962–1975) Minutes of the Vienna Psycho-analytic Society.
New York: International Universities Press.
Freud, S. (1911–13) ‘Remembering, repeating, and working through.’ In J. Strachey (ed,
trans.) The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud (Volume
12). London: Hogarth Press.
THE IMPORTANCE OF LINES 165
Kupfermann, K., and Smaldino, C. (1987) ‘The vitalizing and the revitalizing experience
of reliability: The place of touch in psychotherapy.’ Clinical Social Work Journal 15, 3,
223–235.
Notes
1 Kerstin Kupfermann, MA, DES, previously on the staff of Margaret S. Mahler’s clinic,
Masters Children’s Center, New York, is an Assistant Clinical Professor at the State
University at Stony Brook, NY. Dept. of Psychiatry and Behavioral Science. She is also
a seminar leader and supervisor at Long Island Jewish-Hillside Medical Center’s
Schneider Children’s Hospital in New York, The Campus of Albert Einstein College of
Medicine, and on the board and faculty of the New York School for Psychoanalytic
Psychotherapy and Psychoanalysis. She is in private practice and a member of the
International Psychoanalytic Society and The Association for Child Psychoanalysis.
She has written many articles, among them ‘Cancer as a factitious Disorder,’ and
co-authored the book The Power of Fantasy with Lucy Freeman.
This article was originally published in the American Journal of Art Therapy 34,
February 1996.
2 Kupfermann’s note: I would like to express my deepest thanks to Eva for what I have
learned while working with her in her psychotherapy and for her permission to publish
my work with her. This is a credit to her concern for others and her desire to help those
who can relate to her situation. My gratitude also goes to Peter Purpura, PhD, and John
LaValle, CSW, for their valuable, stimulating, psychoanalytically-oriented comments
regarding the publication of this case.
PART 4
169
170 ART AS THERAPY
the partner who is a personal friend ‘the animal with the home valency’
(Lorenz 1966, p.211). The faculty of individual recognition, once
developed, has a broad range extending beyond species, so that bonds
between diverse domestic animals, as well as attachments to human
caretakers, become possible.
The ability to retain memories and activate them to recognize territories
and pathways must evidently be as old as goal-directed motion. Recognition
of individuals is of more recent origin. Observations of social birds, wolves,
dogs, and others reveal such memories to be durable, conceivably lasting a
lifetime. Suspended in time, they may remain latent indefinitely, yet ready to
come into play whenever any familiar individual or territory is again encoun-
tered.
Those are, perhaps, the only situations when memories are available to the
lower species. Voluntary recall of former experiences as a purely mental
exercise can have little survival value before the faculty of reflection has
evolved. We can assume that voluntary recall and conceptual thinking
evolved simultaneously. However, the inability to evoke the memory of the
absent does not imply that the individual does not suffer from the absence of
an important other. Among monogamous birds, such as geese, intense
distress following the loss of a mate is well documented, as is the search for
the lost individual (Lorenz 1966).3 Indeed, this suffering may be intense
because absence is absolute and consolation via memory impossible.
Even for humans, retrieving memories without the aid of external clues
remains a more difficult task than matching memories with a perceived
object (for example, a forgotten name may be recognized if we look through
our address book and encounter it there). Retrieved memories are, as a rule,
but faint shadows of the complete, emotion-laden memories of past events
that can be activated under special conditions.4 That they exist in such
fullness is confirmed by hypnosis, by experimental stimulation of the brain,
and by phenomena encountered in brain pathology caused by strokes and
injuries (Sacks 1987).
This barrier to intense experience of the past may be a blessing. If each
memory were to intrude into daily life with its original intensity, it would be
unbearable. To be beneficial, vivid experiences must be reserved for
well-prepared and protected situations such as artistic or religious
encounters.
Inasmuch as any animal’s life depends on the capacity to navigate within
its territory, perception of specifics is essential. Committing territories and
REFLECTION ON THE EVOLUTION OF HUMAN PERCEPTION… 173
Supernormal objects
Naturalists capitalize on the inborn penchant for simple clear signals and the
eager, intense response elicited by dummies that exaggerate aspects of objects
toward which an innate response may exist. They are then able to determine
the necessary elements by a process of elimination. Ethologists have named
such dummies ‘supernormal objects’. The evolution of signals and responses
REFLECTION ON THE EVOLUTION OF HUMAN PERCEPTION… 175
confirm an existing culture or power structure. (On the other hand, human
complexity and propensity for social upheaval and change may engender
situations where certain art forms become symbols of social upheaval.
Consider the moral indignation aroused by Impressionism and the fervent
destruction of images of saints by Protestants.)
Works of art seem to partake of characteristics of supernormal objects
inasmuch as they are misleading. They seem akin to signals produced by
social species because they constitute an integral element within the fabric of
society. Common to social signals, parasitic counterfeits, and supernormal
dummies are their abstract clarity and powerful appeal.
Particularly interesting to our quest are instances when signals are part of
bonding mechanisms among higher social species, wherein territorial
perception and perception of categories interlock. The greeting ceremonial
among geese, for example, serves the dual function of inhibiting aggressive
behavior between friendly individuals and cementing their mutual bond.
The ceremonial itself is instinctive (Lorenz 1966). Two individuals face each
other while their beaks are pointedly diverted from head-on confrontation
(which would signal hostility). Instead, beaks are redirected against a real or
fictitious enemy at the partner’s side. (Because birds have peripheral vision,
the ceremonial partner remains in the visual field.) After a real or fictitious
victory, the partners engage in a rigidly ritualized triumphant display. This
ritual, however, may be performed only between geese who have formed a
bond. The ceremonial and bond are one. Its frequent repetition is essential to
each partner’s well-being. The greeting behavior implies the dovetailing of
innate reaction mechanisms dependent on the perception of signals, with ter-
ritorial recognition embodied in the recognition of the specific partner.
the mandala derives its potency both from the roundness of the maternal
breast and the nearly round shape of the schema face.
The period of undifferentiated response between the third and sixth
months is followed by selectiveness as the infant recognizes its mother’s face
and inscribes it into its schema. The mother’s face is then preferred. But the
response to supernormal configurations remains active. For instance, fasci-
nation with eyeglasses or any glittering object seems related to the infant’s
response to its mother’s eyes, surely the brightest object a baby might have
encountered on the mother’s person, before the invention of jewelry or of
spectacles. Mobiles, dolls and other toys whose amplified forms are akin to
supernormal objects retain their fascination throughout childhood and
beyond.
The infant’s fascination with the schema of face soon widens to fasci-
nation with facial expressions. As the baby slowly differentiates from mother,
playful seeking of eye-contact and turning away, playful mirroring of exag-
gerated expressions is endlessly and gleefully practiced. It seems compel-
lingly evident that the ability to produce expressions, to respond to them, and
to decode them, is innate, needing only stimulation from the parenting adult
to unfold.9 Equally compelling is the observation that the signals responded
to reside in all the mobile elements of the face: eyes, eyebrows, and mouth. In
addition, it can be observed that any large mass situated above the head, such
as a dark hat or some colorful ornament, easily fascinates or frightens.
Facial expressions undoubtedly carry enormous weight in conveying
mood. That mother’s mood profoundly influences her infant’s well-being is
common knowledge. Are we to consider primitive masks with their extrava-
gantly exaggerated facial features to be akin to supernormal objects? We will
return to this question.
Illustrative examples
There is a well known Zen painting ‘Six Persimmons’11 that can be seen as an
illustration of these ideas. The circle, the painting’s universal element, is
repeated six times. Radiating calm and centered balance, this universal
symbol can be seen as an abstraction of the breast as perceived by the
suckling infant. The response to the form seems instinctive. The circular
shape in this painting is modified to suggest persimmons. Philosophical sig-
nificance is superimposed onto universal meaning. The painting’s symbolic
elements extend both to universal infantile experience and to the spiritual life
of those Chinese adults who have embraced the Zen philosophy. The
placement of the six spheres, the subtle variations characterizing each fruit,
and the consummate economy of the brush strokes and the values achieved as
the ink is applied give life and warmth to the painting; territorial perception
is engaged. The manner in which the three elements of universal meaning,
cultural symbolism and individual treatment of each element complement
and enhance each other gives the work its nearly miraculous vigor.
The balance between the schematic and the individual which we admire
in ‘Six Persimmons’ need not be cast solely in the interplay between abstract
and representational elements. The magnificent rose windows that constitute
a central element of Gothic cathedral architecture exemplify a balance
between abstract categorical elements and both abstract and representational
territorial ones. Seen as part of the cathedral’s facade, the rose windows’
mandala shapes exert their centering and calming power. The masonry’s
abstract interplay of forms derived from the circle, different in each rose
window, gives variety and life to the circular structure. Perceived from the
cathedral’s interior, each rose-window’s stained glass imagery depicting an
element of the Catholic faith informs and instructs.12 Yet even here the repre-
sentational elements seem overshadowed by the intrinsically abstract
arrangement of the transparent areas and the radiance of their colors, so that
the abstract configuration calmly unifies the intricacies of the Gothic archi-
tecture.
Throughout the history of art, the proportions between these two modes
of representation vary. Schematic elements may dominate as in the geomet-
rical style of archaic Greek vases which attain their life from subtle variations
of the geometric forms, or they may be submerged in a wealth of individual
features as in Baroque art.
Art declines in the absence of either of these complementary elements. It
rigidifies into lifeless sterility when schematic elements reign supreme, for
REFLECTION ON THE EVOLUTION OF HUMAN PERCEPTION… 183
drawings done with compass and ruler, representing designs for constructing
telescopes. These drawings (not available for reproduction) were precise but a
telescope could not have been constructed by following these plans. When a
combination of therapeutic interventions led to remission, Donald ceased
producing picture-salads and geometric drawings. Instead, he developed a
talent for portraiture.
Carl, a middle-aged man suffering from paranoid schizophrenia of long
duration, was given to the depiction of secretive, formalistic images of a
religious nature. Figure 14.1, an image dominated by two suns with superim-
posed faces presiding over idiosyncratically arranged geometric structures,
impresses us as an attempt to impose some private order on a fragmented
world.
Successful intervention
The following are reflections on a successful intervention in art therapy with
an institutionalized young man who was mentally retarded. John had
Down’s Syndrome. This was an instance where graphic production, initially
formless and ‘territorial,’ acquired structure and with it the quality of art
(Henley 1986).13
John’s use of art materials had been for years stereotypically limited to
magic markers which he habitually carried in large supply. Whenever he was
given paper, he avidly covered the entire surface with a densely linear woven
network using only one color. His weavings had considerable graphic
complexity, unlike the scribbles typical of those people who are retarded and
who persevere once an action is initiated and thus are apt to cover paper
REFLECTION ON THE EVOLUTION OF HUMAN PERCEPTION… 187
John could not speak. His artwork, however, testified to hitherto unexpected
mental faculties and to a sense of form. However, we will never know what
prompted the change or what his new productions represented in John’s
inner world.
REFLECTION ON THE EVOLUTION OF HUMAN PERCEPTION… 189
Those who observed John’s initial behavior felt that drawing helped bind
anxiety. Guarding them jealously, John treated his drawings much like transi-
tional objects. But unlike a small child who simply adopts his transitional
objects, John gave his objects vibrancy and insistently meaningful surfaces.
Did John’s weavings signify a way of establishing symbolic territory in his
dispossessed, institutionalized existence?
Henley’s action had been spontaneous and intuitive. He remains unable to
explain what prompted him to offer a circular shape at that particular time,
beyond a desire somehow to introduce a change. Any analysis of what
transpired must remain conjecture. The effect of Henley’s gift must be seen
within the context of a well-established relationship of trust and mutual
liking. Henley was sensitive to the intrinsic graphic quality of John’s work
and undoubtedly John felt this. He may also have felt that unlike the rest of
the staff, this art therapist had expectations for him and had not given up on
him.
The gift of a circular shape may have conveyed more than one meaning.
On the surface it represented a baseball, a symbol of masculine aspirations of
success and potency. But the ancient significance of the mandala may have
also reverberated in the gift – John brought the gift to life during a session
with an art therapist who was a woman. He made it into a symbol recog-
nizable as a baseball, using considerable mental powers to imagine the
baseball seams’ intricate shape. Yet he celebrated his baseball with a circular
red area reminiscent of the maternal nipple. The coming together of feminine
and masculine symbolic significance within the protective orbit of both a
man and a woman therapist may have been essential for John.
Even though the two works are miles apart in artistic quality and spiritual
profundity, we may see certain parallels between John’s baseball and the mas-
terpiece of the ‘Six Persimmons’. In both instances, the mandala shape
dominates the image and the circle has been modified to signify a specific
cultural symbol. In John’s baseball, feminine and masculine elements
converge: the round ball with the red dot in its center has become the young
man’s proud possession, used for masculine, culturally accepted pursuits.
Having carried conjecture to its very limit, we remain unable to tell why and
how John’s miracle came about.
The fact remains that this nonverbal young man’s graphic activity
changed. Initially, John had seemed solely intent on taking possession of his
paper, creating territory by covering it with lines. After the episode of the
baseball, he was able to create impressive abstract configurations by setting
190 ART AS THERAPY
deliberately shaped densely covered surfaces against the negative space of his
white paper. The work attained, within the limitations of John’s mental
powers and talent, the quality of art in the full sense. In addition, John’s story
shows that the coming together of territorial and categorical qualities in art
may be within reach even for individuals whose mental functioning is
severely limited.
dining room (Figure 14.5). The sun had changed. Its empty eyes appeared
frightened and disoriented and the smiling mouth was replaced by clenched
teeth. When Raymond returned a second time after a brief period at home his
new sun was grim. The mouth and teeth were distorted beyond all
anatomical possibility. The outlined oval between the dark blue eyes was
reminiscent of the ‘third eye’ that often appears in adult schizophrenic art.
The nurturing environment of Wiltwyck School had brought out the benign
qualities of Raymond’s orality (Figure 14.4). The withholding parental
home brought on destructive, devouring oral aggression.
Ten-year-old Clyde was a haunted boy. Shortly after Clyde’s admission to
Wiltwyck School because of truancy and petty thefts, his mother died. When
he left home, she had predicted that he would not see her alive again. In art
therapy, he produced innumerable large monster faces. As Clyde’s distur-
bance diminished, monster paintings became less frequent and gave way to
imagery characteristic of the phallic concerns of a gifted 11-year-old.
Matthew and Harry were both highly gifted preadolescent boys. Most of
their artwork was anchored in the phallic phase, detailed, varied and full of
adventure. Yet from time to time, each produced huge magnificent mon-
ster-faces reminiscent of primitive masks. (Figure 9.6 by Harry and Figure
9.7 by Matthew are examples – see pp.107, 108). Each of the boys had
grown up in the care of a mother who had paranoid schizophrenia. Each had
had to adapt to his mother’s pathology, to ingest some of her illness along
with parental care. The monster faces seemed to reflect the monster-aspect of
their mothers. In this sense, their monster paintings could be understood as
instances of defense via identification with the aggressor. The same
mechanism was undoubtedly also active in Raymond’s monster-suns and
Clyde’s nightmare-face. In addition, these examples were characterized by
exaggerations and alterations of facial elements that tended to disrupt the
organic unity of the face, making for unusual and grotesque images.
Discussion
Except for Raymond’s benign smiling sun (Figure 14.4), identification with
the aggressor is apparent in all of my examples. In addition, these
sun-monsters and grimacing sculptures reverberate with a phase of life when
the infant has only begun to differentiate from the mother; when mental life
lacks the capacity for reflection; when the concept of cause and effect has not
yet been formed. This is a world wherein psychic processes are dominated by
the primitive mechanism of mood-contagion; where self and other merge;
where orality and primary process thinking dominate.
The appearance of such images in the course of art therapy could serve as
a clue to the nature of the experiences the client wrestles with and could help
in therapy. However, this does not imply that individuals who produce this
kind of art, whether adult artists functioning in a primitive society or con-
temporary children or adults, must be locked in the oral phase. It may also
mean that they are dealing with specific material emanating from this stage of
development. In the case of Messerschmidt, Kris (1952) convincingly
diagnosed fear of oral and anal penetration as well as defenses rooted in the
oral phase, shown by sculptures featuring bared teeth, others showing a
tightly clenched mouth, or a wide open mouth with impressively sculptured
tongue and teeth.
Raymond seemed orally fixated. His suns seemed to represent himself
merged with the parent-sun, a union that was at first benign but that
appeared increasingly malignant with each new painting. The other two
196 ART AS THERAPY
boys functioned mostly on a phallic level and had attained some individu-
ation.
Matthew and Harry seemed to be in control of their monster paintings.
When they worked at them, a sense of mastery and detachment was apparent.
These paintings’ resemblance to primitive masks is remarkable. To my
knowledge, neither of the boys had the opportunity to study or copy such art
– certainly no such examples were within their reach when the pictures were
painted. Rather, I must assume that kindred psychic mechanisms resulted in
kindred formal qualities. The idea of a sun endowed with a human face as
well as the idea of demonic beings sporting extravagantly distorted, unrealis-
tically colored features are cultural givens, providing the basis for individual
modifications.
Assuming that there exists a linkage among facial signaling, primitive
masks and the monster faces we encounter in art therapy, and assuming that
the mirroring phase contributes to the phenomenon, how can we explain the
formal quality of these works? No matter how overwhelming mother’s face
may have appeared, it cannot have taken on the features found here. Actual
experience may account for the affect in these works but not their formal
quality.
Rather, I recognize in these characteristics the tendency to create super-
normal configurations, exaggeration of those characteristics for which an
innate response exists. If facial signaling were innate, eyes and eyebrows,
mouth and teeth as well as the mass of hair above the forehead would be
features selected for supernormal creations. The common inclination to select
just these facial features may explain the similarity between primitive masks
and the monster creations encountered in art therapy. The great variety
within this common realm both of masks and of monster creations testifies to
the human freedom of invention for which there is no counterpart in other
species. New forms can be perfected by lower species only through the
evolution of new species and subspecies.
References
Eibesfeldt, E. (1973) Der Vorprogrammierte Mensch. [The Preprogrammed Man.] Vienna:
Molden.
Henley, D. (1986) ‘Approaching artistic sublimation in low-functioning individuals.’ Art
Therapy 3, 2.
Jung, C.G. (1964) Man and his Symbols. New York: Doubleday.
Koehler, W. (1976) The Mentality of Apes. New York: Liverwright.
Kramer, E. and Wilson, L. (1979) Childhood and Art Therapy: Notes on Theory and Application.
New York: Schocken Books.
Kris, E. (1952) Psychoanalytic Explorations in Art. New York: International Universities
Press.
Langer, S. (1953) Feeling and Form. New York: Scribner and Sons.
Lichtenberg, J.D. (1983) Psychoanalysis and Infant Research Part I: The Neonate. Hillsdale, NJ:
Analytic Press.
REFLECTION ON THE EVOLUTION OF HUMAN PERCEPTION… 199
Notes
1 This piece was originally published in the American Journal of Art Therapy 30, May 1992.
2 I have addressed such problems previously in my book Childhood and Art Therapy
(Kramer and Wilson 1979) in the passages on ‘Human and animal play’ and on ‘The
ethology of social controls and the problem of pleasure in sublimation.’
3 See Lorenz (1996) On Aggression, Chapter 11. Also see the traditional American folk
song ‘Go tell Aunt Sadie [sometimes Aunt Rodie] the old gray goose is dead… Goslings
are weeping.’
4 This observation does not invalidate the tenet that only those past events that had been
originally emotionally invested may be retrieved and that remembering implies
emotional investment of memory traces.
5 For a detailed study of the interplay between rigidly instinctive behavior and adapta-
tion to real situations, see Lorenz’s (1971) study of the egg-rolling behavior of geese in
Studies in Human and Animal Behavior.
6 Such signals may be highly conspicuous, for example, the peacock’s tail or the song of
the nightingale; or more intimate sounds and gestures evolved in rearing offspring,
such as the nestling’s gaping or the mother hen’s clucking sounds.
7 Koehler (1976), known for his work with chimpanzees, found that only the most intel-
ligent chimpanzees were able to recollect the existence of a helpful box in an adjacent
room. Recent experiences with hand-raised gorillas who have been taught American
Sign Language demonstrate their ability to ‘talk’ about past events such as sadness over
the death of a cat or pleasure in presents received (see Patterson 1981). Assuming that
symbol formation and voluntary recall evolved simultaneously, could the cultivation of
the gorilla’s latent capacity for symbolic language have awakened a latent capacity for
200 ART AS THERAPY
voluntary recall? Or should we imagine that gorillas in the wild are also able to think of
past events?
8 We cannot conceive of mental recall existing in the absence of object permanence in
Piaget’s sense. Their search for the lost companion indicates that object permanence is
already within the mental capacity of social birds, and undoubtedly present among
social mammals such as canines. In humans, the faculty emerges in the eighth month.
The ability to retrieve memories at will, however, does not appear before 18 months. It
seems, therefore, unlikely that any animals whose intelligence remains below that of the
one and a half-year-old human would be capable of voluntary recall.
9 The intuitive impression is validated by the work of Eibl Eibensfeldt (1973) who exten-
sively studied and filmed mirroring between mothers and infants in diverse cultures,
finding identical facial signals throughout.
10 Eibesfeldt (1973) has observed ‘stranger anxiety’ among toddlers of all the cultures he
studied. He considers it an inborn trait with survival value. As toddlers move independ-
ently, they are no longer continuously protected by mother. They would incur harm if
they were to follow possibly hostile strangers indiscriminately. The two presumed
origins of ‘stranger anxiety,’ disappointment at the appearance of someone other than
the desired mother, and preprogrammed fear of strangers as a protection against harm,
seem complementary rather than mutually exclusive.
11 ‘Six Persimmons’ (brush and ink) attributed to Mu Ch’i, thirteenth century. The persim-
mons were chosen in opposition to the conventional subject matter of traditional
Chinese painting. The artist could represent them with the child-like innocence and
directness which Zen philosophy extolled.
12 For example, the three rose windows of Chartres Cathedral. The stained glass of the
North window deals with the Old Testament; the West rose widow represents the Last
Judgment; the South rose window depicts the Coronation of the Virgin and the Reign
of Christ.
13 Case material and artwork were contributed by David Henley, ATR, who also contrib-
uted to the theoretical analysis of the case.
14 Psychologist Harold Lincke (1981) pursued kindred ideas in his book Instinktverlust und
Symbolbildung. He linked symbol formation to the phenomenon of imprinting. He
suggests that symbols derive their irrationally compelling power from instinctively
rooted impulses – ‘id commands’ (‘Es-Aufrage’) in his terminology – that have been
displaced onto ideas that have thereby acquired emotional significance. Lincke’s
theories and ideas presented in this article are complementary. For example, inasmuch
as the mechanism of imprinting implies an open area wherein all kinds of objects may
acquire profound significance, and inasmuch as such open-endedness may lead to error
and confusion, imprinting foreshadows the unlimited possibilities of symbol formation
as well as its dangers. This corresponds to the phenomenon of supernormal objects and
supernormal responses and to the mechanisms of intraspecific signaling. It foreshad-
ows the abstract, abbreviated quality of symbolic configurations, their compelling
power, and the danger of miscarriage inherent in those mechanisms. Both lines of
inquiry contribute to the understanding of the prehuman roots of the essentially human
capacity of symbolization.
CHAPTER 15
201
202 ART AS THERAPY
unable to have a real relationship with them, must seduce the children in
order to keep them watching.
Now these children have become the parents we work with. Many seem
not to know how to have a relationship with their children that isn’t based on
procuring new goods or attempting to alleviate stress and surmount obstacles
with synthetic solutions. They don’t trust that just being themselves and
being present would be a gift to their children – they themselves are often
empty, afraid to set limits, and struggle with their children to work out
solutions. They have grown up with the remote control in their hands so they
can switch to another channel when something is boring or difficult. These
parents seemingly do not believe that they could possess the solutions within
themselves or that the process of struggling with oneself or one’s child or
with a problem in the environment might be growth-producing in itself.
I mention the children of some of my friends and the parents and children
from the suburban area in which my colleagues practice because I think it is
important to note that emptiness prevails in these surroundings. The envi-
ronment is not seductive only for poor children living in the inner city where
they are virtually on their own – where ten-year-olds carry guns and grasp at
the immediate gratification of expensive shoes, where death is everywhere
and where research has shown that most children actually meet the clinical
criteria for post-traumatic stress disorder (Garbarino, Kostelny and Dubrow
1991). This, of course, renders these children especially sensitive to the
heightened seductions of the contemporary environment, but we must
remember that all of our lives and the lives of our children are unfolding in a
world where our physical and psychological survival is at stake and we are all,
in our own way, subject to the lure of the bright environment, replete with
supernormal objects.
2
Edith Kramer
When I was invited to participate in a symposium on children and
technology, I questioned whether I had anything to contribute, having
worked with children before the advent of computers and video games. Yet,
looking back at my observations between 1950 and 1975, I find that an
ominous development was then already in process. Even at that time, children
– rich and poor – were brought up, amused and comforted, largely by paid
help who resided in a box. They had in this television entertainer an
ever-available slave who could be called and dismissed at will. Unable to
establish any personal relationship to the children they served, these enter-
204 ART AS THERAPY
tainers had to rely on persuasion and seduction. The demand for continuous
entertainment meant that no structured stories could be presented. Instead,
an endless sauce of action, violence and practical jokes was offered. Good
guys and bad guys were nearly indistinguishable. Television’s heroes were, in
the main, mindless brutes endowed with magical tricks and powers that
made them winners. Ego-ideals generated via television lowered, rather than
heightened, the quality of children’s aspirations. Even at this time, years of
relying on television as a substitute for human relationships had left an
imprint on children’s personalities. Ever-present access to escape diminished
the impetus for finding solutions to their difficulties. Rather than becoming
neurotic under strain, these children were apt to develop amorphous
dependent personalities that lacked inner resources. Addicted to synthetic
gratification, they seemed to be both deprived and spoiled, capricious,
convinced that they could get something for nothing. Working with them,
we had to prove not only that we were not monsters and brutes, but also that
we were not lying salesmen. Thus, wherever I worked, television’s insidious
influence would be felt in many ways in children’s personalities. The
television screen itself offered no serious competition for children’s
attention. Whenever I came bearing art materials, television remained second
best. In general, children preferred activity and adventure to passive con-
sumption.
The advent of computers and video games seems to have altered the
balance and brought about a fundamental change in children’s behavior. Like
the young of all higher species, children are innately curious, playful, craving
playmates, endowed with inexhaustible energies, eager for life. One cannot
dig a hole, erect any structure, do anything accessible to children without
them crowding around, watching avidly, eager to help, to get into the act. To
channel children’s energies without destroying their vitality has always been
an endless task for the adult world. To help children calm down, to wait, to
go to sleep, we told stories that were attuned to children’s thirst for adventure,
to their magical thinking, their unbridled fantasies. Fairy tales, imaginative
stories, tales of adventure served to give structure to children’s inner world so
that protean fantasies became imagination.
Adults bearing art materials were welcome. At best, play, art, academic
learning and gradual participation in adult work complemented one another
in the process of maturation. But all this required a certain amount of adult
supervision and participation. Today’s adults have an easier time. Video
games are keeping children still, occupied, out of trouble even better than
ART THERAPY AND THE SEDUCTIVE ENVIRONMENT 205
television. What are the seductive powers of these games that they can
override children’s innate appetites for action, adventure, companionship of
peers, and put out of commission their inexhaustible energies?
The phenomenon of seduction and addiction seems to be older than
mankind. An excursion into the natural history of behavior might help us
understand what is happening to our children. We find in the behavior of all
species capable of voluntary action and motion two diametrically opposite
modes of responding to the environment. On the one hand, there is the
capacity to perceive and recognize territories and pathways and, in the case
of socially living species, of other individuals.
The opposite holds true for the perception of categories that are essential
for the survival of the individual or the species, such as food, enemy, potential
mate, climatic conditions and the like. Recognition is parsimoniously
organized, directed to those properties that reliably define the category. The
animal must be able to recognize the things it must respond to, such as food
or enemy, within the large, often confusing environment. For example, a
worm does not sport a red dot so that the bird can more easily find it. Nor
does the owl send out signals to warn the mouse of its approach. Only certain
dangerous beings carry warning signals. The rattlesnake rattles: ‘Don’t mess
with me. I am deadly’, and the wasp signals its painful sting in black and
yellow.
To discern salient characteristics within the environment is arduous work.
Thus, along with the capacity to perform such work, arises the appetite for
configurations that are easily and clearly recognizable, as well as an incli-
nation to respond eagerly to such clarity. As a rule, the clearer the configu-
ration, the quicker and more eager the response.
Naturalists capitalize on this phenomenon when they investigate the
innate reaction mechanisms of various species. Dummies, so called ‘super-
normal objects,’ are built to exaggerate various features for which reaction
mechanisms may exist. Such experiments usually leave the animal unharmed.
Decoys constructed on the same principle are produced in order to facilitate
hunting. Just because its shape is simplified, a decoy duck attracts ducks more
effectively than a live one.
Within the natural environment, certain kinds of parasitism have evolved
on the same principle, perfecting what amounts to natural supernormal con-
figurations. The strategy of the parasitic cuckoo bird is a good example. The
feeding behavior of birds is normally stimulated by the fledgling’s gaping
beak. The stranger in the nest, the cuckoo bird, is therefore endowed with an
206 ART AS THERAPY
extraordinarily large and colorful beak. Gaping, the parasite seduces the
parent birds to feed it in preference to their own young (Lorenz 1978).
Lorenz considers feeding cuckoo birds a vice among birds.
As man alters environments, tragedies of a similar nature may inadver-
tently occur. In industrial areas, birds who habitually build nests from twigs
are tempted to use pieces of wire, which are easier to handle than natural
twigs. Lorenz (1978) describes the frantic eagerness of birds who have
become habituated to such super-twigs to seek out these deadly, cold nesting
materials as a kind of vice or addiction. Can we compare the nesting birds’
addiction to the wire as building material in preference to twigs with
children’s attachment to the technology of video games in preference to more
complex forms of play? Endowed with the capacity for conceptual thinking,
humans are not as rigidly programmed as are birds. We are free to invent any
number of social signals, and free to alter or discard them. The coercive
power of social signals is no longer absolute, nor is it reliable. However, it
seems that appetites which evolved before the advent of humans remain sub-
liminally active in us.
It seems to me that video games function in a manner that is comparable
to the appeal of supernormal objects. Games are designed to gratify
children’s normal appetites for competition, for their need to win, their
propensity for violent, boundless fantasies. The figures on the screen have
been designed by professionals, and are endowed with fantastic, improbable
powers invented by adult minds. Manipulating the screen mannequins
requires little energy or courage, yet compared to the improbable feats
enacted on the screen, the child’s own playful actions and inventions appear
negligible, so children become habituated to the screen’s easy gratifications.
However, as children play with these games, many of the functions which
play fulfills within the process of maturation remain inactive. Competing on
the screen, children have no incentive to develop the physical agility, courage
and strength that can help them win an actual fight. Nor do they learn to
form friendships, build alliances, make compromises. They do not learn to
endure disappointments or physical pain. They have no opportunity to test
themselves in innumerable ways within the social and natural environment.
Play, normally an aid to growth, leads to stagnation. The seductive power of
video games is not limited to the urban environment, where harsh and
dangerous streets limit children’s scope for play and adventure. Even in the
country where the outdoors invites, we find children oblivious to its appeal,
glued to their mechanical games.
ART THERAPY AND THE SEDUCTIVE ENVIRONMENT 207
Children’s art flourishes best when adults support their natural inclination
for the symbolic living in art. Imaginative play and social play unfolded best
when children were left to themselves. Indeed, children were glad if adults
left them alone to play. Now we can no longer say, ‘Go in the garden and
play’ (even when there is a garden). The children have not learned how to
play with others. They don’t know how to invent activities or find
playthings.
To disentangle children from the fascination of video games, we must not
attempt to compete, for we’ll surely lose. We must offer what technology
cannot: companionship and tangible experiences. Fortunately, most children
prefer the company of benign and imaginative adults to mechanical devices.
Still, it is not easy to deal with children whose expectations of immediate
gratification have made them impatient and distracted. The inclination to cut
short any activity before the first enthusiasm flags permeates even our educa-
tional system. The experience of tapping unexpected resources of energy –
getting ‘a second wind’ – is largely denied to today’s young people.
Children need more companionship and guidance than ever before, yet
there is less and less adult time and attention given to them. In addition, as
Katherine Williams described, many young parents have been conditioned
by the same seductive powers that menace their children. Even when they
sense that something is wrong, they often feel helpless and empty, and are
inclined to try to fill the void with goods. They need themselves to discover
the real world beyond the commercial seductive environment.
Indeed, children gain valuable skills by playing video games, which
prepare them for many aspects of modern life. Parents justly admire their
children’s heightened agility in handling machinery which may help them to
make a living. Thus, we cannot simply discard the games or forbid them. We
can, however, counteract their unreality by offering real experiences. To raise
a bird, puppy, or kitten teaches more about animal life than watching even the
most excellent films about exotic wildlife. Such secondhand information
becomes more real when it is paired with tangible experiences with animals,
so that information can become knowledge.
Physical experiences in the arts constitute another counterbalance against
seductive technology. A new kind of reality is born when hands and minds
work as one, when experience is given form in paint, wood, clay, stone…
when the materials resist, obey, declare their own laws. Computer art fails to
generate such a flow between body and mind. When we attempt to lure
children away from video games by engaging them in making com-
208 ART AS THERAPY
Communist countries. Each has twisted technology and media beyond the
balance of nature, virtue or taste, thus bringing about a decline in cultural
values that now pervades almost all developed countries. I am most
concerned with how these distorted values have affected children, particu-
larly those with emotional, cognitive, or perceptual disabilities, who are most
susceptible to the manipulations of the media. For our culture of technology
and media has succeeded in confusing fantasy and reality as never before.
Hence, many of the problems presented by my child clients in art therapy are
exacerbated by what I consider to be the dehumanizing, isolating effects of
technology and media, and have proven difficult to surmount in therapy.
In preparing this essay, I could find no greater contrast to my example of
the infant seeking the nurturance of the breast, than a maternally deprived,
emotionally disturbed 13-year-old boy who created a drawing based on a
computer game involving simple little pie shapes moving over over the
screen, gobbling everything they could. This boy’s drawing had three beau-
tifully drafted disembodied heads caught in freeze-frame, the largest about
to attack and engulf a single full figured man. It is perhaps a fitting metaphor
for a child trying to survive in the ghettos of Chicago amidst the harsh
realities of absentee or abusive parents, dangerous peers, and drug- and ver-
min-infested housing. Video games offer a cyber-sanctuary where one can
magically survive through feats of clever, nimble trickery. The drawing
perhaps provided the child with an insulated moment where the neglect and
abuse of his daily life could give way to vicarious pleasures. Here he could
bite and consume others without consequence, perhaps displacing his unful-
filled maternal (including oral) needs on to the exercising of control over
animated games. To fathom the devastating emptiness of such games, we
might compare the devouring ‘nothing-but-mouth’ images which cannot
even digest what they swallow with the fairy tale of Hansel and Gretel which
also deals with orality – fear of starvation as well as of devouring greed. The
tale includes the impetus for maturation which brings the children home,
laden with treasures (Bettleheim 1977).
One need not look far for other instances where the need for attachment
to and relationship with others has been replaced or skewed by media and
technology. A generation ago, clinicians specializing in children, such as
Bettleheim (1977) and Lowenfeld (1982), decried the use of illustrations
conceived of and drawn by adults in children’s story books, asserting that
they intrude upon the young reader’s delicate imaginations. Both would be
aghast to know that today, imagination is no longer even necessary. Every
210 ART AS THERAPY
Conclusion
The tone of my commentary on the effects of media and technology has been
admittedly pessimistic. However, it should be emphasized that the
phenomena I have presented constitute symptoms of a wider, more profound
decline in a culture which prizes technology – malleable, amoral, supposedly
controllable forces – and if used wisely, may be capable of making powerful
212 ART AS THERAPY
Lani Gerity
Even before Edith Kramer asked me to participate in this discussion, I was
puzzled by what appeared to be a trend I was seeing in the artwork of
children – quickly drawn faceless creatures armed with weaponry of all
kinds, from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles doing martial arts in sewers to the
escapades of humanoid creatures called Power Rangers. There is an over-use
of one color, usually a magic marker, in these drawings. Because there is so
little investment, changing colors seems unnecessary and using paint too
labor intensive. How did this come to be?
Jack, a 38-year-old agoraphobic that I saw in a large mental health clinic
in New York, was raised by a single working mother who was described as
volatile, seductive and unpredictable. As a child, television was a much more
stable and predictable source of comfort for Jack, and as an adult it continued
to be more stable and predictable than his environment, the lower east side of
New York City. What was so compelling in this relationship that, on his very
limited public assistance income, he bought a television set for every room in
his apartment as well as a hand-held model to use outside his home? His
artwork held some clues. In one of his rather typical drawings, we see
confusion between interior and exterior: a Christmas tree, a television set, a
bleeding hand trying to change the channel, all appear to be outside an
apartment building. He placed a window in the wall of the building, curtains
in the window, and a person half hidden between the window and the
curtains. In front of the Christmas tree sat a pyramid structure that seemed to
ART THERAPY AND THE SEDUCTIVE ENVIRONMENT 213
represent both the pyramid on the dollar bill and the CBS network logo.
Most of the space, however, was filled with diagonal lines he described as
‘radio waves’ which conveyed a frightening emptiness. In another picture he
simply drew a bolt of lightning setting fire to the ground. The scene was
contained by a black frame with rounded corners giving it the appearance of
a television screen.
In Jack’s work the influence of television was obvious: extreme, almost
hyperactive flooding of imagery in the corner of one picture, contrasted with
the near-emptiness (almost a depiction of an alpha brain wave state) of the
rest of the picture. In the lighting bolt picture the lightning bolt and fire
provided a hyperactive flooding while much of the paper also left with alpha
brain wave emptiness inside the black television like frame. These drawings
spoke to me of the influences of television on the mind, but Jack had other
influences as well, memories of a different sort.
There were calmer times in Jack’s life when his mother would read fairy
tales and Bible stories to him. And there were memories of summers spent at
YMCA camp where he learned to respect the wild places in both humans and
nature. Whenever he was able to recall these stories and memories, Jack’s art
became more coherent, softer, as when he helped make large backdrops for
the puppetry group (our center’s version of ‘Popperville’). Puppetry
stimulated interaction between the patients, a sense of history, continuity, and
helped Jack to return to real life.
Pearce’s (1977) research gives us some explanation as to the differences
we see in Jack’s work. He suggests that the neo-cortex is not yet being used to
its full potential, that we are not at the goal or end of our evolution. He inves-
tigated the human infant and what was needed fully to develop its
neo-cortex. He followed this evolution from the primitive reptilian brain, to
the addition of the limbic system or old mammalian brain, to the final
addition of the neo-cortex, built and dependent upon the previous two parts.
What do children need to enhance the development of the neo-cortex?
Pearce (1977, 1992) suggested that children need storytellers – the verbal
stimulation for which they provide the imagery. Image-making involves all
aspects of the brain, from the most primitive to the most developed. Today, it
seems that just when children need the stimulus that storytellers provide,
they are instead watching television, which provides verbal stimulus but also
imagery. This feeds the infant or child with a single paired effect, flooding
the brain with a counterfeit of the response to the stimuli. The result is a loss
of structural coupling between mind and environment. Few metaphoric
214 ART AS THERAPY
images or symbolic structures develop, few higher cortical areas of the brain
are called into play. So it’s not that children are reluctant to draw because
they are afraid the work will not be as good as images they see on television,
it is that children have not had opportunities to develop inner imagery. There
will be little metaphoric ability to transfer symbols to the neo-cortex for con-
ceptualization and subsequently, no development of the neo-cortex’s main
purpose, to generate symbolic conceptual systems.
The greatest danger inherent in having paired stimulus and response
provided for the brain is the brain’s habituation. Habituation is the natural
condition of the two more primitive parts of the brain, the reptilian and
limbic systems, with their hard-wired response to concrete information and
supernormal objects. Unable to adapt to novelty, these primitive systems
avoid it. It’s the neo-cortex that seeks novelty. A new story told to a child
locks all three systems to establish a flow of imagery matching new stimulus.
Repetition stabilizes innovative action. Each new story engages all three
parts of the brain, continually enlarging the number of neural fields involved
in new image patterns.
Television, however, as a source of both image and sound, can be assimi-
lated by a single set of neural fields. The same neural fields that initially
worked out the paired stimuli can assimilate all further stimuli of a like order.
We habituate to television within a few minutes of viewing, because a
response is not required. So the 6000 hours of television the average child in
the US sees by the age of five might as well have been the same program for
all the stimulation it provides the neo-cortex. Habituation pacifies the brain,
puts it to sleep, because the stimulus demands no output of energy, while it
occupies the mind so that no other stimuli are needed or sought. Once the
most primitive part of the brain can handle stimuli, it doesn’t need to carry
signals any higher. The rapid turnover of imagery and apparent novelty of
programming fools the novelty-seeking neo-cortex. Thus we have difficulty
turning away even when we might not like the program.
A woman acquaintance of mine sadly told me of her attempts to entice her
nephews into canoeing or hiking while on a family camping trip. The
children’s father, who did not trust in the ability of the wilds to interest his
sons, had brought along $100 worth of quarters and the boys spent the
family vacation in a video arcade. They said canoeing and hiking would be
boring. It seems that the boys were using their limbic and reptilian systems.
Their neo-cortexes may have been so underdeveloped that they were
frightened by the idea of exposure to other sources of stimulation.
ART THERAPY AND THE SEDUCTIVE ENVIRONMENT 215
References
Bettleheim, B. (1977) The Uses of Enchantment. New York: Random House.
ART THERAPY AND THE SEDUCTIVE ENVIRONMENT 217
Further Reading
Montessori, M. (1979) Spontaneous Activities in Education. New York: Schocken Books.
Tinbergen, N. (1983) Autistic Children: New Hope for a Cure. London: Allen and Unwin.
Notes
1 A version of this chapter was first published by the American Journal of Art Therapy 35,
May 1997.
2 Some of these ideas first appeared in the Preface to the second edition of my book
Childhood and Art Therapy (Kramer and Wilson 1979).
CHAPTER 16
The Etiology
of Human Aggression1
218
THE ETIOLOGY OF HUMAN AGGRESSION 219
society. Nevertheless, this cauldron remains the source of all mental energy,
of creativity, and also of conceptual thinking. We cannot refute it. We must
tame it, transform it, use it constructively. In this precarious situation the arts
constitute a realm wherein protean fantasizing is stabilized so that it becomes
imagination. This intermediate area constitutes a kind of sanctuary, exempt
of the severity of the reality principle. Equivalents are created that have the
power to evoke genuine experiences without stimulating the impetus for
acting in the real world. In this manner the range of possible experiences is
greatly broadened. Material that would otherwise have to be rigorously
repressed is transformed into a source of energy and of pleasure.
If we were to judge an age or culture by its art, the age or culture would
appear much more benign than it had actually been. This does not mean that
art must be saccharin or moralistic. Indeed the carnage and cruelty embodied
in religions, mythologies, rituals and wars are depicted and even celebrated
in the art of mankind. However from Picasso’s Guernica, to Christ’s Passion,
to the defeat of the Amazons depicted in the Greek reliefs, to the slaughter of
bison in the Lascaux Cave, everywhere exquisite formal qualities prevail.
These qualities redeem the cruel events depicted, without diminishing their
tragic quality and their power profoundly to move us. I still remember the
awe and surprise I experienced, when I, still a child, saw Michael Pacher’s
(1435–1498) Flagellation of Christ at the Kunsthistorische Museum in Vienna.
The drops of blood on Christ’s body were spaced carefully and beautifully
painted, creating a kind of design. And yet just because the blood was placed
and painted exquisitely this was not simply a man bloody with whippings.
One profoundly felt the unique suffering of Christ.
As artist and as art therapist I am worried of certain tendencies among
today’s artists. Inasmuch as they concern themselves at all with the world we
live in, they are inclined in their art simply to reflect cruelties and horror in
the raw. They rely on shock effect. But shock soon wears off and must be
topped by more shock, and so on ad infinitum. These artists are inclined to
circumvent the artist’s task to give form, to create symbols that can endure.
This seems to me to come about when art no longer supports religion, but
replaces it. As religion loses power and conviction a profound human need
remains unfulfilled. All religions contain elements of cruelty. These elements
seem both to fulfill our craving for cruelty and for murder and to formalize
and contain these destructive needs. Paired with powerful laws of morality,
religions support social stability by providing structure both for the libidinal
and the aggressive elements within the human psyche. In the search for a
222 ART AS THERAPY
References
Goodall, J. (1986) The Chimpanzees of Gombe: Patterns of Behavior. Cambridge: Harvard
University Press.
Goodall, J. (1990) Through a Window. Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin.
Lorenz, K. (1966) On Aggression. New York: Harcourt, Brace and World.
Thompson, E. S. (1900) ‘Lobo.’ In Wild Animals I Have Known. New York: Charles
Scribner and Sons.
Further Reading
Ignatieff, M. (1997). ‘Unarmed Warriors.’ The New Yorker, March 24, 1997.
Lorenz, K. (1955) ‘Ueber das Toeten von Artgenossen.’ Jahrbuch der Max Planck Ges.
Note
1 This chapter is based on a presentation I gave at the 1997 American Art Therapy Asso-
ciation Annual Conference.
CHAPTER 17
Inner Satisfaction
and External Success
Edith Kramer, Martha P. Haeseler,
David Henley and Lani Gerity
Edith Kramer
Ideas formulated in Chapter 15 on ‘Art therapy and the seductive environ-
ment’ have motivated its authors to contemplate another aspect of the envi-
ronment: our society’s emphasis on external success to the negligence of the
inner satisfaction that can reward productive work.
My own observations go back to a distant time, when I arrived in the US
as a young refugee from Nazi-dominated Europe. I soon landed a job as shop
teacher at the Little Red School House, a private progressive school in New
York’s Greenwich Village, at that time still the stronghold of the city’s
Bohemia.
Living and working in the village did not constitute much of a culture
shock for me, who had been raised in Vienna’s Bohemeian circles. The
atmosphere was familiar, with one exception. It soon seemed to me that the
two sides of the same coin, the ego-ideal and superego of my acquaintances,
had the power to enforce hard work and moral standards and to punish trans-
gressions with guilt feelings. However, when its demands were indeed
fulfilled the superego omitted to reward the individual with loving approval.
It seemed to me that the inner voice that should have said ‘I am proud of you,
I admire what you are doing, I love you!’ was missing. I had made my obser-
vations in the early 1940s, at the tail-end of the Great Depression. The work
ethic was then still intact. Hard work and determination was expected, but
the satisfaction that would reward the individual for his or her efforts had to
223
224 ART AS THERAPY
come from the outside. Unless some recognition came forth through praise
from persons in authority or via academic honors or financial success, people
seemed to lose confidence in the value of their achievements. The children
and adults I knew at that time were healthy, well-functioning individuals. Yet
they seemed to lack self confidence. I found that I had to be careful venturing
any criticism, not just in dealing with children, but also in exchanges with
colleagues and fellow artists, lest I hurt their feelings. People seemed rather
vulnerable.
The mentors of my youth had been much harsher to me that I could allow
myself to be in dealing with my American contemporaries. They had
expected that we, their disciples, could stand up against criticism. We
rebelled at times, argued back or we searched our souls. We were not inclined
to lose confidence in ourselves or in our work.
When I described these observations to my fellow authors, they assured
me that my descriptions still applied, that nothing had substantially changed
in the intervening 50 years. We asked ourselves what could be the cause of
this lack of balance in the American sense of self. To cast the question in psy-
choanalytic terms: What were the reasons for a prevailing superego structure
that could enforce behavior but failed to reward obedience with loving
approval?
It occurs to me that we may be confronted with the dark side of the
‘American Dream’: myths cast long shadows. Even though this country no
longer welcomes immigrants, even fears them, the myth of unlimited oppor-
tunities still influences the American perception of the world.
The myth originated during times when European immigrants left a
confining situation behind. In the old world many of them had lived in abject
poverty and unrelenting drudgery. Even among better situated individuals,
class and family systems limited expectations. A shoemaker could take pride
in making excellent shoes. A cook could be known for serving exquisite
meals. No shoemaker could dream of owning a string of shoe stores; no cook
of owning a franchise for restaurants exclusively serving her specialty. The
individual who worked well and led a virtuous life could count on only
modest rewards from the world at large. In the main gratification had to
derive from a sense of inner satisfaction, bolstered at best by admiration from
a small circle of family and friends. These conditions fostered a vivid inner
life that harbored a superego that had the power to punish and to give loving
approval.
INNER SATISFACTION AND EXTERNAL SUCCESS 225
The situation was quite different in the new country. Undreamt-of riches
and honors could indeed be attained. This motivated the newcomer to con-
centrate all physical and mental energies upon the holy grail of worldly
success. In addition the obligation to bring the rest of the family to the US
and to provide for them made it imperative quickly to earn as much money as
possible.
This fostered a character structure that was driven by the unrelenting
struggle for wealth and recognition. The compulsion to try harder reigned
supreme leaving little room for inner satisfaction.
The relationship between immigrant parents and their American-born
offspring was another cause of inner insecurity both for the parents and their
children. As children entered school they usually outstripped their parents’
command of the English language. They were also inclined to adopt cultural
mores and values that contradicted the parents’ moral code as well as their
standards of appropriate behavior.
Consequently the modifications and partial rejection of parental
standards that in the Western world accompanies adolescence tended to
occur much earlier. When the parental sun sets too early, when cultural differ-
ences devalue parental ideals and moral standards, ego-ideals must be found
elsewhere. Of recent origin, without connection to the individual’s
childhood experiences, they remain flimsy and insecure. To live up to them
requires much support and encouragement from outside.
My observations concerned the psychology of immigrants from the
Western world. My colleagues have observed similar perplexities among
today’s Asian immigrants.
They register a change in the motivation that causes people to strive for
external success. Superego demands seem to have lost much of their power.
Instead individuals are driven to exhaust themselves working long hours by
the insatiable need to obtain goods and recognition. Everything has to
happen quickly. The time allotted for any required task is short, too short.
Even in childhood the time allowed for any activity is short. Children, partic-
ularly disturbed ones, are supposed to suffer from ‘short attention span.’
Therefore periods of work or of creative activities should be short. Any task
should be planned so that it can be accomplished within 50 minutes or less.
Educators, indeed our culture as a whole, seem to mistake what Maria
Montessorri (1965) called ‘false fatigue’ for genuine exhaustion.
Montessorri developed her methods working with retarded, handicapped
226 ART AS THERAPY
and economically deprived young children. Just the populations who are
supposed to have a very short attention span.
She describes how children, at the beginning of their day at the nursery
school, are typically inclined enthusiastically to engage in various activities.
Soon their interest seems to flag, they seem at a loss, frustrated, ready to give
up. If the inexperienced teacher should mistake this behavior as a sign that
the children are tired, that they need either a rest or the stimulus of some
communal activity, the group, so Montessori predicts, will remain restless for
the whole day. The teacher ought to tolerate the children’s temporary unrest,
she should help them to persist in their activities. They soon will gain new
energy and complete what they had set out to do. Finally they would be truly
tired and ready for a well-earned rest. Montessori described the
phenomenon of the ‘second wind,’ the unexpected resources of energy that
become available after one overcomes the first feelings of fatigue or distress
and persists in one’s task. This holds true for climbing a mountain as well as
for painting a picture. Indeed all important achievements are attained via the
second wind.
Our culture seems to have forgotten this. Educators and even art therapists
take their bearings from commercial entertainers. As soon as interest for any
subject or project flags, something new is offered. There is little tolerance and
no time for turmoil, helplessness, temporary regression, even though these
moods are unavoidable elements of any productive work. Educators seem to
lack the confidence that living through periods of unrest and frustration will
be rewarded, that unexpected inner resources will emerge, providing energy
for successfully completing the difficult task, probably because they
themselves have never been given time and opportunity to experience the
pleasures of the second wind.
This brings us back to our theme of inner satisfaction versus external
success. It seems to me that inner satisfaction is felt most intensely when a
task has been fulfilled via the second wind. For this experience reassures the
individual of valuable inner resources to be cherished.
We must ask how we as art therapists can provide for such experiences
and conduct sessions in a manner that can generate inner satisfaction. Also
we should ask ourselves what maneuvers we should avoid because they
would diminish the likelihood that inner satisfaction could be felt.
INNER SATISFACTION AND EXTERNAL SUCCESS 227
Psychosis
If nurture and culture play a part in an individual’s ability to develop a sense
of inner satisfaction, what part is played by altered brain chemistry? How can
we help people with psychotic disabilities gain inner satisfaction from
228 ART AS THERAPY
that is separate from an other, and that separation might not result in
engulfment or annihilation. The art therapy group can provide the safe
container in which separation is tolerated and others can be seen as poten-
tially benign and helpful, and the self can be seen as resourceful and worthy.
For artists in a psychotic state, sometimes the art does not bridge over to
the viewer; the imagery may contain special meaning that is not recognizable
from viewing the work. The artwork may be the recipient of painful content
which the artist wishes to discard. Katherine Killick describes a version of
projective identification which she calls ‘intrusive identification… a way of
forcibly evacuating unbearable anxieties into the art object… [and then the
artist is afraid that] that which has been projected out will be forced back into
him’ (Killick and Schaverien 1997, p.42). I was shocked when a client with
whom I am working threw away about 60 drawings after selecting some
pieces for an art show. However, I understood that he had an inner need to
discard those works. Sometimes the artwork does not stand in for the thing, it
is the thing. A client used to draw a picture of a fantasy lover, a famous
musician, as a way to be with the musician. When a work of art is viewed by
others it has a chance of being seen by the artist in a different light, from the
point of view of another, as a part of the real world. The connection to
another person which this promotes perhaps allows the artist to
acknowledge, tolerate and gain distance from the affect and imagery
expressed in the picture. The knowledge that the picture is something
outside of the artist’s self while containing the self, something to which
others can resonate, helps the artist feel a commonality with others as well as
to gain a better grasp of others’ reality. For many of my clients, the inner satis-
faction of creativity was not possible without being in the presence of benign
others, the group and the art therapist, who would receive the work. Few of
my group members do artwork at home, even though they would like to, and
speak of empty hours filled with symptoms.
I have also encouraged clients to show their artwork beyond the art
therapy group. The group has done artwork to be displayed in public places,
and has had an art show in a community center. Clients have expressed
surprise and pleasure that others value something that they have done. In this
way, my clients have come to recognize that they are contributing in a
meaningful way to their community.
230 ART AS THERAPY
Summary
I believe that inner satisfaction grows out of satisfactory relationships with
others. When people with psychosis can experience themselves as part of a
reciprocal, interactive network with others, they can feel connected to the
human race, have some grounding in the reality that is shared by others, and
then derive inner satisfaction from what they themselves can contribute to
that system. Within this container, they can develop the sense that what they
create belongs to them, that they can derive satisfaction from it, and that they
can share it with others. They can develop a sense of themselves as having
resources and worthiness within.
without any intention to inform or enrich the viewer. They remain an inner
dialogue with the self. Yet, when this piece of gypsum was brought into
preschool as a kind of ‘show and tell’ activity, the child inadvertently began
to rework the drawing in accordance with the demands of this different envi-
ronment. More formed figurative images were added which were then
elaborated upon during the verbal component of the school activity. The
drawing illustrates how, even at a very early age, intentions slide back and
forth. Depending upon the demands placed by the environment, the art may
change in form and content. In this case, different developmental levels are
simultaneously engaged, resulting in images of diverse sophistication and
narrative. We see that even a little child is subject to the kind of processes that
shape the adult artist’s production: the inner passions and impulses that fuel
creative work and the demands of the environment, the public.
Gombrich’s (1960) assertion that the viewer completes the work of art
and only then can it be fully experienced applies to Kyle’s situation. As long
as he is alone, abortive squiggles and lines that accompany his monologue
suffice. When his work is to be presented at school he must make a supreme
effort to be understood, and so his drawing matures. If all goes well, showing
his work will broaden Kyle’s pictorial vocabulary and stimulate more differ-
entiated vigorous production. If he should try too hard to please or if his
teacher’s demands and expectations should be too narrow his work might
lose vitality and be reduced to stereotyped production.
In Kyle’s work we see already the fine line all artists must tread. The artist
who creates art for his inner satisfaction regardless of audience attention or
judgment can be considered to be true to himself. He must however guard
against an autistic-like process done only for the gratification of inner needs
that may result in chaotic, bizarre, aggressively raw productions. He also must
resist the temptation to produce art centered on self-promotion, atten-
tion-getting, manipulation and propaganda that would bring forth work
lacking integrity.
To conclude, an integral factor in analyzing or criticizing a work of art
lies in gauging the artist’s intentions. The issue often revolves around the
quality of satisfaction that the artist derives from the art process and the
expectations regarding how the work will be received by the viewing
audience. This quality of satisfaction can be conceptualized as being on a
spectrum or continuum. On one extreme end lies one’s own ‘inner’ satis-
faction from creating art while the other end is occupied by ‘external’ payoffs
from those in the artist’s environment. Analyzing the dynamic interplay
232 ART AS THERAPY
between these two motivational forces allows the analyst or art critic to
glimpse the forces that bring art into being.
Lani Gerity
Where do we look for satisfaction in our lives? Is it in the getting of stuff, in
the acquisition of one more idea, one more book, or one more degree? Or do
we look within our creative centers, within what Kramer (1996) calls ‘the gift
of symbolic living?’ (See chapter 13, p.155).
Psychiatrist Mark Epstein (1995) has observed that like the Hungry
Ghost in Buddhist teachings, we continually look externally for satisfaction,
but rarely find it. According to Buddhist tradition the wheel of life has six
realms into which one can be born. One of these realms is populated with
Hungry Ghosts. These creatures have withered limbs, bloated bellies and
long thin necks. They are not quite real in human terms, so as they walk
among humans, they go unseen, unacknowledged. They embody a fusion of
rage and desire, tormented by unfulfilled cravings and insatiable demands.
Epstein noticed an increase in individuals embodying this same rage and
desire in his psychiatric practice. Individuals complaining of low self-esteem,
feelings of alienation, longing, emptiness, and unworthiness. He suggests
that it’s not just borderline personality disorder patients but all of us who are
a part of modern Western culture that are affected. Feeling at times unlovable,
we wander about looking for something or someone to ease these Hungry
Ghost feelings.
Kanner and Gomes (1995) wrote something similar about the narcissistic
wounding of children today. They observe a sense of worthlessness that
occurs when the seductive environment of advertising creates a problem – a
feeling of inadequacy in the self – and the solution – the purchase of endless
objects and comforts. They described this process as contributing to a
shallow ‘consumer identity’ that is obsessed with instant gratification and
material wealth.
I will examine how and why we are trained from a very early age to live as
Hungry Ghosts, trained to feel inadequate and confused. I will then look at
the art therapist’s task: to counter this confusion, to ground the child and
encourage exploration of an inner landscape. It is within this landscape that
symbolic living occurs and feelings of inner satisfaction can develop.
To examine the hows and whys of this Hungry Ghost training or the
development of the ‘consumer identity,’ we can observe any normal child’s
relationship to television. Based on what they have seen on TV, most four-
INNER SATISFACTION AND EXTERNAL SUCCESS 233
year-olds can tell you where to look outside of yourself for happiness; from
shampoos, to cereals, to the newest Barbie.
As children watch TV, they are being taught the art of consuming things.
The main object of television is commerce, creating a market for products.
While a child is watching television, the advertiser is entering her inner
world through the imagery presented, her mind is filled with exciting and
happy images of someone else’s making. These images elicit her feelings of
happiness, displaying them externally in a group of ecstatic little girls
playing with the newest version of Barbie. The message she receives is that if
she wants to feel her happy feelings, she will need this newest Barbie. What
was an internal feeling is now being associated with something external that
she doesn’t have, but now suddenly needs very badly in order to reclaim her
feeling of happiness.
The advertising industry has the task of creating discontent. It may seem
that its task is to get the child to buy a new Barbie, but the fact is that it is the
continual buying of Barbies that is critical to the advertiser, so continual dis-
satisfaction must be created among consumers. Jerry Mander (1978) wrote
that thousands of very sophisticated and well-paid psychologists, behavioral
scientists, perceptual researchers and sociologists are working within the
field of advertising to make sure that we will continue needing stuff. Mander
says, ‘Like miners seeking new deposits of coal in the mountains, these social
scientists attempt to mine the internal wilderness of human beings’ (p.129).
McNeal (1999), who teaches marketing in a university in Texas, suggests
we view children with an economic lens, as a market of great power and
wealth. His research of preteen children in the US indicates that in the early
1990s children were spending $14.4 billion a year. By 1997 the figure was
$24.4 billion, and by 2001 their spending may reach $35 billion. The figure
for household spending which children influence went from $132 billion in
the early 1990s to $188 billion in 1997. He predicts that by 2001 children
will influence the spending of $300 billion.
This sounds more like a gold mine than a coal mine. But how do they get
the gold out of the mine? First they need to understand what children really
want, and then sell this back to them. In order to understand children, they
need to get into their minds, to find their deepest needs and wants. McNeal
feels the most reliable method in getting information from children is to have
them draw for you. He says that a child may tell you what he thinks you want
to hear, but that the child’s artwork is always truthful. McNeal’s (1999) The
234 ART AS THERAPY
Kids’ Market: The Myths and Realities is liberally sprinkled with full color
projective drawings, the meaning of which he explains to the reader.
Another methodology for getting into the minds and culture of children
is anthropological research. In one of the workshops of ‘Play-Time,
Snack-Time, Tot-Time: Targeting Preschoolers and Their Parents,’ a
conference given in New York in March 2000 by The Institute for Interna-
tional Research, Margaret Owens used her extensive clinical training and
experience in group process and individual interview techniques to teach
advertisers how to use qualitative research methodologies. They learned to
facilitate ‘innovative sessions’ with toddlers in order to get into the toddler’s
mind and elicit the kinds of ‘imaginative responses’ that advertisers search
for.
Once the advertiser determines what children really want, then he can sell
this back to them. Often this is only an idea which can be associated to a
brand, like coolness to Tommy Hilfiger, freedom to Pepsi, popularity to
Barbie. But how does the advertiser do that? At this same conference, repre-
sentatives from PBS gave papers on how ‘brands’ like Thomas The Tank
Engine, Teletubbies, Sesame Street and Elmo’s World, had ‘stolen the hearts’
of our children. The participants would then be able to plunder hearts as suc-
cessfully as Public Broadcasting Service (PBS). The creators of ‘Mr. Rogers’
Web Site’ taught participants how to create a website that can hold the
attention of the preschool market, since increasingly the Internet seems to be
the place where children are spending time.
One of the more disturbing selling techniques comes from advertising
executive Nancy Shalek. In an article from the LA Times, Ron Harris (1989)
described Nancy Shalek’s suggestion that in order to sell something to a
child one needs to open up this child’s inner world, their emotional vulnera-
bilities, that if the advertiser just tells children to buy something, they will
resist, but if the advertiser tells them that they’ll be a loser, or a ‘dork’ if they
don’t buy this thing, then children pay attention.
How will it be possible to withstand the intrusions of these clever, calcu-
lating people? When we were children, we may have sorted out our wants
and needs and used our imaginations, our symbolic life to defer immediate
gratification or to solve problems. It seems that now advertising mines the
child’s inner wilderness for their ‘real wants’ and creates solutions for them as
well. How can children recognize their own feelings as separate from the
needs created by these mercenary miners? What kind of intervention would
induce them to begin to look within themselves for satisfaction?
INNER SATISFACTION AND EXTERNAL SUCCESS 235
Zipes (1997) has suggested that it is the job of art to find new ways to
reach out to people, to stimulate their thinking, and to ‘provide deep
pleasure.’ Object relations theorist Thomas Ogden (1986) spoke of the
ability for psychoanalysis to create greater space between the symbol and
what is symbolized. It is in this ‘potential space’ that meaning and possibil-
ities are discovered and played with, it is in this space that ideas can be exper-
imented with, where we find possibilities and where we find hope. I believe
that as art therapists we can help the people we work with to create a greater
space between the symbol and the thing symbolized, to begin to find their
own ability to provide themselves with inner satisfaction within that space.
In looking for examples of deep pleasure in clinical material collected
from a day treatment center in New York City, I was struck by work done in
the pottery room. Many of the more difficult, borderline patients seemed to
turn up in pottery after having been thrown out of a verbal group for hostile
acting out. In the pottery room they would be able to focus on their work and
interact without hostility. Pottery could almost be seen as transformative for
these patients. The most destructive urges could somehow be absorbed by
the clay. A patient explained that, ‘Clay is very forgiving, you can cut off an
arm and attach it many times and it will always forgive you’ (Gerity 1999,
p.81).
While working with body image representations and traumatic memories,
a 48-year-old woman survivor of child sexual abuse expressed the
importance of clay to her personal growth.
…the day I put my hands into the clay and started creating a head of a
person who is very dear to me, something magical happened. I felt a
connection to a deep part of myself. I could put everything into this clay
– my love, my anger, my fears – and create a thing of beauty. My soul was
validated in an object I could touch, feel, look at. I felt a deep sense of self
worth, and even self-love. And this, after all is the goal of my rehabilita-
tion – to learn to cherish and love myself – from this everything else
flows. When I created the clay head, I said, ‘wow, I can do this. I didn’t
think I could. Maybe there are other things I can do.’ (Gerity 1999, p.14)
In this hope-filled quote we can sense this woman is making a connection
with her inner wilderness, her interior world. We can sense a very real satis-
faction in being able to put all of her feelings into the clay, and we can
recognize her realization of strengths and possibilities. These patients,
normally the most difficult to work with, while using clay were also clearly
working on integration, feelings of wholeness and well-being.
236 ART AS THERAPY
The role of the art therapist wasn’t always clear in the pottery room, as
often there were no active or dynamic interventions that one could pin-point.
The patients worked independently while the art therapist for the most part
stayed in the background. I suspect the role of the art therapist may be found
in Winnicott’s ideas (1971) about transitional space. He says that a child has a
fundamental need to learn to play alone in the presence of the mother, and
can do this only if the mother provides a good-enough transitional space.
The mother’s task is to create this space where the child does not feel the
pressures of internal needs or drives and does not feel intruded on by the
demands of the environment. The mother can leave usable objects around
without forcing them on the child. In exploring the space, the child will
choose and create a use for some of these objects, a creative act in itself. The
mother watches the child play, her eyes and face function as a warm, friendly
mirror, reflecting this beloved image of the child to the child. (This may also
be seen as the gleam in the mother’s eye, Kohut 1966.) Although Winnicott
focused on the relationship between mother, child and the play space, we can
see parallels in art therapist, patient and pottery room.
I think the pottery room was this same kind of transitional space. One of
the good-enough art therapists was always there, with plenty of clay and
tools to find and experiment with. The friendly mirroring was important, but
more importantly, the work itself reflected back to the patients that what they
were doing was good, that who they were was good, providing them with the
much needed sense of inner satisfaction.
And what about the normal child who seems to be getting a good
education in the realm of the Hungry Ghosts, absorbing the images of
popular culture and the demands of advertising? Her inner landscape is
confused and blurred with external imagery and pressures, mined by those
thousands of highly skilled psychologists and social scientists. What are we
to do for her? It seems that advertisers’ work tends to reduce the child’s
potential space, leaving little room between symbol and the thing
symbolized for their own creative solutions and imaginings, leaving the child
passive and dependent. I think having awareness gives us some strength and
I imagine we can discover our task in the shadow of what these social
scientists do, that what we do is the mirror image of what they do. If it is their
role to plunder the inner life of the child, then it is our role to help the child
create higher ramparts and learn to defend what is hers. If it is their job to
create confusion between what is internal and what is external than it is our
job to clarify these things. If the advertisers’ imagery intrudes in the child’s
INNER SATISFACTION AND EXTERNAL SUCCESS 237
inner landscape, it is our job to help the child begin to recognize and
appreciate her own imagery over and above the advertisers’ imagery. If the
advertiser flattens and depletes the inner landscape, it is our job to teach the
child to enrich the soil and to discover life, wonder and satisfaction within.
We can help the child create a transitional space where she is protected
from these external demands, where she can explore symbolic living through
art-making, and where she can practice moving more comfortably within
and between the areas of the self, of other and of culture.
References
Epstein, M. (1995) Thoughts Without a Thinker. New York: Basic Books.
Frese, F. J. (1993) ‘Coping with… Twelve aspects of coping for persons with schizo-
phrenia.’ Innovations and Research 2, 3, 39–46.
Gerity, L. (1999) Creativity and the Dissociative Patient: Puppets, Narrative and Art in the
Treatment of Survivors of Childhood Trauma. London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers.
Gombrich, E. H. (1960) Art and Illusion: A Study in the Psychology of Pictorial Representation.
New York: Pantheon Books.
Harris, R. (1989) ‘Children who dress for excess: Today’s youngsters have become
fixated with fashion. The right look isn’t enough – it also has to be expensive.’ Los
Angeles Times, November 12.
Jamison, K. R. (1995) An Unquiet Mind. New York: Alfred J Knopf.
Kanner, A.D. and Gomes, M.E. (1995) ‘The all-consuming self.’ In T. Roszak, M.E.
Gomes and A.D. Kanner (eds) Ecopsychology: Restoring the Earth, Healing the Mind. San
Francisco, CA: Sierra Club Books.
Killick, K. and Schaverien, J. (1997) Art, Psychotherapy and Psychosis. London and New
York: Routledge.
Kohut, H. (1966) ‘Forms and transformations of narcissism.’ Journal of the American Psycho-
analytic Association 14, 243–72.
Kramer, E. (1996) ‘Discussion of “The importance of lines”.’ American Journal of Art
Therapy 34, 62–71. (See chapter 13)
Lachman-Chapin, M. (1979) ‘Kohut’s theories on narcissism: Implications for art
therapy.’ American Journal of Art Therapy 19, 3–9.
Mander J. (1978) Four Arguments for the Elimination of Television. New York: William
Morrow.
McNeal, J. U. (1999) The Kids’ Market: The Myths and Realities. Ithica, NY: Paramount
Market Publishing.
Montessorri, M. (1965) Spontaneous Activity in Education. New York: Schocken Books.
Ogden, T.H. (1986) The Matrix of the Mind: Object Relations and the Psychoanalytic Dialogue.
Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson.
Sullivan, H. S. (1962) Schizophrenia as a Human Process. New York: W. W. Norton.
Winnicott, D. W. (1971) Playing and Reality. London and New York: Tavistock Publica-
tions.
238 ART AS THERAPY
Zipes, J. (1997) Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales, Children and the Culture Industry. New York
and London: Routledge.
Further Reading
Bottome, P. (1957) Alfred Adler. A Portrait from Life. New York: Vanguard Press.
Deri, S. (1978). ‘Vicissitudes of symbolization and creativity.’ In S. A. Grolnick and L.
Barkin (eds) Between Reality and Fantasy. North Vale, NJ: Jason Aronson.
Grunebaum, H. and Solomon, L. (1982) ‘Toward a theory of peer relationships, II; on the
stages of social development and their relationship to group psychotherapy.’ Interna-
tional Journal of Group Psychotherapy 32, 3, 283–307.
Stayner, D. A. (1998) ‘Restoring community living through supported socialization.’
Paper presented at the Inaugural Conference of the Division of Prevention and
Community Research, Department of Psychiatry, Yale University School of Medicine.
Sullivan, H. S. (1940) Conceptions of Modern Psychiatry. New York: W. W. Norton.
Winnicott, D. W. (1986) Home is Where We Start From. New York: W. W. Norton.
PART 5
241
242 ART AS THERAPY
Figure 18.1 After a Schwanthaler Figure 18.2 After two Pacher latency
infant cherub aged angels
the Romanesque and early Gothic Madonna’s lap was transformed into a
lordly infant in his first year of life. However, the separation of heaven and
earth remained largely intact.
For example, Pacher, an artist rooted in the Gothic tradition but
cognizant of Renaissance achievements, placed the crowning of the Virgin
clearly in a Gothic heaven. The paintings on the altar’s wings represent
events that are occurring on earth. Here, the discoveries and achievements of
the Renaissance are fully utilized. The painting of the infant Christ’s circum-
cision provides a good example. Pacher’s masterly drawing of the high
priest’s hands engaged in the delicate operation celebrates surgical skill. The
representation of architecture and the positions and gestures of the attending
figures testify to Pacher’s pleasure in the mastery of linear perspective and
foreshortening. Baroque Catholic art employs the same knowledge and
technical skills differently: it aims to create illusions. As the faithful behold
the life-like substantial legs of some saint, or even Christ or the Virgin disap-
pearing into a realistically depicted cloudy sky painted onto the Baroque
cupola or even onto Gothic arches – skillfully disguised in the illusion of a
244 ART AS THERAPY
References
Lorenz, K. (1971) Studies in Animal and Human Behavior, Volume II. Cambridge, MA: Harvard Uni-
versity Press.
Further reading
Hemple, E. (1952) Das Werk Michael Pachers. [The Work of Michael Pacher.] Wien: Verlag Anton
Schroll & Company.
Pfarl, P. (1984) ‘Die Wallfartskirche von St. Wolfgang am See,’ [The pilgrimage church of St
Wolfgang at Wolfgangsee] O Landesverlag Ges.m.b.tl. Linz 3. Auflage.
Widder, E. (1983) ‘Schwanthaler-Altar St. Wolfgang,’ [Thomas Schwanthaler’s aller at the St
Wolfgang church] Verlag Hofstetter-Innsbruck.
Notes
1 This chapter first appeared in the American Journal of Art Therapy 31, May 1993.
2 My description is one-sidedly confined to certain aspects of Catholic Baroque art. We must not
forget that El Greco’s profound mysticism is also part of the early Baroque, 1541–1614, and
that Baroque techniques empowered Rembrandt’s magic, 1606–1669; nor should we omit the
magnificent grotesques of the late rural Baroque.
3 Baroque sculptors have populated heaven exclusively with boy cherubs. A vigorously
masculine thrust animates most of the figures. Girl cherubs, if they existed, would probably act
somewhat differently, but they also would fly, feel omnipotent and on the verge of fulfillment.
CHAPTER 19
246
‘A CRITIQUE OF KURT EISSLER’S LEONARDO DA VINCI’ 247
quality of the smile, because of the overwhelming importance of the first year
of man’s future emotional life.
When it comes to the psychoanalytic interpretation of the Anna Metterza,
Eissler is inclined to see in this image of harmonious sequences of genera-
tions the symbolic expression of Leonardo’s longings for such a situation
rather than the restitution of childhood experience which it seemed to Freud.
Since Schapiro’s criticisms of Freud concern mainly his interpretation of
Leonardo’s childhood recollections, the Mona Lisa and Anna Metterza, we
can now state the essence of the controversy between Schapiro and Eissler.
Briefly, having found historical errors in Freud’s Leonardo, Schapiro
contends that Freud ought to have informed himself better of Leonardo’s life
and art and the culture of his time. He should not have ventured to apply his
science to the psychological study of that life without considering the
influence of tradition on Leonardo’s childhood recollection.
Eissler accepts this criticism, but takes exception to Schapiro’s inclination
to consider a problem solved when its historical and iconographic connec-
tions have been established, and to his lack of understanding of Freud’s
methods of inquiry. The story of the vulture-kite is a good example of the
strength and weakness of Schapiro’s argument.
Schapiro rightly points out that Leonardo’s fantasy was no novel inv-
ention. The portent of a visit from a great bird is part of the traditional legend
of the childhood of the hero. When Freud (1910) writes that only Leonardo
could have painted the Anne Metterza, just as only he could have invented the
vulture fantasy, Freud was disregarding influence of historical precedents.
Schapiro, on the other hand, fails to explain the personal reasons which
moved Leonardo to adopt the legend as his memory, or rather, Schapiro’s
explanation that ambition prompted Leonardo seems too shallow. Most of
Schapiro’s criticism suffers from the same weakness; while Schapiro points
out historical precedents for certain aspects of Leonardo’s work and life, he
does not ask what prompted him to make his choices, nor does he ask how or
why Leonardo modified the traditional patterns which he adopted.
Eissler fully acknowledges the importance of historical research, but finds
it insufficient. He links the vast knowledge that is obtained from icono-
graphic and historical research to the day residue in dreams. Just as day
residues are a reliable compass in leading us through the ambiguous and
deceptive contents of the unconscious which are always characterized by
manifold meanings, Eissler maintains that the historical constellation at the
time a work of art was created is important for the understanding of its
250 ART AS THERAPY
esthetic, philosophical and religious meaning. But those do not tell us the
secrets of its creator, so that every work of art requires psychological insight.
Common sense psychology can not give such understanding.
At the close of his polemic, Eissler presents a new and promising
definition of the psychoanalyst’s function in the study of the history of art.
‘Cultural change,’ he says, ‘is correlated to ego change… in the course of
imperceptible historical changes the group member’s ego must acquire new
adaptations’ (pp.71–2). The great artist is one in whom personal conflicts,
esthetic antecedents, and historical forces converge to bring forth works of
art that contain the new ego differentiations. Eissler maintains that it is the
function of all great artistic achievement to stimulate new ego differentia-
tions in the personality of the beholder. Psychoanalysis can substantially
contribute to the study of differentiations both in the artist and in his public.
Eissler’s concepts, I believe, will prove extremely valuable in helping us to
organize hitherto vaguely conceived ideas about the relationship between
artist and society, and particularly about problems of the influence of social
change upon styles in art. It is also interesting to see how closely related
Eissler’s ideas are to Susanne Langer’s (1962) thinking on the function of art
in denoting and conveying changing modes of feeling.
At the close of his polemic, Eissler looks forward to a time when historians
and psychoanalysts will work together toward the understanding of the
history of art.
We will now turn to those aspects of Eissler’s book which are more or less
direct continuations of Freud’s ideas.
Central to any psychoanalytic inquiry is the study of the subject’s
sexuality and his object relationships. Here Eissler’s conclusions tally in the
main with Freud’s; but just as Eissler’s reconstruction of Leonardo’s child-
hood reveals greater tragedy, Leonardo’s adult conflicts appear more severe
and more tragic in Eissler’s detailed study than in Freud’s essay.
In Eissler’s inquiry, Leonardo emerges as a man whose unconscious
envisaged the sexual union of man and woman leading to mutual destruction,
and who also fought off temptations to overt homosexuality. Eissler believes
that Leonardo felt any union with another person as a menace. According to
his notebook: ‘While you are alone you are entirely on your own and if you
have but one companion you are but half your own’ (p.119 citing Richter
1883).
Both Freud and Eissler see in Leonardo a man whose capacity for direct
instinctual gratification was so severely curtailed that the defensive measures
‘A CRITIQUE OF KURT EISSLER’S LEONARDO DA VINCI’ 251
necessary to ward off repressed impulses must have dominated his life. Such
extreme conditions would have been mainly destructive to an ordinary man.
Even though there is much evidence of destructive forces in Leonardo’s life,
the chief result of his instinctive repressions was not illness but unparalleled
accomplishment in art and science. Both in Freud’s and Eissler’s opinion
Leonardo’s creative accomplishment is bound up with his sexual depriva-
tions, so that creative activity serves both as a substitute for direct gratifi-
cation and as a defense against impulses toward it. Freud suggested that two
idiosyncrasies remain inexplicable by psychoanalytic efforts: his exceptional
inclination to instinctive repression and his extraordinary capacities for subli-
mation of primitive impulses.
Freud sees two kinds of sublimation active in Leonardo’s life: sublimation
through art and through scientific work. Freud presumes that the young
Leonardo attained a precarious maturity which permitted sublimation
through artistic creation at the beginning of his career. Since total abstinence
is not easily compatible with art, Leonardo was eventually forced to turn to
science as a better defense against the demands of his dammed-up sexuality.
Freud sees in Leonardo’s increasing preoccupation with science a regression
from a higher form of sublimation to earlier, less complete forms marked by
an insatiability, a rigidity and an incapacity for adjustment to reality which
characterize repressed instinctive drives.
Eissler does not see such a clear-cut conflict between art and science, nor
does he consider Leonardo a scientist in the full sense. Leonardo was,
according to Eissler, primarily an empiricist, addicted to sense data. Seeing
and depicting meant knowledge to him. He was not compelled to go beyond
the visible to form the abstractions indispensable for scientific work. His
observations and deductions remain, therefore, inconclusive even when he
comes upon the right answers. Even though Leonardo’s preoccupation with
science appears superficially a distraction from art, it remained subordinate to
his need to see and depict and so ultimately served art. For instance
Leonardo’s grandiose drawings of The Deluge could not have been created
without his life-long study of the properties of water.
Leonardo’s anatomical work is another example of the fusion of the
empirical observer and the creative artist. Devoting a whole chapter to it,
Eissler makes the modern reader acutely aware of the courage, even heroism,
which anatomical dissection must have demanded in Leonardo’s time, when
no methods existed for slowing down decomposition, when dissection had
to be performed secretly and in solitude, and when moral conviction about
252 ART AS THERAPY
the necessity of dissection for medicine and science, which lends courage to
the modern student, was not yet established.
Eissler believes that Leonardo’s capacity to endure the terrible aspects of
anatomical dissection was bound up with his ability immediately to
transform bloody and fragmented objects into exquisite drawings that show
the elegance and beauty of anatomical structure freed from the revolting cir-
cumstances in which they were observed.
This brings us to the main theme of Eissler’s book, the psychology and
psychopathology of Leonardo’s genius and of genius in general. Leonardo,
Eissler maintains, was addicted to certain aspects of creative work. He had to
observe, to draw, to imagine, to reason incessantly. See his advice to painters:
‘Study in the dark when you wake or are in bed before you go to sleep. I have
proved it to be of no small use, when in bed in the dark, to recall the outlines
of forms previously studied, or other noteworthy things conceived by subtle
speculation…’ (Eissler p.117, citing Richter 1883).
Eissler links Leonardo’s need for incessant exercise of his visual faculties
to a deficiency in the structure of Leonardo’s ego, which made seeing and
drawing his sole means of defense indispensable for his very survival, so
leading to the hypertrophy of this faculty. It seems conceivable to Eissler that
exceptional natural endowment contributed to Leonardo’s failure to develop
solid mechanisms of defense in childhood. From the beginning, great
quantities of energy may have been absorbed in creative activities, leaving
insufficient energy available for building defenses. Also there may have been
less motivation for erecting defenses because sublimation was always
possible.
Eissler supposes that such conditions are frequent among highly gifted
children. From my own observations, I am inclined to agree with Eissler. We
will return to this question later on.
Eissler documents Leonardo’s ego defects mainly in the imagery of his
‘Profetis,’ where archaic material is expressed with nearly psychotic open-
ness, mitigated only by the device of undoing the enormities which are
suggested by offering trivial solutions for his riddles. Example: ‘The masters
of the estate will eat their own laborers.’ Answer: ‘Of oxen which are eaten.’;
‘Many there will be who will flay their own mother and fold over her skin.’
Answer: ‘Tillers of the ground’ (Eissler p.257 and p.264, citing MacCurdy
1956).
The same kind of cannibalistic imagery appears in Leonardo’s famous
harangue: ‘King of all Animals – I should rather say King of the Beasts –
‘A CRITIQUE OF KURT EISSLER’S LEONARDO DA VINCI’ 253
because thou dost only help them in order that they may give thee their
children for the benefit of the gullet of which thou hast attempted to make a
sepulchre for all animals’ (Eissler p.60 citing Richter 1883).
Haunted by such imagery, Leonardo renounced direct living. Only in his
creative work could he face that which he avoided. He could not eat meat, but
he dissected bodies. He investigated the anatomy of the sexual organs even
though he could not love and he evoked in his paintings feelings which he
could not endure in life.
Eissler postulates that the incomparable excellence of Leonardo’s work
was bound up so insolubly with his ego defects and the resulting extreme
instinctual renunciation that any lessening of his disturbance might have
prevented the occurrence of Leonardo’s genius. This necessarily remains
hypothesis. The existence of destructive forces in Leonardo’s creativity on the
other hand is evident, and Eissler investigates them psychoanalytically.
Leonardo’s most extensive symptom was his general inability to bring
anything to conclusion, be it the editing and publishing of his anatomy, his
scientific treatises, or the completion of his paintings. Since this inability
detracted rather than contributed to the excellence of his work, it constitutes
an indisputably destructive element in his creative life. Eissler links
Leonardo’s inability to complete his work to a fear of separation, ultimately
of death. In this connection, he documents Leonardo’s murderous hostility
against his father by quoting Leonardo’s letter to his brother who has written
him about the birth of a son, where Leonardo tells the brother that he is
foolish to rejoice, for he has created ‘a watchful enemy who will strive with
all his energies after liberty which can only come into being at your death’
(Eissler p.222 citing MacCurdy 1956).
From here on, Eissler’s reasoning is not entirely clear to me. I therefore
venture to present constructions which I have pieced together from various
clues which may or may not express his ideas correctly, but seem logical to
me.
Since the artist’s creations unconsciously represent (among other things)
his children, Leonardo’s murderous hate of his father must also somehow
have been part of his relationship to his own work. Freud presumed that
Leonardo’s neglect of his creations was the projection of the ill-treatment he
suffered from his father. If we follow this through to its conclusion, we see
that Leonardo must consequently have harbored an unconscious fear of retal-
iation from his spiritual children. The moment of parting, when the artist’s
254 ART AS THERAPY
creation acquires a certain autonomy, when its impact upon society can no
longer be controlled by its maker, is particularly apt to arouse such fear.
Basically, the artist fears the return of the repressed, for instance, his
incestuous drives beneath their insufficient sublimation. The work may also
devastate the artist more directly. Encountering his work in a new impersonal
setting, he fears that he himself may be confronted with the revelation of the
unconscious meaning hidden in his work.
In my own experience, I have encountered this neurotic fear frequently
among artists. On the conscious level, it is usually experienced as doubt
about whether the work is good enough, or as a feeling that adverse criticism
would be intolerable, or that the work is too precious or too private for the
public and so on. It is quite logical that artists whose work actually shows a
high degree of emotional restraint are as a rule more prone to this kind of
neurotic reaction than artists whose work displays much raw emotion.
Beyond this general inability to complete work, Leonardo suffered diffi-
culties that were confined to the act of painting. According to his contempo-
raries, Leonardo ‘trembled when he set himself to painting’ (Eissler p.221
citing Freud 1910). It seems that he could endure painting only for short
periods separated by flights into other activities.
Eissler begins the analysis of this disturbance by investigating Leonardo’s
own writing on the art of painting. He finds that Leonardo invests the painter
with god-like powers. Leonardo writes: ‘If the painter wants behold beautiful
things that he can fall in love with, if he wants to see monstrous things that
terrify, or comical or laughable or even piteous things, then he is lord and
God over them’ (Eissler p.246 citing Ludwig 1882).
The assumption of such prerogatives must inevitably have been fraught
with unconscious guilt. Eissler supposes that on the conscious level,
Leonardo’s fantasies of omnipotence may have led him to make inordinate
demands on his faculties. Before analyzing the unconscious implications,
Eissler attempts to fathom what exactly Leonardo might have demanded of
himself consciously or preconsciously.
Leonardo’s ‘Trattato della Pittura’ is mainly a craftsman’s handbook
offering no clues to that which is unusual in Leonardo’s work, with one
exception: Leonardo’s warning against the inclination of painters to paint
‘what they themselves are’ (Eissler p.237 citing Ludwig 1882). In other
words Leonardo demands of the painter the renunciation of primitive
narcissism so that he may become an unclouded mirror for the perception of
‘A CRITIQUE OF KURT EISSLER’S LEONARDO DA VINCI’ 255
We can say that the native formal language of a pre-rational image of the
world is characterized by the inclination to break the organic unity of the
human face and body and to use the various elements as symbols that can be
distorted, exaggerated and rearranged according to unconscious needs.
Unlike the primitive, Leonardo is able to convey the coexistence of
opposites without relinquishing his realistic style, or, to put it into psychoan-
alytic terms, to convey unconscious content without regression. According to
Freud’s interpretation, the unconscious content of the two paintings has its
roots in the earliest phase of infancy, before the union of mother and infant
was broken and before the fact of the difference of the sexes was known.
We can conclude that Leonardo’s difficulty was caused by the labor of rec-
onciling this archaic emotionality with the demands of a realistic style of
painting.
The problem itself is not confined to Leonardo. Every artist in a society
that is no longer primitive must at once maintain access to repressed, archaic
material and resist regression. The difficulty increases as the distance which
has to be bridged becomes wider. This distance can increase in two
directions. The material reached may be more primitive, or the maturity
which is maintained may be higher. This explains, in part, why good art is
more abundant among children and in primitive societies, while the highest
level of great art can only be reached in societies of a high culture.
All this is not new. I mention it because it seems to me that Eissler, in his
single-minded concentration on the enigma of Leonardo’s genius, tends to
forget that much of what he finds in Leonardo pertains to the psychology of
the artist in general and not only to genius.
We now return to Eissler’s psychoanalytic investigation of Leonardo’s
painting inhibition. Leonardo, according to Eissler, tried to outdo Nicholas
of Cusa and prove that the impenetrable world of ideas can be rendered
visible in painting. The unconscious equivalent for the ‘impossible’ is the
‘forbidden.’ Painting then may have had for Leonardo the connotation of
doing the forbidden, possibly of witnessing parental intercourse. Since
curiosity has its roots in the incestuous and destructive drives, Leonardo
trembled when he painted for unconscious fear of the incestuous and
destructive drives activated by painting. This again links Leonardo’s
inhibition to conflicts which all visual artists have to struggle with, for every
painter is a voyeur, and only the severity of the conflict and the excellence of
the work distinguish Leonardo from the ordinary artist.
‘A CRITIQUE OF KURT EISSLER’S LEONARDO DA VINCI’ 257
devouring the world with their eyes. The compulsive need to complement
perception with creation, so characteristic of the artist’s personality, is born
of the need to counteract and redeem the aggressive violence of the drives
which are activated in the incorporation and assimilation of the visible world,
by giving back the incorporated object in the shape of the work of art.
Again, the weakness or absence of ordinary mechanisms of defense, and
the great dependency on the creative act for maintaining emotional health
which Eissler postulates for Leonardo, appear to be an extreme manifestation
of tendencies that appear in more moderate form among many creative
people.
Finally, I want to cite Emmanuel Hammer’s (1961) psychological study of
creativity. Hammer lists several characteristics that distinguish the truly
creative from merely facile individuals. Creative persons have greater access
to their feelings and more tolerance for inner conflict. The disruptive forces
within their inner life are not denied or repressed. However such feelings are
not readily expressed towards others. Rather the individual is inclined to
assume the role of the observer. Self-directedness, independence and a
critical stance are characteristic of the truly creative individual.
Reversal of figure and ground are higher among creative individuals than
among facile personalities, indicating rebelliousness, ambition and striving
for power. These masculine characteristics are balanced by tolerance for the
feminine components of the personality among men or for the masculine
components among creative women.
This description arrived at by non-psychoanalytic methods tallies with
Eissler’s findings on Leonardo in many respects. It is unlikely that the group
of art students studied by Hammer included a genius, but it is probably
typical of the group of persons among whom genius might on rare occasions
emerge.
There is one surprising omission in Eissler’s image of the man Leonardo.
As he contemplates the extraordinary labors of genius, Eissler is deeply
moved by the great courage necessary to create something new, and the
renunciations which dedication to creative work imposes. He writes:
The demand upon the artistic genius is incomparable; he has to achieve
the creation of a new universe that shall be as real as that which he
observes with his senses and still be essentially different from the world
into which he was born and in which he grew up. It is not surprising that
he manages his store of libidinal energy differently from those who are
spared the task that myth reserves to the creative deity (p.151).
‘A CRITIQUE OF KURT EISSLER’S LEONARDO DA VINCI’ 261
Somehow this passage, as well as the general tone of the book, makes me feel
that Eissler looks at Leonardo with compassion, almost pity, as one who
suffered beyond measure for the good of mankind.
He does not seem to weigh sufficiently the enormous gratifications which
creative work contains. If we see the artist as one whose ego is vulnerable
because of a lack of ordinary defense mechanisms, we should also consider
that his is an ego which has found a way of maintaining control and equi-
librium without exhausting its energies on a complex system of defenses.
Sublimation, according to psychoanalytic theory, is the most economic
method of dealing with conflict. When it is successful, equilibrium is attained
between id, ego and superego under the ego’s supremacy. The resulting
increase in energy explains the extraordinary capacity for work, the
self-sufficiency, courage, and resilience which belong to genius. Great
achievement demands great renunciation. The artist who tells of the agonies
of creative work is not lying; yet there hardly exists an artist who would
seriously contemplate exchanging his lot for that of ordinary contented
citizens, and for good reason. I believe that if it were possible to measure the
sum of narcissistic gratification versus pain and frustration in the life of
genius, the sum of narcissistic gratification would exceed suffering. This
likelihood should be considered in any attempt at understanding the
psychology of creativity in general and of genius in particular.
References
Cassirer, E. (1927) Individuum and Kosmos in der Philosophie der Renaissance. [The individual and the
cosmos in the philosophy of the Renaissance.] Leipzig and Berlin: Teubner.
Eissler, K. (1961) Leonardo da Vinci: Psychoanalytic Notes on the Enigma. New York: International
Universities Press.
Freud, S. (1910) ‘Leonardo da Vinci and a memory of his childhood.’ The Standard Edition of the
Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud. London: Hogarth Press. 11: 59–137.
Hammer, E. F. (1961) Creativity. New York: Random House.
Langer, S. (1962) Philosophical Sketches. Baltimore, MA: Johns Hopkins University Press.
Ludwig, H. (1882) (ed) Lionardo da Vinci. Das Buch von der Malerei. [Leonardo da Vinci: the book of
the sources for his paintings.] [Quellenschriften für Kunstgeschichte und Kunsttechnik des
Mittelalters und der Renaissance, Vols. XV, XVI, XVII]. Vienna: Braumüller.
MacCurdy, E. (1956) (ed) The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci. New York: George Braziller.
Richter, J.P. (1883) The Literary Works of Leonardo da Vinci. London, New York, Toronto: Oxford
University Press.
Schapiro, M. (1956) ‘Leonardo and Freud: An art historical study.’ Journal of the History of Ideas 17,
147–178.
Note
1 This chapter originally appeared in the Bulletin of Art Therapy (now called the American
Journal of Art Therapy) 4, 20, 1964 and was a critique of Eissler’s (1961) Leonardo da
Vinci: Psychoanalytic Notes on the Enigma.
CHAPTER 20
Eighteen-year-old Alfred Kantor had just begun to study art in his native
Czechoslovakia when he was arrested by the Nazis in 1939. He was interned
at the concentration camp Terezin until 1941, survived two years at
Auschwitz and a year of forced labor at Schwarzenheide, and, in 1945,
returned to Terezin, by then a Red Cross reception center for concentration
camp survivors. From Terezin he traveled to Prague and then to a displaced
person’s camp in Deggendorf, Germany, to await immigration to the US.
It was at Deggendorf that Kantor produced a pictorial record of his expe-
riences – a hand-sewn little book with 127 pages of drawings and water-
colors – writing the captions in English so that he would have a better chance
of getting the work published in America. Finding a publisher would take 26
years.
Survival under extreme conditions depends on many imponderables.
Youth, health, a sound constitution, having a sister who could send an
occasional food package because she was married to a gentile, and above all,
luck – these made Kantor’s survival possible. But as he writes in the intro-
duction to his book:
My commitment to drawing came out of a deep instinct of self-
preservation and undoubtedly helped me to deny the unimaginable
horrors of life at the time. By taking on the role of an ‘observer’ I could at
least for a few moments detach myself from what was going on in
Auschwitz and was therefore better able to hold together the threads of
sanity. (Kantor 1971, unpaged)
262
SURVIVAL UNDER EXTREME CONDITIONS 263
Although his studies were interrupted, Kantor was able to keep practicing his
art in the ghetto at Terezin, where Jewish culture flourished even in the face
of hunger, epidemics and the ever-present threat of the extermination camps.
At Terezin he first assumed the role of observer, and was able to preserve his
drawings without much danger. Because he gave them to a friend before he
was sent to Auschwitz, these early drawings survived and were available to
him when he composed this book. At Auschwitz and Schwarzenheide,
however, drawing was far more risky, and although Kantor made sketches
documenting the horrors of these camps, he did not dare keep them and
destroyed each one as soon as it was completed.
Even so, sketching helped Kantor stay alive. The act of drawing enabled
him to retain accurate memory images of what he witnessed but, what is more
important, it allowed him to step out of his role as helpless victim to become,
however briefly, the detached observer. This probably kept him from going
insane.
Primo Levi writes in Moments of Reprieve:
It has been observed by psychologists that survivors of traumatic events
are divided into two well-defined groups: those who repress their past en
bloc, and those whose memory of the offense persists as though carved in
stone… It seems to me obvious today that this attention of mine at that
time turned to the world and to the human beings around me was not
only a symptom but also an important factor of spiritual and physical
salvation. (Levi 1986, pp.10–11)
A similarly passionate recall seems to have possessed the newly-liberated
Alfred Kantor, who in a frenzy of creative fervor, produced 127 pictures in
only two months. He was not a naïve artist; equipped with the skills of a
gifted beginner, he commanded considerable draftsmanship in the
description of space, or architectural structures and detail. A skilled
watercolorist, he was able to evoke mood and atmosphere through the use of
color. He was less adept in drawing the figure in action.
These three features of Kantor’s style, however, cannot be attributed
entirely to his technical skills. To the art therapist, these discrete stylistic
elements speak of particular experiences and psychic processes.
The very precision and factualness of Kantor’s drawings of the campsite,
of the barracks, the latrines, the electrified wire fences, the crematorium – all
the complex machinery of extermination, complete with innumerable signs
and warnings – communicates the German obsession with order and
method. We see a highly industrialized, highly literate society using its
264 ART AS THERAPY
presence of the Holocaust – he could tell his story soberly, without over-
whelming us or being himself overwhelmed.
That it took Kantor 26 years to get his book published indicates just how
unwilling the world has been to face the plight of Holocaust victims, to
apprehend the truth of what millions endured. Now, we are at sufficient
distance to contemplate the Holocaust’s full horror, and so, Kantor’s book
finds an audience two generations after the events it records. Its story remains
timely, however. The evil unleashed in Nazi Germany still pervades our
world in the form of torture and genocide.
Art such as Kantor’s holds a special poignancy for art therapists. Rarely in
our work do we encounter individuals with such inner strength. Kantor’s art,
along with most of the art done within the orbit of the Holocaust, impresses
us as the work of fundamentally sound individuals creating under the impact
of unimaginable hardship. Kantor’s trauma occurred after he had attained
manhood; by contrast, most of the individuals we work with have been
deprived and damaged in early childhood, are handicapped by organic
impairments, or suffer from a combination of both. Growing up in urban
slums, divorced from nature, surrounded by violence and crime, their
humanity has been stunted, and more often than not, their art appears impov-
erished, fragmented, grossly immature. We must give them much support
before symbolic living through art becomes for them a source of healing.
Even as it horrifies and frightens us, Alfred Kantor’s book confirms our
faith in art therapy. It testifies to art’s enormous power as an integrative,
sustaining force in man’s existence.
References
Kantor, A. (1971) The Book of Alfred Kantor: An Artist’s Journal of the Holocaust. London:
Judy Piatkus Publishers.
Levi, P. (1986) Moments of Reprieve. New York: Simon and Schuster.
Note
1 This chapter was first published as a book review in the American Journal of Art Therapy
27, November 1988.
List of Contributors
266
song 126 Book of Alfred Kantor (The): An
Subject Index Superman picking up a house
(drawing) 126
Artist’s Journal of the
Holocaust 262–5
angels 10 Botticelli 255
of St. Wolfgang church bridge, the 64–5
Adam (schizophrenic, 20s) 53–5
241–5 Buddhism 232
‘adaptive and maladaptive
animals, perception of 170
behaviors’ 24 cancer cells 162
Anna Metterza (Leonardo) 249
addiction 205 Carl (African-American child)
Aphrodite 242
Adirondack mountains 216 97–9
Art as Therapy with Children
adult potency 116–17 painting of king 98
(Kramer) 17
advertising 232–4, 236–7 Carl (middle-aged paranoid
art and art therapy 239–65
Africa 94–5, 97 schizophrenic) 185, 190
art materials for evaluation
African-Americans 94–7, 138 ‘Two suns with human faces’
session 75–7
African kings 96, 97–100 (drawing) 185
‘art psychotherapy’ 34
African masks 16 categories, perception of and
Art Therapy in a Children’s
Age of Missing Information, The territorial perception 171–4
Community (Kramer) 23
215, 216 Catharina (Leonardo da Vinci’s
Art Therapy: The Journal of the
aggression, etiology of 218–22 mother) 247, 248
American Art Therapy
Albers, Joseph 183 Catholic children’s home, Angel
Association 27
alienation and art therapy at 119–29
art therapy program (Kramer),
57–63 Catholicism 182, 243, 245
Wiltwyck School for Boys
Allen, Woody 211 Chartres Cathedral 200
10, 20
Amazons 221 Chechnya 218
Asian immigrants 225
‘American Dream’ 224 cherubs, Schwanthaler’s 241–5
Attention Deficit Disorder
Ancient Egypt 40 children
(ADD) 210
art 183, 184 abuse of 157
Auschwitz concentration camp
Ancient Greece see also sexual abuse of
11, 21, 262, 263, 264
art 16 children
Austria 22, 26, 241
mythology 120, 245 and advertising 233–4
reliefs 221 Bacon, Francis 59 art therapy evaluation session
sculpture 40 Barbie 234 for 73–93
vases 182 Baroque art 182–4, 195, 241–5 chimpanzees 219
Andersen, Hans Christian 106 baseball 187–9 Chinese art 182, 200
Angel (disturbed gifted child, Battle of Anghiari, The (Leonardo) chivalry 220
aged 6) 112–34 257 Christ, Jesus 16, 28, 43, 120,
art sessions 119–29 Bauhaus 16, 21 221, 242, 243
Angel and his father (drawing) Bernard 103–4 Christian iconography 120
122 Bible stories 213 Christmas 66
Angel as Superman (drawing) birds, seduction among 206, Christopher (blind, aged 14)
123 208 135, 136, 137
Angel’s ‘art teacher’, Edith blind children, art and 132–7 beginning of the head of Eve
Kramer (drawing) 125 case history (Christopher) (clay sculpture) 136
Clark Kent transforming into 138–45 case history 138–45
Superman (drawing) 127 developmental pattern 133–4 early stages of sculpture of
cover of ‘self-biography’ examples 135–7 human head 140, 141
(drawing) 121 hands 133 the prophetess (sculpture) 144
Dr. Fossum (drawing) 124 materials 133 sculpture of self at seven years
‘Nothing but the light’(poem) size 133 of age 142
130–1 space 133 Chris’s Passion 221
overcoming fear (drawing) 125 teaching method 134–5 Clark Kent 114, 118, 127, 129
reflections 129–31 Bob (Christopher’s friend) 143
‘self-biography’ 120–8
267
268 ART AS THERAPY
clay modeling 76, 80, 81, Down’s Syndrome 186 outline of observational
82–3, 86, 87, 88, 89, 92, dragons 104 considerations 91–3
133, 235 drawing 73–9, 82, 83, 85, 87, summary of findings 89–90
clinical work 71–165 91, 113–27, 129, 131, three illustrative cases 78–89
Clyde 105–6, 194 152–6, 184, 229–30 three media 91–2
painting of monster 105 Kantor’s pictorial record of typical and unusual
comic books 113 the concentration camps experiences 77–8
computers and video games, 262–5 usefulness of evaluation
effect on children of 203, Leonardo’s Deluge series 257 procedure 90–1
204–5, 206, 207–8 dreams and day-dreams 39 evolution of human perception,
conference program 63, 65 Dubuffet, Jean 183 reflection on 169–98
contemporary art, plight of external success and inner
183–4 ‘Educanto’ 27 satisfaction 223–38
counting as a protection againstego and superego 42
pain 158 Einstein, Albert 28 face, human 177–8
craft and art 40 Elements of Style, The (Strunk) 27 failures in intervention 56–7
Coronation of the Virgin 200 El Greco 245 fairy tales 209, 213
corporate advertising 208 Empire State Building 65 ‘false fatigue’ 225
Creative and Mental Growth England 20 Flagellation of Christ (Pacher) 221
(Lowenfeld) 21 Erick (Eva’s biological father) flawed empathy 56
creativity 260 149 Fletcher 102, 103, 104
credo Eros 242, 245 Florence, Italy 248
as artist 15–17 Estrin, Lucy 186 folk art, demise of 58, 60
as art therapist 17–18 Ethiopia 94–7 Fossum, Dr. 123, 124
Cro-magnon cave paintings 180 ‘ethnic space’ (Langer) 183 Frank (aged 10) 50–2
crutches 162 ethology, society and art therapy Frank (Eva’s father) 148,
cultural symbols and innate 167–238 149–51
signals 181 etiology of human aggression Freddie Kreuger 210
cultural tradition and leadership 218–22 Freudian psychoanalysis 17, 22,
94–111 Etruscan art 16 33
Czechoslovakia 21, 262 Europe 16, 22, 223, 224 frustration 248
Eva 146–4
definitions 31–3 background 148–52 games (computer and video),
Deggendorf, Germany 262 ‘The Dala Horses’ (drawing) effect on children of 203,
Deluge series of drawings 154–5, 162, 163 204–5, 206, 207–8
(Leonardo) 257 ‘Counting’ (drawing) 158 genius, psychology and
Department of Child Psychiatry, ‘The crib and the building psychopathology of
Albert Einstein Medical blocks’ 159, 160–1 252–61
College 73, 77 discussion 157–63 Germany 21, 262
depression 55 drawing to survive 152–6 see also Nazi Germany
developmental pattern of art by ‘Lost in space’ 158, 159, 161 gestures 191
blind children 133–4 sail boats (painting) 156 ghosts 104
Devil 120 ‘Scene in hell’ (cover of Giacometti, Alberto 59, 60
devils 104 booklet) 161 God and Devil 120
diaries 23 scratchboard images (drawing) Good Angel and Lucifer 120
Dick Tracy 124 155 Gothic art and architecture 182,
Die Fackel (The Torch) 26 evaluation session for children 241, 243
disorganization and rigidity, (art therapy) 73–93 Goya, Francisco 257
extremes of 184–6 character of the artworks 92 graffiti 60
disturbed gifted child, art child’s attitudes during session gratification 42, 101, 248, 261
therapy and 112–31 92–3 Great Depression 223
dolls 186, 190 observing and recording 76–7 greeting card 66, 67
Donald (aged 12) 184–5, 190
SUBJECT INDEX 269
group art therapy, benefits of benefits of group art Kyle (aged 3½) 230–1
228–9 therapy 228–9
Guernica (Picasso) 221 quality of artistic satisfaction language and art therapy 26–9
Guild School, New York 138–9 230–2 Lascaux Caves, France 221
Institute for International Last Judgment 200
hands, importance of for blind Research 234 Last Supper, The (Leonardo) 257
children in art therapy 133 Internet 234 leadership and cultural tradition
Hansel and Gretel 209, 211 intervention, successful 186–90 94–111
Harlem, New York 139 IQ tests 120 Leda (Leonardo) 257
Harry (aged 11) 106–7, ‘Leonardo and Freud: An art
109–111, 194, 196 Jack (agoraphobic, aged 38) historical study’ (Schapiro)
last monster painting 107 212–13 246
Hercules 114, 115, 117, 120 Jacky (aged 9) 49–50, 52 Leonardo da Vinci 10, 117,
heroes 96, 113–15, 128 Jacobi Hospital, Child 246–61
history and lineage of art Psychiatric Ward 22, 113, Leonardo da Vinci and a Memory of
therapy (Kramer) 20–4 114, 123, 127 His Childhood (Freud) 246
Hitler, Adolf 17, 26 Jaime (aged 8½) 78–81, 89, 90 Leonardo da Vinci: Psychoanalytic
Holocaust, Nazi 11, 186, first pencil drawing 79 Notes on the Enigma (Eissler)
262–5 Jason (fictitious psychopathic 246–61
survival of (reflections on The killer) 210 Lewis, C.S. 9, 11
Book of Alfred Kantor: An Jerry 100–4 Lincoln Day Hospital, the
Artist’s Journal of the painting of prisoner 100 Bronx, New York 52
Holocaust) 262–5 Jewish culture 263 line drawing see drawing
horror films 210 Jewish Guild for the Blind, New lines, importance of 146–65
human aggression, etiology of York 22, 139 Little Red School House 223
218–22 John (young man with Down’s Lobo 218
human face 177–8 Syndrome) 186–90 Lucifer and Good Angel 120
human perception, reflection on baseball (drawing/weaving) Lucy 190
evolution of 169–98 187
Hungry Ghosts 232, 236 new art (drawing/weaving) McCartney, Paul 114, 115, 117
hyperactivity 85–7 188 Madonna 16, 241–5
Johns, Jasper 60, 183 magic and art 40, 116
id commands 200 ‘Journey Course’ (Oldfield) 202 mandala 178, 190
image of the patient 64, 67, 68 Maria (aged 7) 77
imagery and imagination, effect Karin (blind) 135, 136 Martin, the Ethiopian (aged 10)
of television on children’s elephant (clay sculpture) 136 94–8
212–16 Katherine (Eva’s grandmother) painting of Indian 95
immigrants 224, 225 149 masks 16, 191–2, 194
Impressionism 16, 176 Kennedy, John F. 118 materials used by blind children
individual and schematic in Kennedy Home, Bronx, New in art therapy 133
visual arts 180 York 123, 124 Matisse, Henri 16
infants Kenny (aged 8) 82–6, 89–90 Matthew (aged 10½) 108–10,
fascination with schema of drawing of the student 83 194, 196
face 177–8 painting of the student with painting of monster 108
power of signals for 191 the ‘stop’ sign 85 Matthew (aged 12) 77–8
innate reaction mechanisms Kids’ Market: The Myths and memory and recognition 171–3
173–4 Realities (McNeal) 233–4 Messerschmidt, Franz Xaver
innate signals and cultural kings, African 96, 97–100 194–5
symbols 181 kite, Leonardo’s 247 Metropolitan Art Museum 120
inner satisfaction Klee, Paul 16, 183, 216 Michelangelo 255
and external success 223–38 Kokoschka, Oscar 16 Midway Center for Creative
and psychosis 227–30 Kunsthistorische Museum, Imagination, Washington,
Vienna 221 D.C. 202
270 ART AS THERAPY
Miller, Mr 139 plight of contemporary art Power Rangers 212
Miller, Mrs. 138, 139 183–4 Prague 21, 22, 262
Moments of Reprieve (Levi) 263 schematic and individual in ‘primary therapist’ 34
Mona Lisa (Leonardo) 248, 249, visual arts 180 ‘Principles of Newspeak, The’
255 illustrative examples 182–3 (Orwell) 26
Mondrian, Piet 183 implications for art therapy prisoners 100–4
monocle 98–9 184–96 process and product, unity of
monsters 18, 103, 104–11, 194 applying concepts of two 36–8
faces 192–4 modes of perception to profession of art therapy 31–70
Morton, Mrs. 124 art therapy 190–2 propaganda 208–9
Moses 28 discussion 195–6 Protestantism 176
mother’s face 178 examples: extremes of psychoanalysis 17, 21, 33–4,
Mu Ch’I 200 disorganization and 60, 147, 244
rigidity 184–6 Psychoanalytic Explorations in Art
narcissism 44, 101, 261 Franz Xaver Messerschmidt (Kris) 21
Nature 216 194–5 psychotherapy 147, 152–7
Nazi Germany 17, 26, 28, 223, successful intervention psychosexual development
262–5 186–90 116–17
concentration camps 11, 21, Wiltwyck School for Boys: psychosis 227–8
22 monster faces 192–4 and inner satisfaction 227–30
needle 161, 162 questions and concluding Public Broadcasting Service
Newspeak 23, 24, 26–9 remarks 196–8 (PBS) 234
New York 65, 94, 112, 138, supernormal objects 174–8 Puerto Rico 112, 122
143, 212, 223, 235 signal, symbol and recall puppetry 213
Nicholas of Cusa 255, 256 176–7
1984 (Orwell) 23, 26 social smile 177–8 quality of artistic satisfaction
territorial perception and 230–2
observing and recording
perception of categories
evaluation session 76–7 Raymond 56–7
171–4
Odysseus 120 Raymond (aged 11) 192–4, 195
innate reaction mechanisms
Oedipal conflict/situation 116, new sun (painting) 193
173–4
118, 242, 245 sun with smiling face
recognition of territory:
Old Testament 200 (painting) 192–4, 195
memory and
On Aggression (Lorenz) 218–19 rebirth 54, 97
recognition 171–3
Oriental art 16 recall, signal and symbol 176–7
personal history as artist and art
Orwell, George 11, 23, 26, 219 recognition of territory 171–3
therapist 13–28
Red Cross 218, 220, 262
Pacher, Michael 221, 241–3 ‘Phoenix in flight’ 53–4
regression 57
‘Pacher Altar’, St. Wolfgang Picasso, Pablo 16, 221
Reign of Christ 200
church 241 pictorial communication and
religion 16, 221
painting 74, 75–81, 83–8, 90, self-betrayal 63–7
Rembrandt 43, 245
92, 94, 95, 97–105, ‘Play-Time, Snack-Time,
Renaissance art and architecture
107–11, 249 Tot-Time: Targeting
241–3. 257
inhibition (of Leonardo) Preschoolers and Their
‘repetition compulsion’ 146
256–7 Parents’ 234
reports 23
parasitism 205–6 pleasure 43
rigidity and disorganization,
Pentecostalism 140 ‘Politics and the English
extremes of 184–6
perception, reflection on language’ (Orwell) 26–9
Rockwell, Norman 183
evolution of human 169–98 Pollack, Jackson 183 Roman Empire 96
art and transitional objects Popeye the Sailor 113
art 16
178–84 ‘Popperville’ 201, 213
portraiture 40
innate signals and cultural portraits 45, 114, 115
sculpture 184
symbols 181 ‘potential space’ 235
statuary 183
pottery 235–6
SUBJECT INDEX 271
Romanesque art 243 Socrates 28, 43 Thinking in Pictures (Grandin) 24
Rorschach Tests 63, 113 Soviet Union 17 ‘Third Ear’ 48
Rothko, Mark 183 space, as perceived by blind ‘Third Eye’ 48, 67
children in art therapy 133 ‘Third Hand’ of art therapist 10,
St. John (Leonardo) 255 Spiral Jetty, Utah (Simpson) 60 47–69
St. Wolfgang church, Stalin, Josef 17 Tom (aged 6) 87–9, 90
Wolfgangsee, Austria 10 Star (Eva’s mother’s lover) 148, Tommy Hilfiger 234
angels of 241–5 149, 153, 157, 161, 163 tradition 99–100
Sam (blind) 135 storytellers 213 transference 33
Samson 117 sublimation transitional objects and art
Santa Claus 106 in art 42–6 178–84
schematic and individual in art therapy and 39–46 ‘Trattato della Pittura’
visual arts 180 concept of 41–6 (Leonardo) 254
schizophrenics 53, 54, 184, in Leonardo 251 ‘Traveling Companion, The’
185 sun with human face 192–3, (Andersen) 106
Schwanthaler, Thomas 241–2, 195–6 tree, the 65–7
244 Superman 112–14, 116, 117, typical and unusual experiences
Schwarzdenheide concentration 118, 123, 126, 127, 129 77–8
camp 262, 263, 264 supernormal objects 174–8,
science and art, in Leonardo 205 United States 16, 20, 22, 94,
251–2 Sweden 163 186, 216, 220, 223, 224,
‘scientificalist’ terminology 27 swimming and diving 125, 225, 262
sculpture, blind children’s 134, 128–9 unity of process and product
135–7, 139–45 Sylvia (Eva’s mother) 147–53, 36–8
seductive environment and art 157, 163
therapy 201–17 Vienna 20, 21, 26, 221, 223
symbolization 180
rebelling against the future Virgin Mary 16, 241–3
symbol(s) 99, 101, 181, 183,
208–12 visual perception 169–98
197–8
Selassie, Haile 96 volcanoes 101
innate signals and cultural
self-betrayal and pictorial symbols 181 Walter 101–2, 104
communication 63–7 signal and recall 176–7 warfare 220
self-destructive behavior 147
Warhol, Andy 59
sexual abuse of children Tarzan 114, 115
Western art 16, 40
149–52, 154, 157–64, 235 ‘Technobabble’ 29
Wiltwyck School for Boys 10,
sexuality of Leonardo da Vinci Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
20, 23, 51, 94–5, 100, 103
250–1, 258, 259 212
monster faces 192–4
‘Shoddy Lands, The’ (Lewis) 9, television
World War I 16
11 and commerce 233, 234
World War II 17
signal, symbol and recall 176–7 as ersatz parent 202–3
innate signals and cultural influence on mind 213–14 YMCA camp 213
symbols 181 tempera paint 79, 83 Yugoslavia, former 219
‘Six Persimmons’ (Zen painting) Terezin concentration camp 11,
182, 189, 200 21, 262–5 Zen painting 182, 200
size, considerations of, for blind territorial conflicts 219
children in art therapy 133 territorial perception and
‘skill’ 26–7 perception of categories
Sleeper (Woody Allen) 211 171–4
smile, social 177–8 territory, recognition of 171–3
Smith, Mrs (severely depressed) Thematic Apperception Tests
55–6 113
socially productive acts 43 ‘Therapese’ 27, 29
social smile 177–8 therapeutic alliance 33, 153
society and art 40–1 Theseus 120
Author Index Jamison, K.R. 228
Jung, C. 190, 197
Sachs, O. 29, 172
Sale, K. 212
Schapiro, M. 246, 247, 249
Kanner, A.D. 232 Schaverien, J. 229
Agell, G. 8 Kantor, A. 10, 262–5 Schehr, J. 8, 73–93, 266
American Art Therapy Kiefer, A. 16 Shalek, N. 234
Association (AATA) 66, 73, Killick, K. 229 Smaldino, C. 154
222 Koehler, W. 199 Smithson, R. 60
Angus, I. 26 Kohut, H. 91, 227, 236 Spitz, R. 177
Kostelny, K. 203 Strunk, W. 27
Bernard, V. 23 Kramer, E. 9–11, 19, 46, 58, Sullivan, H.S. 228
Bettleheim, B. 209 73, 93, 111, 199, 232
Bolander, K. 66 Kraus, K. 25 Thompson, E.S. 218
Buck, J.N. 66 Kris, E. 21, 190, 194, 195
Kupfermann, K. 8¸146–65, 266 Ulman, E. 11, 20, 22, 23, 27,
Campbell, J. 211 33–5, 38, 93, 266
Cassirer, E. 255 Lachman-Chapin, M. 227
Langer, S. 18, 183, 250 White, E.B. 27
Dicker, F. 11, 21, 22 Williams, K. 8, 201–3, 207,
LaValle, J. 165
Dissanayake, E. 208 216, 266
Levi, P. 263
Dubrow, N. 203 Wilson, L. 199, 217
Levy, C.A. 8, 38
Leyhausen, P. 173, 174, 177, Winnicott, D.W. 29, 77, 170,
Eibesfeldt, E. 177, 200 178, 179, 227, 236
Eichmann, A. 28 179
Eissler, K. 10, 246–61 Lichtenberg, J.D. 177
Zilzer, V. 8, 52–6, 69, 70
Epstein, M. 232 Lincke, H. 200
Zipes, J. 235
Erikson, E. 21 Lorenz, K. 170, 172, 173, 174,
175, 176, 177, 179, 191,
Federn, E. 164 199, 206, 218, 219, 244
Fields, J. 73 Lowenfeld, V. 21, 209
Frese, F. 228 Ludwig, H. 254
Freeman, L. 165
Freud, A. 21, 29 MacCurdy, E. 247, 252, 253
Freud, S. 28, 29, 146, 246–51, McKibben, B. 215, 216
254, 256, 258 McNeal, J.U. 233
Mander, J. 233
Gabarino, J. 203 Montessori, M. 225–6
Gerity, L. 8, 911, 212–16, Morris, D. 208
232–7, 266
Gombrich, E.H. 231 Naumburg, M. 20, 21, 33
Gomes, M.E, 232
Ogden, T. 235
Goodall, J. 219
Oldfield, D. 202, 210
Grandin, T. 24
Orwell, S. 26
Gutkin, T.B. 93
Owens, M. 234
Haeseler, M.P. 8, 227–30, 266
Patterson, F. 199
Haftmann, W. 216
Pearce, J.C. 213
Hammer, E. 66, 260
Piaget, J. 179, 200, 215
Harris, R. 234
Purpura, P. 165
Henley, D. 8, 186, 187, 189,
200, 208–12, 230–2, 266 Reich, A. 22
Hill, A. 20, 21 Reik, T. 48
Holzapfel, M.M. 171 Reynolds, C.R. 93
Richter, J.P. 250, 252, 253
Itten, J. 21
272