Non-Required but Very Useful ReadingLani Gerity

February 28, 2011

Josie, Winnicott, and the Hungry Ghosts

All rights reserved. Reprinted with permission from the American Art Therapy Association, Inc.(AATA).Originally published inArt Therapy: Journal of the American Art Therapy Association. Gerity, L.(2001).Josie, Winnicott, and the Hungry Ghosts.Art Therapy: Journal of the American Art Therapy Association, 18(1). Lani Alaine Gerity New York University DA, ATR Josie, Winnicott and the Hungry Ghosts Abstract: This paper is a further examination of Kramer (1997) et. al.ʼs discussion of the “seductive environment”, the extremely compelling, virtual environment of popular culture in which the human mind is seduced and turned into a “hungry ghost”. This paper will present the problem as seen in a creative, artistically gifted, urban North American child, Josie, who lives a carefully orchestrated, circumscribed life in which television and video play a large part. This paper will also examine some ideas about possible solutions that we as art therapists have the ability to employ. The paper will look at ways art can reach out to people, stimulate their thinking, and provide inner satisfaction. It will review the value of art and deep pleasure, of contemplation, the value of “flow” experiences, and of Winnicottʼs ideas of play.

Josie, Winnicott and the Hungry Ghosts

This paper revisits some of the ideas from Kramer (1997) et. al.ʼs discussion of the “seductive environment” which was based on a panel discussion given in 1995 at the AATA Annual Conference. It also considers some of the ideas from the three panel discussions that followed it in the ensuing years, 1996-1998. The underlying premise of these discussions was that advertising and the electronic media have created a larger than life, extremely compelling, virtual environment in which the human mind is seduced, our ability to create imagery is diminished, and we are left with a gnawing feeling of poverty. The impact of this can be seen in the art room in an increased restlessness, in passive demands to be entertained, and threats to devalue any activity not a virtual one with that terrible insult: “this is boring”. In the art room some of us have also observed a poverty of image, a lack of investment, or what seems like an inability to push through initial disappointment in dissimilarity between intent and outcome of a piece, an unwillingness to get to their “second wind”, a feeling familiar to athletes and artists if they are willing to push beyond disappointment or

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exhaustion and continue to work to completion. (For a clear discussion of this phenomenon, see Kramer, 1998 a, pg. 167) In New Yorker article “Buried Alive; Our Children and the Avalanche of Crud” Denby (1996) compellingly described the impact of the “seductive environment” on his own children. He felt their world was a degraded one, a shadow world of virtual reality. He noted with helplessness their increased addictions to the electronic media as seen in a willingness to forgo meals for their war strategy games. Denby said he hated what he saw as the bullying, conformist, shabbiness of pop culture and the way it consumed his children. He described the media as “three dimensional, inescapable, omnivorous and self-referring -- a closed system that seems, for many kids, to answer all their questions.”(p. 51) Denby explained childrenʼs restlessness and demand to be entertained as a kind of channel surfing of the mind and emotions, going from one craving to another just as their speech can go from one idea to another. Parallel to the internal clutter of craving and emotion, is an external “avalanche of crud”, little plastic toys, which although were at one time considered to be absolutely essential for existence, are now forgotten, broken remnants scattered about the house. But this isnʼt just a childrenʼs problem. How easy is it for us to concentrate, to stick with something until we get our “second wind”? Donʼt we channel surf our minds and emotions, and arenʼt our lives filled with scattered remnants of things that we had once thought essential? Epstein (1995) described this phenomena when he likened the Western psyche to the Hungry Ghost in Buddhist teachings. The Buddhist wheel of life has six realms, one of which is populated with Hungry Ghosts. (Figs. 1 and 2, from the 12th century Japanese hand scrolls from the Kyoto National Museum) Fascinating to look at but horrifying to imagine being, these creatures have withered limbs, bloated bellies of the malnourished, and long thin necks. They wander helplessly in the world of humans, but are unseen, unacknowledged, unreal, tormented by unfulfilled cravings and insatiable demands. They are never satisfied because their bodies are unable to digest food. They represent a fusion of rage and

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desire. Epstein noticed an increase in individuals embodying similar kind of rage and desire in his psychiatric practice. People complaining of low self esteem, unfulfilled lives, feeling unreal and unacknowledged by others. He suggested it is a broader problem than simply the few Borderline patients that come to see him. He suggests that we are all increasingly vulnerable to feelings of alienation, longing, and emptiness, those emotions that characterize the Realm of the Hungry Ghosts. So how can we define the problem? Epsteinʼs patients and most of the rest of us, for that matter, are being taught with great skill by the seductive environment to live in this Hungry Ghost Realm, to embody the rage and desire of these pitiful creatures, collecting more and more stuff which neither consoles nor satisfies. But why would we choose to live in a Realm that leaves us feeling so undernourished? Does it have anything to do with early relationships to the seductive environment? If we can find out how it begins would we be able to disentangle ourselves from this relationship or exert a little more choice in our lives? Would we be more effective art therapists, creating environments where individuals would have more choice and be able to create freely and with satisfaction? To look for an answer to these questions I spent time with Josie in her environment (an informant based research methodology) which is at least as plastic and media filled as Denbyʼs childrenʼs. Josie is a lively, creative kindergartner in New York City, living a very carefully orchestrated, coordinated, circumscribed life in which television and video play a large part. While visiting her parents, I had many opportunities to observe the patterns of Josieʼs life and interactions. Early morning consisted of a little unstructured play time with Mommy, before anyone was quite awake. This time would be short lived, however, because both her parents had to prepare for work, so Josie would be deposited in the living room, in front of the television with some brightly colored, sugar coated breakfast cereal, where for the next few hours she would sit in spell bound inactivity. The baby sitter would arrive and the parents would leave, but there would be little attention paid to this transition, the television serving to smooth over any separation anxiety. The day would be

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scheduled with activities and play dates where she was free to create and play with her friends. It was the results of these activities and the brief early morning play which gave me the clue as to her creative ability and imagination. In the evening, after all scheduled play dates and activities, the baby sitter would leave and Josieʼs father would take over, fixing her dinner while she would again be placed in front of the television to watch the Nickelodeon channel. When Josieʼs mother would return, Josie could put a movie of her choice into the VCR so that the adults can have their own dinner and some adult conversation. In her few years, Josie had logged on more TV/video viewing hours than I had in my entire life. She is very experienced in this seductive environment and is my best informant on its impact on the young mind. She can explain in fairly sophisticated terms how she needs things for her happiness. These things included yet another Barbie to add to the pile she already has. How many Barbies would be enough, I asked. Just this last (Fig. 3) one, she assured me. But her bedroom is so crowded, now, with the creations of the toy industry that her own pale, little cardboard and paper creations are squeezed out by these brightly colored, exaggerated “supernormal objects” as described in Kramer (1997, pg. 109) et. al. Josie also explained to me that she needs special bath products, LʼOreal for Kids and that they were really the best. What criteria is this based on? Although I found Josieʼs needs puzzling, I shouldnʼt have. The main goal of Josieʼs seductive environment is to create a market for products. Although she may not be earning money, she certainly has an influence on how money is spent in the household. Mander (1977, p. 130-1) explained the advertising industryʼs seduction in the following way. Through external imagery our inner life is accessed and our feelings are manipulated, reprocessed, and sold back to us. When Josie is sitting quietly in front of the television with its fast paced, attention getting imagery, the psychologist or social scientist who is paid by the advertising industry

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is entering her inner wilderness, pulling up her feelings, displaying them, and selling them back to her. “See these excited little girls?” they say to her. “They have the newest and best Barbie. She makes them feel excited and happy. If you had this Barbie, then you would be able to feel your happy feelings. But you donʼt. As soon as you get your parents to buy you this new Barbie, then you will be able to feel happy again.” In this way the personal, internal feeling of happiness is attached to an external product, where it is held hostage until the product is purchased. What chance does Josie have of considering looking toward her own inner world for satisfaction with this kind of confusion of internal feelings with external products going on? Mander said, “Like miners seeking new deposits of coal in the mountains, these social scientists attempt to mine the internal wilderness of human beings” (p.129). So Josieʼs bedroom is crammed from floor to ceiling with hard plastic stuff. In studying the early relationship to the seductive environment we saw that Josie is being taught to live in this Hungry Ghost Realm, when she uses this environment to assuage anxiety, when her parents use it to gain a little peace, and when advertisers use it to create a market for their products. So perhaps Josie is not choosing to live in a realm that leaves her feeling needy. How can Josie, or any of us for that matter, begin to disentangle herself and give herself more choices? Kramer (1998 b), while writing about the bombardment of our perceptual apparatus by the advertising industry, suggested we learn to disregard this stimuli. Not fully happy with this suggestion, though, she warned that disregarding stimuli may cause an ever-increasing incapacity for emotional response to perception. Yet my observations of Josie, who eagerly accepts the stimuli of the advertising industry, would indicate that acceptance of bombardment also leads to a kind of incapacitation of emotion, intellectual thought and creativity. Perhaps there might be other solutions. One that immediately comes to mind is to turn off or avoid the seductive environment. I can hear objections to this idea, so I would suggest an experimental approach. Examine the differences between times spent within the electronic environment, and times spent beyond its reach. We are bombarded often and mercilessly from all sides, but perhaps there are times when we have a choice between the seductive environment and opportunities for a stilling of the chaos, opportunities that would help us reconnect with our inner landscape, where we may find ourselves restored. My suggestion would be when we come up to one of these opportunities for stillness, we accept it, and examine the resulting state of mind. During such an experiment the electronic environment will keep, it will wait for us, eager to tell us about the newest Barbie or bath product upon our return. Wanting a more active solution, however, I wondered if there was some way for art to counter the numbing effects of this virtual environment. Zipes (1997) said 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” (p. 131). Perhaps we need to be reminded of the value of art and deep pleasure, of contemplation, the value of what Csikszentmihalyi (1990) called flow, and of what Ackerman (1999) called deep play. Susan Deri (1978), in an essay on play and the work of D. W. Winnicott, described a childʼs need to play in the presence of the mother. She wrote that in order for the child to find satisfaction in play, the motherʼs main task is to create a play space where the child can play by herself but in the security of the motherʼs presence. In this potential space, which both joins and separates mother and the playing child, the child feels “unpressured by instinctual needs and unchallenged by the demands of the environment”(p.55). The mother can leave possible objects for creative play around without forcing them on the child. She will find and use what she needs. “Finding them will be as much a creative act as the discovery of objets trouvés for the artist, or driftwood for the beach comber.”(p.56) During this process the mother watches the child play, her eyes and face function as a warm, friendly, mirror, “reflecting the loved image of the child to the child.”(p.56-7) This description is very like the too

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short time Josie has in the morning with her mother before her day unfolds, before the demands of the electronic environment begin their assault. Winnicott (1986) described the healthy individual as one who feels real. Feeling real may be something we lose track of when we spend a lot of time in a virtual reality. He saw healthy people as moving easily between three realms. One, the realm of the world, is where interpersonal relationships are key. The second is the realm of the personʼs inner reality or inner wilderness. The third is the realm of cultural experience. This realm starts as play, leads on to the whole area of “arts, the myths of history, the slow march of philosophical thought and the mysteries of mathematics, and ...of religion.”(p.36) Winnicott felt that play and humor come into this realm as well as the accumulated culture of the past ten thousand years, all a by-product of health. So here is a suggestion of a solution: to create quiet, interesting transitional spaces, where children can move easily between these three realms, where they are able to play and create, and where they can feel real. This can easily be applied to our work in art therapy. In re-examining work done in a large day treatment center, it seemed that the pottery room provided the closest thing to a Winnicottian transitional space. Many of the most difficult Borderline patients, individuals who embodied the Hungry Ghostsʼ rage and desire in other groups, seemed transformed in pottery. Here they appeared to find a quiet space, an environment where they could interact with marked gentleness, where they could explore their own inner reality and where they could play and create form with the clay. Clay is a very nurturing, pliable material. Perhaps it reminded some of a positive, early, maternal environment while for others it provided such an environment for the first time. During one session one of the more toxic Borderline patients noticed, while cutting and reattaching a hand in a sculpture of a father and son for the hundredth time, “clay is very forgiving, you can cut off an arm and attach it many times and it will always forgive you” (Gerity, 1997, p. 93) (fig. 4&5). Another patient described creating a sculpture of someone very special to her. She said something magical happened internally. She felt a deep connection to a buried part of herself. She could put everything into the clay--love, anger, fears-- and create a thing of beauty. She felt validated by this sculpture, a deep sense of self worth, and even something like self-love. When she finished creating this head, she said- “wow, I can do this. I didnʼt think I could. Maybe there are other things I can do.” (Gerity, 1999, p.14)

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In this womanʼs description of her experience we can hear that the creation reflected back to her that this is good. The ability to create becomes a kind of positive mirror in which she sees her own strengths reflected back. This patient clearly gained a sense of integration, a sense of feeling real, when she was able to look within herself for satisfaction. This is something which can be encouraged within our art rooms. Another example of a Winnicottian play space occurred at Sagamore, the old great camp of the Vanderbuilts, in the Adirondack mountains of New York, where grandparents and grandchildren come for intergenerational summer camps. It is an idyllic, magical place, where the only buildings on the lake are historic, rustic structures. The lake itself is the home of loons, river otter, a great blue heron, and ducks. For an art making space we have a little cottage which we shared one summer with a family of ermine. I couldnʼt think of a more wonder filled place to create art. Having the time constraint of week-long workshops, we create puppets. This is an art form that engages children and their grandparents in a lively playful way, and yet allows for a certain amount of introspection. It is tactile, three dimensional with some of the qualities of working with clay. It is both visual and with a narrative component. It is completely interactive. We use papier mâché and cloth, incorporating small objects from the environment into the puppet. The results are delightfully unique creatures that mysteriously enchant the puppeteer (figs. 6 & 7). By animating these puppets the whole world suddenly becomes a new, curious, and exciting place where driftwood, animal footprints, and objets trouvés can be discovered. “I never knew the world was so big,” gasped one little boy as he took his puppet for a walk. These grandparents and grandchildren, cut off from the seductive environment for one week periods, nurtured their curiosity about the world they live in and confirmed a love of life. They found a kind of deep pleasure in this place and in their own ability to create and play together. Phillips (1998) wrote about how essential curiosity and love of life is for us, how if we donʼt nurture this curiosity

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we can lose our ability to look forward to things, or our ability to create things that help us look forward. He said”...it is imagination that makes lives livable... And, as children take for granted, lives are only livable if they give pleasure: that is, if we can renew our pleasures, remember their intensities. And so be delighted by hope...” (p. xxii) If we are increasingly dependent upon our virtual environment for our imaginative life, feeling unable to create things to look forward to or to sustain us, we are left feeling undernourished, without pleasure or hope. My experience in the Adirondacks and in the pottery room has taught me that this curiosity and love of life can be nurtured in a creative play space if the space is free of demands of the electronic environment. In trying to encourage a group of Taos students to think creatively and adventurously about their lives, Goldberg (1993) advised them to find something they love and to love it completely. Perhaps we need to trust in what we love, in what we animate and in what animates us, we need to follow this thing with curiosity, and let it take us on an adventure. And what about Josie and her relationship to the seductive environment? After each visit, I am left with a vague disquiet, a wish for Josie to have more time in her transitional space, where she could play freely and create her little cardboard and paper people in their complex if pale cardboard worlds, with out being squeezed out by somebody elseʼs “supernormal” imagery. She is a creative child, if she is out of range of the seductive environment. If she could find something to love that would lead her on adventures, and if she could be allowed to develop a curiosity in the real world much like the grandparents and grandchildren in the Adirondacks, I think maybe she would have a chance. Josie did have an adventure this summer, to my relief. She went with her parents and grandparents went to Nigeria. They spent a great deal of time in a remote area where life somehow goes on outside the reach of the electronic, virtual environment. She got to see where her father was raised, where her grandparents and great grandparents worked. She got to experience the joy of an uncircumscribed day filled with curiosities and treasures: flocks of little goats herded by children, rising with the sun and the rooster, and playing in the dirt, making art and song without schedule or plan. Upon returning home her stated vocational and life goals included living in a hut in Nigeria where she, too, could raise little goats. She may never fulfill this goal but at the very least she has now experienced something which has broadened her ideas about the real world, she has been to a place where images and stories thread their way between the generations within her family. In her mind real images of goats, huts, family and friends are linked together to create her very own narrative. She can play with this story within her inner wilderness, or she can retell it with her parents, connecting it to the family history. Eventually, out of these seeds of experiences, additional images, new possibilities, and new hopes will germinate, and happily these things will be a part of Josieʼs inner life, not a part of the seductive environment. In conclusion, I would say that Winnicott has some very usable principles for the art room, for ourselves and for Josie. We need a certain amount of freedom to make choices, we need a certain amount of protection from the bombardment of virtual reality in order to access our inner environment and to feel real in the world, and we need to learn that we can nurture our hungers ourselves with our own creative efforts. We need to help Josie and ourselves keep curiosity and love of life alive when ever and where ever possible. I would like to end this paper with a quote from Rachel Carson (1998). “ If a child is to keep alive his inborn sense of wonder ..., he needs the companionship of at least one adult who can share it, rediscovering with him the joy, excitement and mystery of the world we live in” (pg. 54-5). As art therapists, I believe that we have the ability and responsibility to be that adult, rediscovering and mirroring the mystery of the world.

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REFERENCE LIST Ackerman, D. (1999). Deep play. New York: Random House. Benjamin, W. (1968, original German 1955) Illuminations. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc. Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1990). Flow; The psychology of optimal experience. New York: Harper and Row. Carson, R. (1998) (original text copyrighted in 1956) The Sense of Wonder. New York: HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. Denby, D. (1996). “Buried alive; Our children and the avalanche of crud.” The New Yorker, July 15, 1996. Deri, S. (1978). “Vicissitudes of Symbolization and Creativity” in Between reality and fantasy edited by Grolnick, S. A. And Barkin, L. North Vale, N. J.: Jason Aronson Inc. Epstein, M. (1995). Thoughts Without a Thinker. Basic Books: A Division of HarperCollins Publishers. Gerity, L. (1999). Creativity and the dissociative patient; Puppets, narrative and art in the treatment of survivors of childhood trauma. London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers. Goldberg, N. (1993), Long Quiet Highway. New York: Bantam Books. Kramer, E. (1998 a). Childhood and art therapy. Chicago, Magnolia Street Publishers. Kramer, E. (1998 b). “New feature: Art therapists who are artists.” American Journal of Art Therapy Vol. 36, May. Kramer, E., Williams, K., Henley, D., and Gerity, L. (1997). “Art, art therapy, and the seductive environment.” American Journal of Art Therapy, 35 (4), 106. Mander J. (1978). Four Arguments for the Elimination of Television. New York, William Morrow and Company, Inc.

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Phillips, A. (1998). The Beast in the Nursery: On Curiosity and Other Appetites. New York: Pantheon Books. Winnicott, D. W. (1986). Home is where we start from. New York: W. W. Norton & Co. Zipes, J. (1997). Happily ever after; Fairy tales, children, and the culture industry. New York and London: Routledge.

The Subversive Art Therapist: Embracing Cultural Diversity in the Art Room All rights reserved. Reprinted with permission from the American Art Therapy Association, Inc.(AATA).Originally published in Art Therapy: Journal of the American Art Therapy Association. Gerity, L.(2000).The Subversive Art Therapist: Embracing Cultural Diversity in the Art Room. Art Therapy: Journal of the American Art Therapy Association, 17(3). Lani Alaine Gerity New York University DA, ATR The Subversive Art Therapist; Embracing Cultural Diversity in the Art Room. Abstract: This paper examines and compares assimilation and multiculturalism. Although we as art therapists might be more inclined to embrace multiculturalism, still when it comes to its practice in our art rooms, we find difficulties. This paper will clarify some of these difficulties, these foundations of cultural conflict, so that we may better understand and begin dismantling the blocks which hinder our ability to embrace variety and differences in the art room. Finally, this paper makes the suggestion that we go beyond removing that which hinders us and actively use our very natures as artists to help us embrace diversity. As artists we understand the value of a variety of tools and mediums, the joy of mixing varied textures, colors, shades and line quality in our work. This is the lesson to be found in every art room and it is within reach of everyone who enters that space. The Subversive Art Therapist; Embracing Cultural Diversity in the Art Room. Selma Ciornai (1983) has suggested that art therapists are agents of social change. This paper will look at the idea of the subversive art therapist, agent of social change, while delving into the richness of textures, the variety of experience available to all of us who are willing to explore and support cultural diversity in the art therapy studio. It will also examine the poverty and rigidity that is woven into the experience of assimilation. The foundations of cultural conflict, i.e. inequities of power, cultural biases, prejudice and suffering, will be examined here, in order to understand what it is that prevents us from embracing variety and differences in the art room. Finally, the suggestion that the solutions lie in our very natures as artists will be put forward. The ability to value the mingling of various textures, colors, shades and line quality is within reach of every art therapist. Why would assimilation be considered an impoverishment of experience? The answer can be seen over and over in the history of North America, in the dominant cultureʼs demand for conformity from non-dominant cultures. One story can be found in the Innu people of Labrador, Canada. Through

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what can be seen as attempts at reprogramming a culture, a gradual process of residential schooling and relocation, these people have been cut off from their history, values, land, and context. Dissociated from everything that gives life meaning, they further separate from community, families, from their very selves, undergoing a slow self-destruction through solvent abuse. 75% of the people of one community, that is both adults and children, inhale gasoline fumes as their substance of choice (figures from Nechi Institute on Alcohol and Drug Education). They are so defeated and despondent that there is very little concept of protecting the younger members of the community from their own fate. Many communities of non-dominant cultures across North America suffer in similar ways, perhaps not always with the extraordinarily destructive action of gasoline fume abuse of the Innu, but still the stories of pain caused by demands of assimilation on this continent are innumerable. Successful models for recovery seem to all have at their core an embracing the richness of the culture of origin, the history, traditions and rituals, leading to a restored value of the sense of self. One example is the Rediscovery program (Henley, 1996) that began in British Columbia, twenty some years ago on the shores of Haida Gwaii. Challenged by a multitude of social ills, the local communities created the first Rediscovery camp. The goals of this camp were simple, to rediscover and appreciate the wonder of the inner world, the variety of cultural worlds between people, and the marvels of the non-human world. Through art making, story telling, creative wilderness activities, a blending of rituals and rites of passage, the participants search for and find self reliance, self-worth, and friendship. In object relations terms, they begin to internalize good object relations, which provides them with the strength and integrity of a positive sense of self. This camp was so successful that in the twenty years that followed 21 more camps were set up in British Columbia as well as across western Canada, the U.S., Thailand, and Hong Kong. In our art rooms, a similar process can be observed when patients over time begin to be able to work with images, history, and narratives, from their own culture, when they can begin to feel a strength within themselves and a willingness to protect this individuating self. It is seen most clearly when patients of a non-dominant culture initially create body image representations that appear to be representations of the dominant culture. Over time, if the art room is a safe place, individuals can explore cultural histories and traditions, as described in Kramerʼs (1977) discussion of African American boys first painting Indian Chiefs before they could finally paint African Kings. We observe a process of gradual self acceptance, body image representations grow to more resemble the creator, and with this we can observe a developing sense of pride. Often, though, in large agencies, the belief in assimilation is widely held by therapists and patients alike. I worked in such an agency in New York City for more than a decade. I observed patients attempting to deny their own history and illness in order to fit into the dominant culture of the healthy, predominantly white, female, rehabilitation-counseling staff. There was often a focus on the external trappings of that culture, rather than the inner life of the individual. The therapists trained or rehabilitated the patients to better negotiate a place in the dominant culture. One such African American patient, Jenny, described in full elsewhere (Gerity,1999), had many beloved white counselors and therapists. Her creation in the art room of representation of her ego-ideal reflected her belief that healthy people were like her white therapists, and that unhealthy people were like her abusive mother and her self. In her view the color of skin was tied to a sense of worth. This focus on the external appearance of acculturation denies the validity of the patientsʼ inner life, of their fears, dreams, terrors and longings. If the art therapist concerns herself with the inner lives of patients in a large agency she may find discussions of fiscal constraints and bottom line discouraging

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her efforts. Patients reflecting on their hopes and fears might be considered subversive to the dominant cultureʼs mores and social values. In my observations this kind of assimilation, which neccessitates a denial of self and the inner life, does not promote mental health in any sense. Mental health seems to come rather from an increased respect for personal and cultural differences, whether we are considering the mental health of our patients, our peers, our students, or ourselves. So why is it so difficult to promote feelings of acceptance, respect, and appreciation when working with cultural differences? Perhaps the answer to that lies in our own feelings or traumatic memories of feeling “different” or not being a part of the dominant culture. Perhaps early on we came to believe that “different” was not a good thing. In the year that I took the board certification exam for registered art therapists there was a question which went something like: “How do you best work with clients of cultures different from your own?”. The choices for possible answers were something like what follows: You should... A. Encourage clients to assimilate into the dominant culture. B. Encourage clients to return to their own culture and world view. C. Ignore the differences. D. Learn more about your own culture of origin and attitudes towards differences. The correct answer was, of course, in learning about and accepting your own background and traditions, your own feelings about differences, you will be more equipped to work with people from cultures different from your own. This is very easy to say, to write, to believe, but it is not so easy to practice. How do we begin to look at the traditions of our individual cultures for strength? How can we utilize our collective traditions as colorful and eccentric artists for the good training that that provides us? When teaching a course on intercultural concerns of the art therapist at NYU, I suggested to the students to find a cultural figure from their own background which they could identify with, a sort of externalization of an internalized good object from their own cultural or ethnic background. The figure could be a folk hero, an historic figure, or even a family member. The idea behind this was to work on accepting culture of origin and to begin to examine feelings about differences. They studied Hammerschlagʼs (1988) delightful foray into dancing with and accepting cultural distinctions, First Nationsʼ and his own. The example of the destruction of culture through assimilation and recovery through the exploration of heritage was discussed. Everyone expressed understanding the value of creating an externalization of an internalized good object for members of disenfranchised communities, and for patients they might be working with. Some had great fun creating warrior grandmothers (fig. 1), wise elders, monks, hedgehog-gypsy queens and an Asian-American artist (fig. 2) but some found it very difficult or even impossible to embrace their own cultural background or history.One student, a young woman from a conservative East Asian culture, said she understood that her minority patients needed to be respected for their own cultural differences, and that she always approached them with positive regard, because she also was a minority in the dominant culture of the United States. She said she wanted to help them discover their own uniqueness and encourage a reconnection to their roots. When examining her feelings about her own culture, in an attempt to reconnect with her own roots, she said her generation is fully “westernized”, so much so that Asian traditions seem exotic, alien and perhaps a little tiresome. She and her generation grew up with American television programming, movies, pop songs, and even McDonaldʼs hamburgers. She described modern Western popular culture as something “cool and exciting” while her own culture of origin was seen as dull in comparison. She described a belief in the myth that the U.S. is full of opportunity and adventures, the

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exported seductive myth used to sell Coca Cola and hamburgers (consume these goods so that you too will have opportunities and adventures). She said that Asians lived at the center of their world for thousands of years, but that this point of view was

forcibly “corrected” by the West. They now reluctantly agree that Western culture is more advanced than their own, and therefore take comfort in the belief that some other cultures are less developed and therefore seen as inferior to Asian cultures. When it came to examining her cultural or family history for a character that some how resonated enough to create an externalized good object, she said she couldnʼt find any figures from her own culture, not one heroine from an entire cultural history that she could identify with, that would help her see the value of her Asian heritage. Instead she chose to create a blonde, blue eyes externalization, although she said it made her sad to do it. I was reminded of Jenny and her white ego-ideals. I wondered how the student would help her patients discover their own uniqueness and encourage them to reconnect to their roots if she couldnʼt do it for herself. I began to consider the need for a greater understanding of assimilation or inculturation, how dominant cultures overwhelm non-dominant cultures. Why do we give up our cultural heritage? Does it have something to do with identification with the aggressor? If we can begin to understand the mechanisms at work here, then perhaps we can see below the surface of the dominant Western Culture, to begin to respect and appreciate our own individuality as well as that of others. To understand culture and its influence on us, we should start with a useful definition. Geert Hofstede (1992) describes culture as “the software of the mind,” an image concerned with intellect. Although the cognitive approach to understanding is important, it is not quite the whole picture. French writer Alexis de Tocqueville (1835) described culture as “habits of the heart”, in Democracy in America (pg. 310). Perhaps we could combine these two ideas, “the habits of the heart and mind” and a culture would be a group which would share these habits as a common ground. If we belong to a non-dominant group, within the larger dominant culture, what is the dominant cultureʼs impact on us? We may find we feel constrained in relationship to members of the dominant culture. Partly this may be due to a clash of value orientations, a perception that there is a dominant

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orientation attempting to change familiar habits of heart and of mind, which often result in resentment and anger towards those responsible for these attempts. Bem (1970) has suggested that value orientations are the cognitive and affective categories that guide our assumptions about life. We rely heavily on them. They form the core of a cultureʼs and an individualʼs habits. He believes they are programmed early in our lives, so we are rarely aware of them. They are either taken for granted, seen as grounded in experience, or accepted from some external authority. Our value orientations are linked to our concepts of self, relationships, activity, creativity, and even time. If these value orientations are at odds with someone elseʼs value orientations and if we, as therapists, assume our way of seeing the world is the right way, the result will be conflict. When two cultures meet one may be dominant, more powerful, (or, perhaps more seductive and exciting as in traditional Asian culture vs. Western pop culture), creating a conflict between contrasting concepts of self. These conflicts can be particularly destructive to the non dominant culture. If we ignore these conflicts, they often lead to self-concepts of deficiency and alienation, or in art therapy terms the body image representation will be that of another culture, indicating a discomfort in the core of oneʼs own being. How do we deal with conflict that emerges from an awareness of alienation, wrongs, and suffering that have occurred to members of the individualʼs culture throughout history? This question is addressed by feminist and narrative family therapists Tamasese and Waldegrave (1993) who describe the stories of individuals belonging to a dominated culture as “stories of pain”. These stories of pain are personal but they are also collective and historical. Tamasese and Waldegrave have observed that members of the dominant culture tend to individualize these stories rather than seeing them within their cultural context, which of course adds to the pain. As therapists we have been trained to look at the details of the individual context and the psychological pain, not seeing the broader historical lessons or collective pain. But as artists in search of an expansive view, we might step back from this psychodynamic perspective and consider the pressures of history and collective pain as well. Both the personal perspective and the cultural perspective need to be understood in order for these stories of pain to be understood. Having the freedom to talk about these stories of pain in a therapeutic setting would be healing, but Tamasese and Waldegrave have found that instead of freedom there is often constraint and fear, particularly if the therapist is a member of the dominant culture and the patient part of the dominated culture. The APA (1991) differentiates paranoia and the culturally appropriate stance of “adaptive suspicion” by a member of the dominated culture. According to the APA this stance is maintained for the individualʼs own protection. But this creates a bind. How does a patient of a dominated culture feel safe with a therapist of the dominant culture? The patient/therapist relationship itself is one that reflects an inequity in power, since the therapist is in the position of perhaps having something which the patient needs. If the patient is from a non dominant culture and the therapist is seen as belonging to the dominant culture, we will come up against additional binds. Lobovits and Freeman (1993) are narrative therapists, so they suggest thinking of the patient/therapist relationship as being a collaborative relationship in which a new narrative is created. We are art therapists so we can use the tools and materials we possess between us, our history and cultural background to create an integrated and unified art piece. Lobovits and Freeman suggest that part of this collaborative effort can include a discussion of cultural backgrounds and how these backgrounds give us our particular point of view, our particular stories of pain, stance of suspicion, our habits of mind and heart. The idea, according to Lobovits and Freeman, is that if we are able to talk about the emotionally difficult concepts of dominant culture and dominated culture, and all the entailed pain, we will better see where these things come into play in our day to day lives. In the art room, this

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feeling of egalitarianism of view point can be achieved by creating a still life in the center of the table, which could be seen as objective reality. Each individual has their own view, not a better or worse view, just different, and if we share our various views we might get a more complete picture of the still life, a better understanding of reality, and a common ground on which to stand and appreciate the difference. When the therapist or supervisor raises issues of difference in a collaborative way, in a kind of “letʼs-see-how-this-still-life-works-here” way, this constraint, the feeling of defensiveness or stance of suspicion is lessened and it becomes easier to examine the differences and their meanings. If we are interested and supportive of differences, and provide a permissive environment in which it is possible for others to be interested as well, if we see diversity and differences as potentially enriching and exciting, a source of strength and creativity, then I suspect constraints will be lessened. What I enjoy about teaching “intercultural concerns of the art therapist” is the tremendous variety of stories, history, and cultures found in the class room. Thereʼs a richness of metaphor, a delightful sharing of strength when students present their own story through the diminuative figures of their puppets. There are stories of pain but when we can empathize with the narrator (sharing affective information), as the narrator empathizes with herself through her creation, these stories of pain are transformed into stories of strength and survival. I have seen this same development of strengh and sense of worth when patients in the large mental health agency were allowed to validate their inner lives; their dreams, hopes, terrors and longings, through their art work. Through the making of art they were able to transform their need to identify with the aggressor into self acceptance and inner strength. In becoming less dependent on external approval from the counselors and staff, and developing their own ability to find satisfaction within, these patients were able to bring about social change within the agency. One patient said that he felt a lot better when he was able to create freely with his peers and this, he said, was subversive. This paper is proposing examining our value orientations for their usefulness in working with people of other cultures. As artists do we value accommodation, inclusiveness, and flexibility in our art work? Could we learn to value these things in our relationships with others? I think so. Can we consider the value of an artistʼs approach in stepping back from an art piece and looking at it in the broader view, looking at cultural influences and value orientations, and then moving close to see the details clearly, looking at psychodynamic influences? Can we look for information that is affective as well as cognitive? As artists we have strengths as well. The artistʼs wish to expand her vision can be a strength. We understand the value of looking at things from different angles, from changing perspectives. The fact that we appreciate subtleties, variety, and the relationship of parts to the whole is a strength. Our search for greater clarity, sharper detail, subtler nuance, and an overall integrity in our work is a strength. The ability to create something new out of the materials at hand is something artists are also known for. Donʼt these strengths provide us with the needed flexibility to work and teach in intercultural settings? Arenʼt these also strengths that we can discuss with our students? There is a Zen tradition, handed down from the 13th century Japanese Zen master Dogen, of using what is in the kitchen to cook a meal, rather than worrying about what you donʼt have or how much better the meal would be if you only had the perfect ingredients (Glassman and Fields, 1996). Rather than waiting for the perfect tools for working with others whose cultures are different from our own, why not work with the materials at hand? If we think of the artistsʼ studio as our Zen kitchen, we can consider exploring the materials and tools we have in this studio. If we think of our interactions with others in the studio as collaborative rather than as hierarchical, as often flawed and human rather than needing to be perfect, I suspect we will begin to see the value of the diverse strengths and styles of

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individuals who are different from ourselves. I suspect we will begin to create better art, better therapeutic work and better collaboration. References American Psychological Association. (1991). Guidelines for Providers of Psychological Services to Ethnic, Linguistic, and Culturally Diverse Populations. Bem, D. J. (1970). Beliefs, attitudes, and human affairs. Belmont, CA: Brooks/Cole. Ciornai, S. (1983). “Art therapy with working class Latino women.” The Arts in Psychotherapy 10, 2, 63-76. Gerity, L. (1999). Creativity and the dissociative patient; Puppets, narrative, and art in the treatment of survivors of childhood trauma. London and Philadelphia: Jessica Kingsley Publishers. Glassman, B. & Fields, R. (1996). Instructions to the cook; A Zen masterʼs lessons in living a life that matters. New York: Bell Tower. Hammerschlag, C. A. (1988). The dancing healers: A doctorʼs journey of healing with Native Americans. San Francisco: Harper Collins Publishers. Henley, T. (1996). Rediscovery; ancient pathways, new directions. Vancouver, B. C.: Lone Pine Publishing. Hofstede, Geert. (1980). Cultures and organizations: Software of the mind. London: McGraw Hill. Kramer, E. (1977). Art therapy in a childrenʼs community. New York: Schocken Books. Lobovits, D. & Freeman, J. C. (1993). Toward collaboration and accountability: Alternatives to the dominant discourse for understanding sexual exploitation by professionals. Dulwich Centre Newsletter, 3&4, 33-44. Tamasese, K. & Waldegrave, C. (1993). Cultural and gender accountability in the “Just Therapy” approach. Journal of Feminist Family Therapy, 5(2), 29-45. Tocqueville, A. De (1945) Democracy in America; Vol. I New York: Vintage Books

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