What’s eco-grief got to do with it?
I’m starting an eco-grief practice and support group this winter. Well, that’s what I’m calling it for now. I’m not totally sure what it will be called, ultimately. But the point of it is that if you’re paying any attention to what’s going on in our atmosphere and our natural world, you’re likely to be upset about it. I am. For a long time I was so upset I couldn’t do anything. Except, like, try to reduce my personal carbon footprint. Which we all know can feel dishearteningly futile.
Why am I writing about this in my art blog? Because one of the big questions is, how do you live your life, including following your creative interests and callings, when there’s this big scary existential question mark hanging over your head?
I didn’t begin my focus on visual art until I was close to 30. While outwardly high-functioning, I was a very confused young adult. There were many reasons for this confusion–one of the big ones being that behind every decision I tried to make was a lurking fear and sadness about impending ecological collapse. Visual art did not seem an important enough pursuit given the environmental facts I was aware of. Mind you, I didn’t end up doing anything any more important, due to my general aforementioned confusion. Throughout my twenties, though, I was praying for guidance and trying to do as much good as I could wherever I ended up.
When I finally decided to take a painting class at age 28, and began actually painting, I felt called in a way I never had before to anything. I still felt I couldn’t justify my pursuit, ethically or environmentally let alone financially, but I kept coming back to that feeling of calling, and telling myself there must be something there.
The next several years were marked by continued confusion and shame around my pursuit of art combined with a dogged persistence in painting, drawing and printmaking because of that feeling of calling.
It’s hard to keep going in a creative practice when you’re suffering from underlying existential anxiety and depression around the survival of our very species and the landscapes and ecosystems and weather patterns that have given your life meaning…
Like, you know, what’s the point? And shouldn’t I be doing something to help?
The problem was that my fear and grief around the ongoing losses in our natural world were so great that I could not bring myself to engage with activism. I couldn’t engage with activism because I didn’t want to have to hear the information. Every time I heard a news story saying that everything was worse than was previously thought, I either had a mini breakdown or turned away out of fear. I wouldn’t voluntarily put myself in a place of taking in this information. I did a lot of turning off the radio. I still knew what was going on, but it seemed the best I could do to protect myself was to try not to think about it too much.
I did notice that the more I pursued my artwork, the gladder and calmer I got all around, and the more clearly I was able to think about everything else. In other words, my confusion gradually abated and abated until pretty much the only confusion I faced was the Big Mama. Climate change and ecological collapse. You know. I was over everything else. Personal shame? Over it. Financial worries? Eh, it’s fine; I’m fine; it’ll be fine. General importance of art and beauty to human life? Yeah, I believe in it–it’s super important. There’s just that one problem. The impending end of the world as we know it. That…is not fine.
I think engaging in art making, following my calling, and continued engagement in other joy-giving activities (singing, dance, time in nature and with children and with friends) finally brought me to the place where I was strong enough, nourished enough to handle the emotional distress of actually facing the facts about the environment and deciding to do something about it. There’s more to the story of how I went from paralysis to movement, but once I decided I had to face my fear, I haven’t gone back. I’ve been reading and attending climate action meetings and meditating and thinking and, yes, still having mini break-downs, but knowing I’m in motion has helped my spirit enormously. That’s why I’m starting this group. To support other folks who are in the same boat and to keep supporting myself in the continued journey of facing the music.
I’m going to have to change some of the ways I allocate my time, but I’m not going to stop making art. Finally answering that calling, giving it the respect it deserves, keeps me uplifted enough, enough of the time, to keep not turning away from the terrifying stuff. More to say about this, but I know I’m wordy, so I’ll save it for another time. Thanks for reading.
