Brush and Sword

The newsletter by Sameer Sharma

Issue #9

I Contain Multitudes- Accepting My Shadow And My Art

The Wild Horses of ‘Should’

Whitman’s verse was the inspiration for my latest painting above. These questions kept running through my mind as I was painting…

"Can a monk smoke a cigarette?"

"Is he any less holy if he does?"

"Can I, as Whitman says, contain multitudes- the seemingly contradictory facets of my personality?"

"Are my flaws really flaws or are they aspects that I was taught to suppress?"

Painting helps me to reconcile the duality within myself. It shows me that I can be this and that; not this or that. I gain a sense of wholeness rather than be torn apart between who I am and who I am suppose to be. Yet, this reconciliation has only come about in the past few years. Until I started painting again, I spent my most of my adult life being pulled in all directions by the horses of “should”:

• I should give up my art.
• I should get a real job.
• I should be practical.
• I should get a masters degree.
• I should get married and start a family.
• I should be the obedient son.
• I should be anyone other than who I am.

Although I wasn’t torn to pieces like poor Saint Hippolytus, I did become emotionally deformed to the point where I couldn’t recognize myself anymore. I made a Faustian bargain and traded the firm ground of authenticity for the quicksand of external approval. It was only by divine grace did I finally have a breakdown, and the part of me I suppressed finally had its day of reckoning.

The Sickness Is The Cure

My failure at trying to appease the “shoulds” led me to finally give up. “I’m done!” I cried. “I’m done trying to be someone I’m not. I’m done trying to be successful. I’m done walking someone else’s path. I’m done with gurus and experts. If I’m not enough as I am, then so be it!"

This was my war cry. This was the verbal gauntlet I threw down to whatever force I felt was in my way. After 20+ years of suppression and denial, I surrendered the struggle against myself. I had no more fight left in me.

I didn’t realize that the force I was fighting was not outside, but inside myself. I was resisting my own nature; that part of me I first discovered as a child. I remembered when I was a kid how much I loved drawing. I would go to the public library, check out drawing tutorial books and try to copy the drawings of the old masters. I drew for the sheer love of it. I drew because some part of me compelled me. In school, I would get caught for drawing when I should have been taking notes. It wasn’t until I reached my teens was this compulsion given a name- Artist.

Business failures, financial struggles and a failing marriage finally brought me to my knees. In that state of surrender, I had just enough will to pick up a piece of charcoal and start drawing again. The same force that compelled me to draw as a child was now urging me to reclaim that part of me I abandoned.

The Artist in me had finally won. He played the long game. He watched with patience all those years as I did my best to deny him. But now, the Artist’s patience had run out. For years, its soft whispers fell on my deaf ears. Whispers became louder requests that I continued to ignore with logic and rationality. Finally, the Artist lost its patience with me and erupted. We tend not to reach for the cure until the symptoms are too much to bear. At the time, I didn’t know that there was a psychological name for this abandoned part of me. The Swiss psychiatrist, psychologist, and psychotherapist Carl Jung termed this, the shadow.

My Shadow

Carl Jung defined the shadow as that part of ourselves we deny, repress, disown and banish to our unconscious. This often occurs during childhood when we are conditioned to conform to other's expectations. Parents are the most influential force in this early stage. Like a potter’s hands, they shape and mold us in their own fashion; often at the expense of our own uniqueness.

As a child, my love for drawing was not encouraged, but rather tolerated. My parents allowed me to draw so long as it did not interfere with my grades and the pursuit of a respectable career. For an Indian kid, that meant one of two choices- doctor, or engineer. I was doomed.

During my senior year of high school, I went to an art college fair with my art teacher. She recognized my talent for art and encouraged me to apply to art schools. When I came home from the art college fair, I was on cloud nine. I couldn’t wait to tell my parents about my grand plan to go to art school and become a professional artist. When I told them the good news, they were horrified. My mother cried. My father berated me. I might as well have committed a felony. The punishment would have been less painful than the shame I felt at that moment.

That’s when the artist in me became my shadow- the part of me that I banished to my unconscious. Animals, like the starfish and gecko, will sacrifice an appendage for the sake of survival. I didn’t realize that I had done this with the artist in me. I spent the next 20+ years doing my best to keep him in the solitary confinement of my unconscious. At the time, this seemed rational; even essential for my survival. I chose the security of a known prison to the insecurity of an authentic life.

During that time, my shadow didn’t just lie dormant, but became stronger and more indignant. The gecko that severs its own tail to survive will eventually grow it back. Likewise, my shadow regrew its appendages. An almost 30 year gestation period finally gave birth to a beast that could no longer be caged. Before, I thought my survival depended on suppressing this part of me. Now, I realized that my survival depended on freeing it from its prison.

Individuation- Reclaiming My Shadow And My Art

The more we try to fit in, the more estranged we become from ourselves. Until I broke down and came crawling back to my art like the prodigal son, I had lost touch with my true self. When I picked up that piece of charcoal after almost 30 years, I was scared to death of making a mark. I thought that whatever artistic talent I once had must have atrophied. Yes, my marks were clumsy, and uncertain. But they opened up emotions that I had buried years ago. These emotions of joy, excitement and wonder were my shadow’s way of communicating with me. It’s as if through these feelings, my shadow said:

The process of accepting our shadow and bringing it into our awareness is what Carl Jung called, “individuation”. Those who undertake shadow work often do so with a professional therapist. For me, my art was my therapist. The canvas became a mirror. At first, it reflected the deformed image of my shadow. Like Dorian Grey, the more agreeable I was on the outside, the uglier my shadow’s reflection became on the canvas.

It was a record of self-betrayal. I had to accept that this reflection was self-inflicted through years of neglect and suppression. As painful as it was to see, accepting my shadow’s reflection was the first step to my healing. With each painting and drawing, the reflection changed. I could recognize the old me- the kid who loved to draw. “Aah, there you are. I remember you,” I thought as I stared at each finished work.
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Wholeness, Not Perfection

As my self-acceptance grew, so did my confidence and skill. The artistic muscle strengthened and that old familiar feeling of flow and fun returned. Making art again became an act of reunion between myself and my shadow. This process of individuation is an ongoing one. So long as I continue to make art, I’ll be integrating my shadow.

If individuation has a goal, it is to achieve a state of wholeness; not perfection. Wholeness accepts my multitudes and all the “flaws” that come with them. I see these multitudes not as flaws to fix, but as the soul’s unique fingerprint. Artists are those who have accepted their multitudes and chosen to express them through a given medium.

So, I contain multitudes. And, so do you. Your multitudes are different than mine. Your unique constellation of multitudes in the form called, "you" will never appear again in time. I encourage you to embrace them all and seek wholeness; not perfection. Don’t apologise for them or suppress them for the sake of fitting in. Each multitude, quirk, “flaw” and oddity has its inherent gifts. They only look like defects because they defy the norms imposed upon you. To deny them is to deny yourself and the gifts given to you and you alone. Please embrace and share them. Because nobody else can.

Best,

Sameer