Grieving loss: Art

My journey into art was catapulted by loss.

I want to remain purposefully ambiguous here, because loss is loss, no matter what form it takes.

He left you at the altar. Loss.

She ran away with your best friend. Loss.

Your dream job turned out to be toxic, and you had to leave or be consumed by it. Loss.

You and your best friend grew apart. Loss.

So yes, loss is loss, whatever shape it takes. We grieve it. We learn to live with it.

So yes, I can say that art saved my life. Not because it erased the loss, but because it taught me how to carry it.

For a while, grief consumed me. It burned me. Suffocated me. Chained me. But art gave me a way out of my mind and a way to channel that pain. It gave it shape. It brought new colours to my days, joy to the process of recovery, and meaning—not only to my loss, but also to my life.

Suddenly, I wanted to make things. I wanted to create, but I didn’t know where to start so I started with what I had available: the written word.

Every morning before work, I would spend an hour in a coffee shop in Tokyo and write. My fingers moved with an urgency I had never felt before; or since.

Looking back, the writing wasn't particularly good, but that hardly mattered, because it kept me going. It helped me survive.

And eventually, it helped me live.

So when I say that art can support and improve mental health, I am not simply repeating a popular idea or embracing the latest academic trend. I say it because I have lived it.

I am here because I found art, and with it, I found hope.

And that hope changed everything.

Now, I want to share that hope with all of you.

I hope my journey can, in some small way, support yours. I hope we can share our experiences with one another, because every experience is valid and deserves to be seen and heard.

So let's keep creating.