Creative arts SSC

This painting is the first in a series (with hopefully more to come,) that depicts different scenes of traditional Syrian countryside, nature, and city-life. Reconciliation is a major theme that runs through this collection. Quaint scenery, nostalgic ambiance, and sentimental colour pallets were my mirror of coming to terms with grief, estrangement, trauma, longing, and resentment. The artistic development of this painting was a part of the healing in and of itself. A depiction of the connection between a refugee, art, and healing.

Society's demand for healthcare providers to be adaptable and resilient was driven home to me whilst dealing with my grief and thoughts in an encounter with patient death. I have chosen to depict myself and multidisciplinary teams as falcons. Falcons can be symbols of overcoming challenges, as shown in mythology, such as the well-known Korean tale of ‘Habaek’, the deity of the Amnok river, who is vanquished by a human after they transform into a falcon. This need to be adaptable can also be interpreted from the nature of falcons’ relationship with humans through time, in training and hunting. Reflecting, self-care and other aspects of my journey have been encapsulated in the portrayal of the falcon gazing back on water that is rippling and barren of other signs of life except a small water lily, bright with life, supported by the edge of a single lily pad. There is life where there is death and death is not far from life. In fact, mortality works in such a way that healthcare providers cannot predict when they are at the receive end of care and thus, the line between 'them' and 'us' narrows. I hope that by challenging unrealistic expectations of doctors through this piece and ensuring that I am healthy enough to support myself and my colleagues, I can make the most of life within and outside of work, strengthen ties with my future team and inspire future generations of doctors to do the same.

When I think of the word “flourishing”, the emotive ocean of my mind conjures vivid images of a garden of flowers, with vibrant hues of lush green, glowing yellow, a smattering of violet and magenta, an iridescent coalescence of ornamental plants in bloom. Spring, a fountain of flowing water that carries blessings in its waves and ripples, a garden of Eden without the traces of impurity. That’s what “flourishing” looks like to me. “Flourishing” is an image in motion, not a still. A gentle breeze sifts between each individual stem, each minuscule strand of hair, setting them apart, not too much to be lonely but just enough to stand out. To stand strong. To be unique while still blending in to form a pulchritudinous vista. It’s not always easy to tell when you’re flourishing; it’s not a term I usually associate with myself. I run in leaps and bounds; I trip over rocks, I pick myself back up and keep running again with my scars, a reminder and a warning not to trip over similar rocks again. I call this resilience, which should bear some semblance to flourishing, yet when I think of “resilience”, I think of hardiness, a tougher shell, tree bark, a protective cocoon formed from experience. Everyone needs a little resilience; resilience is an immunisation against hurt. But flourishing is growth. My garden represents my personal support network that helps me flourish, my family, faith and friends. I hope the people I encounter as patients will also have a garden of support to help them flourish and that I can also be a blossom of blessing in their lives because flourishing is the nourishment of one’s wellbeing. “Flourishing.” is an illustration of the visceral words in my heart, and I’m glad these words weren’t lost in translation.

This painting represents the power of human connection through the arts and the importance of flourishing in both medical education and practice. As a medical student I have begun to explore how I can integrate creative art-forms into my medical journey as I have learnt that working creatively can have a profound impact on patient wellbeing. From a clinical perspective, the left hand alludes to the physical body through the visual imagery of tendons and arteries but can also be seen as symbolic of what is beneath our skin and the part of us deep within. As it reaches out to the right hand that metaphorically represents flourishing through the imagery of butterflies and flowers, the painting emphasises the need for compassion to grow and develop as individuals which is highlighted further by the rose, a symbol of love.

The two hands can be interpreted as different people reaching outwards to develop themselves or as both hands representing one person who is trying to connect the two sides of themselves (physical and mental.) An alternative interpretation could be that the left hand represents a patient reaching out to their doctor which depicts how patients reach out for empathy to connect with their doctors during consultations. Therefore, this painting is not only a visual reminder that I should be compassionate towards myself and in times of difficulty, I should reach out for help from others and that can allow me to develop as an individual. As a medical student, it reminds me of the need for compassion with patients, to see them not only by their disease but also from a human perspective and always offer my compassion. Especially in the recent difficult times of the pandemic, considering the human dimension in medicine is vital in caring for patient’s well-being.

“How can they see me when I do not even see myself?” I have lived with depression since my early adolescence, and I have also struggled with self-injury. I am over a year clean now, attend therapy, and take medication that feels right, but my mental health difficulties still constitute a large part of my life. There can be a great disconnection from your own identity when you have lived with an illness for many years. The lines of who you are and how your disorder makes you feel become blurred to an indistinguishable level. I deeply struggle to pinpoint my own identity. I sometimes feel like a stranger to myself. The feeling is nauseating. Inspired by photographer Daniel Regan’s exhibition “Threshold,” I wanted to put those feelings into art. Most art about depression will take the same form of a figure hunched over, painted in shades of blue and grey. I don’t deny that depression can be an overwhelming grey, but my personal experience is more complex than that. For me, depression is so multi-faceted that it can take shape in every colour of the rainbow. Bright green comes to mind when I think of the effect my disorder has on those around me. The flames of anger I feel towards years of my youth being taken away from me burn bright in neon pink. Sunset oranges paint the days where I feel better. I wanted my piece to be subtly colourful to give the emotions a physical form so that others could see invisible struggles. Creating this piece has been cathartic for me. It has by no means healed me – I still have to take my medications every day and go to therapy every week, but when I look down at my work, I feel seen.