The Art of Therapy, The Therapy of Art

Being both an integrative psychotherapist and an artist isn’t just about juggling two passions—it’s about the way they inform and feed into each other. One deepens the other. In the space between clients, when the mind is still processing, art becomes the bridge—a way to ground myself, to reflect, and to let something unspoken come through.

I work as a humanistic, existential, and integrative psychotherapist, which means I see therapy as something deeply personal, a space for exploration rather than rigid frameworks. It’s about what it means to be human, to exist in the world with all its uncertainty, beauty, and contradiction. And strangely, that’s exactly what happens when I paint or sculpt—it’s an existential process in itself.

Abstract & Surreal: The Unconscious at Play

My art is abstract and intuitive, which feels like a natural extension and part of the way I am as a therapist in the therapy room. Abstract art doesn’t give you a clear map—it invites you to feel your way through. Much like therapy, it’s about what emerges relationally in the moment. Sometimes, a painting starts with a feeling rather than an image. Sometimes, clay takes shape in my hands without a plan—moment ot moment, just like dialogue with a client unfolds in ways neither of us expect.

Both art and therapy work with the unconscious. The things we don’t have words for, the emotions that sit just beneath the surface—these often show up in paint, texture, movement. I don’t need to overanalyze why a certain color or form appears; I just trust that it’s part of the process. The same way a client might bring in a dream, an image, or a feeling that makes no logical sense at first—until, suddenly, it does.

Carl Jung, one of the pioneers of depth psychology, explored the unconscious through the concept of the collective unconscious and archetypes—the symbols and motifs that emerge in our dreams, stories, and creative expressions. He believed that creativity is a bridge between the conscious and unconscious mind, a way for deeper, often hidden truths to emerge. When I create, I see this theory in action. Sometimes, an image or form appears in my work that feels deeply resonant, even if I don’t fully understand why. It’s a dialogue with the unconscious, much like the therapeutic process itself.

Carl Jung: symbols and motifs.

Grounding Between Sessions

Therapy is deep work. Holding space for others requires presence, openness, and a willingness to sit with uncertainty. It’s powerful, but it can also be intense. Making art between sessions isn’t just something I enjoy—it’s a way to stay grounded and present. It pulls me out of my head and into my body, into movement, into a wordless kind of reflection.

There’s something about working with clay, paint and rock, light and colour especially, that feels particularly grounding. It’s sensory, tactile, physical—it responds to touch and mark in real time. It doesn’t let you stay detached. And sometimes, when a session lingers in my mind, when emotions are still shifting, Most of my art is unseen, a quick sketch in a journal, some make it out into the world. I’ll sit in my creative space and just see what takes form.

Quick sketches, clay pots, spontaneous paintings and an impromptu sculpture.

The Connection Between Art & Therapy

The more I create, the more I see the overlap between these two worlds. Both therapy and art ask us to step into the unknown. Although my therapy is constantly underpined with important ethical frameworks and values, my client's needs at its heart and the current evidence base, it does'nt just exist on this level. Like art, both ask us to let go of control and trust the process. Both can be unveiling, abstract, unpredictable. And both, ultimately, are about making sense of the human experience in ways that words alone and the left hemisphere can’t always reach.

So for now, I’ll keep painting. I’ll keep sculpting. I’ll keep exploring the ways these practices mirror each other. And I’ll keep allowing the space between them to be exactly that—a space. A pause. A moment of reflection before stepping back into the work of being present, both in art and in life.