From I.C.U. to “I See You”: Drawing through crisis

A year ago, my son was found on the street next to his bicycle with the symptoms of a concussion. After several hours in the emergency room, we discovered that he had a swelling hematoma. He was rushed into emergency surgery to remove it and ease the pressure inside his skull. It was a scary time.
I had a sketchbook with me. I almost always do. During this state of crisis, I drew. A part of me thought it was inappropriate to act like this. I should be sitting vigilant, making this moment more important than my creative practice or leisurely pastime. The other part of me simply carried on, recording the moment, experiencing it through the filter that I process the world through – by making it into art.
Let me qualify that. There was a period during that event when I drew nothing and thought nothing. While he was under the knife, I sat there completely blank. I was a void, and time simply dripped through my darkness. It was a singular emotion like nothing else I have ever (not) felt. If I were to represent it visually, it would be a black panel.
He survived the surgery and was moved to the intensive care unit. This is my first sketch, of my husband stationed by the bed, as we went the the grueling first night.

I finished this “I.C.U.” drawing the next morning. The day after that, when it seemed more likely that he would survive the accident and the surgery, I pulled out my sketchbook again. This drawing is so incredibly detailed. I think I was trying to convince myself that he was really there, that the fears of the first day of crisis could be dismissed. Every pen-stroke is like a tender caress, saying, “I See You.”

Back when I was in art school, I noticed a difference in the way some teachers would coach male and female students. While the lads got advice on building up their professional portfolios, girls like me were asked, “What were you feeling when you made this piece? Is this about something that happened to you?” Art had a therapeutic connotation.
Without trivializing it, this is an aspect of what art does. It reflects the world back on itself through the lens of the individual. Through good times and and bad.
I continue drawing, even when the moments are trivial rather than traumatic. It’s a creative practice, a way to pass the time, and a way to process events when they’re too overwhelming to take in all at once. I chip away with a tiny chisel. I shape it and make it manageable. I still see you, we can get through anything.