Spilled ink: reflections on eighteen months of art therapy
Charting the premature end of the therapeutic relationship.
‘Spilled ink: reflections on eighteen months of art therapy’ is a work by eve michell. eve is a copywriter and poet with a degree in English and American Literature and Creative Writing. Her work revolves around dysfunction, desire, queerness and transgression.
self-consciously dripping ink, i am five years old again looking up at my art teacher [therapist] with watery wide eyes am I doing this right? will you chide me if the ink gets on my fingers, the table? “what does this look like to you?” blood— a bear— not sure if it’s demonic or charming not sure if i’m demonic or charming can you tell me the right answer?
another session another fifty another hundred and fifty another £50 spent on the luxury of spilling my narcissism onto someone who won’t out me “what does this look like to you?” still bleeding, but somehow more vital pelvic, bleeding and messy can’t stop fixating on my womb, the epicentre hands and voice trembling ruminations on diagnoses low-grade dyskaryosis a seed evidence that i am never careful enough
the culmination of our final session smudged black ink seeping both a bear and the place that bears fruit my bear a bright red herring now darker, too ripe decaying and miasmic i am still messy and unforgiving she is still my sounding board the pool Narcissus gazes into for 40 more minutes, or so— our zoom call lags she tells me it was an honour to listen and to bear witness i tell her that it was a privilege there is nothing but privilege in paying someone to agree with you there is nothing noble in revealing careless misgivings not sure if i am anywhere close to understanding the bear or my knotted womb just a faint acceptance it all ends it ends and ends too soon.
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