Figure 1. Marion Gordon-Flower, Swimming in a sea of possibilities, 2022, mixed media on paper, 595 × 420mm

For the youth client group, the arrival of Covid-19 brought significant new challenges of uncertainty, social isolation and reduced opportunities, and for the arts therapist in how to deliver services. In transitioning from groups centred around the arts therapy table to those on Zoom, session duration was reduced, and circumstances dictated new ways of working and reprioritising. However, the arts therapy and open-studio approaches were retained, which also usually included the option of a more structured activity (Moon, 2002, pp.117–118). In the art room, there had been a wide choice of media available. In transitioning to Zoom, home-based art packs were provided, with some choices in contents, but with significantly less variety than had been possible in the art room.

In both youth and adult Zoom forums, collaboration with other staff was essential in creating and holding the space, troubleshooting technicalities and encouraging participation. Some participants began their Zoom journey wanting to remain visually and audibly anonymous, communicating with their support staff via phone to give their input, while also participating as an audio/visual observer and through chat. Staff contributed as participants in a round-table approach of ‘he waka eke noa – all being in this together’, which boosted the group energy and further encouraged participation.

In the youth Zoom sessions, the arts therapist, the intern and those who had been discharged from respite were home based at different locations, whilst the respite unit residents and staff connected from the group art space using one laptop. The arts therapist’s spaces were well considered and set up to demonstrate processes and to model participation in art-making. “An effective art therapy studio fosters a belief in the ubiquitous nature of creative ability… [and] serves as a creative sanctuary whilst also maintaining an intimate connection with the world” (Moon, 2002, p.98).

Working in a Māori context

When considering how best to structure an approach with and for young people in a weekly Zoom programme, the first consideration was the overarching cultural kaupapa (framework) of the organisation, which was Māori.

The notion of ‘the sacred web of creation’ underpins Māori Indigenous knowledge, which has had a strong movement for revival and reinstatement within Aotearoa New Zealand and has had the support of the Ministry of Health, recently renamed Te Whatu Ora Health New Zealand. In my extended role as arts therapist within the health and social housing NGO, I have been active in promoting opportunities for Māori to reengage with traditional forms of healing through tohunga (shaman), rongoā (Indigenous plants remedies), mirimiri (traditional deep-release massage therapy), pūrākau (culturally based stories) and taonga pūoro (Māori musical instruments). My involvement has taken place through being a staff trainer, programme planner and group facilitator. I have also attended te reo Māori (Māori language) classes with my colleagues, which are key to understanding Māori concepts, in addition to cultural awareness training for health practitioners with a tohunga. As an organisation, all staff participate in karakia (prayer), waiata (singing) and mihi (culturally aligned speeches) each morning as a part of a way of life that is Māori.

It is notable that there have been similar intitiatives taking place within counselling and therapies in North America (Roberston, 2021) and Canada (McGinnis et al., 2019), and more broadly (Kaimal & Arslanbek 2020).

There has been a strong relationship between Māori and First Nations Peoples of Canada, and Native Americans, particularly through international Indigenous conferences. Tūhoe leaders have been regular presenters and participants, and there has been information sharing in post-conference forums that I have been involved in. Covid-19 had reduced the world to a global community affected by a pandemic, united through television broadcasts, the internet, social media and through Zoom. The relationships between the Indigenous peoples of Aotearoa New Zealand, Canada and North America were influential on the lens used when exploring notions that had contemporary global appeal and that were archetypal, and where animal spirit guides came to the fore as a topic.

Figure 2. Marion Gordon-Flower, Child part, 2022, air-dry clay, 85 × 60 × 90mm

At the beginning of the nine-month Zoom journey, the archetypal notion of guardianship came into focus through the recognition of a need for the arts therapist to foster self-parenting within the context. Some of the youth attending had been subject to emotional neglect and abuse in childhood, and had already severed ties with parents. They had also not yet developed the capacity for self-parenting to the extent that would be needed to survive independently, which was evident in the frequency and scale of self-harming behaviours. Covid-19 restrictions were a further isolating factor, and stressful uncertainty was having an impact. Others had been referred to respite for longer periods during lockdowns, which provided the routines, nurturing and security they needed, resulting in a reduction in the crisis factor.

When puberty thrusts the child toward the next step in physical growth, a simultaneous intrapsychic realignment also becomes effective… In this process the youth must give up attachments to parental figures and their protective position. Adolescents turn their attention to the unexpected, uncomfortable changes they are experiencing physically and in their perceptions of themselves. (Riley, 1988, p.43)

The aspects of adolescence described above were more complex and a source of significant distress for some who were in the process of gender questioning, and for others proceeding with the physicality of gender affirming procedures or social and/or medical transitioning. This can involve hormonal therapy and surgeries (Magalhāes et al., 2020; Mental Health Foundation of New Zealand Mauri Tū Mauri Ora, 2022), factors that would not have required consideration by Riley in 1988, when she stated: “A move from a strictly narcissistic involvement to care for another is one of the essential tasks accomplished during the adolescent developmental period” (p.43). When parents have not made a successful transition in the process of individuation to reach this second developmental goal, family dynamics thwart adolescent children in their developmental process. “Both child and adult are experiencing emptiness and distress which often is handled through impulsive actions that serve as a distraction from the pain” (p.44). In the cases of some of the youth attending, “distraction from the pain” had taken on extreme forms.

Zappa (2016) states: “A ‘traditional’ [read: normative, Western, legitimate, rational] family is regarded as cisgendered heterosexual, white, middle-class, Christian parents, who co-reside with their cisgendered children (p.50)… Cissexist, heterosexist, colonial, and racist assumptions are inherent… in the constructed idea/ideal of family” (p.51).

“The premier challenge of adolescence is the struggle to form a clear sense of identity… Identity achievement is associated with higher self-esteem, greater security, and a variety of other healthy traits” (Weiten, 2004, p.454). Pressures to establish identity where ideals of the dominant culture and/or own culture of origin cannot be met impacts on whānau mana (family standing) and can create significant added stresses.

The open art-therapy studio approach provided a safe, supportive, accepting space for self-exploration and creative experimentation, which promoted identity formation through holistic, phenomenological pathways. A “general tone of fun and pleasant interchange experienced during the accomplishment of various tasks” was integral to the success of therapeutic goals and skill building (Wallace-DiGarbo & Hill, 2006, p.124).

The ethnicities within the group of young people were Māori, Pasifika, Chinese and European, including those with connections to Australia and the USA. We offered young people opportunities to connect with specific symbolism drawn from their cultures of origin. However, the knowledge that for First Nations Peoples of Canada and Native Americans, animals could be spirit guides held greater interest for the young people than similar associations with European cultures (Lusebrink, 1988) and other relevant cultural concepts of guardianship that we researched and presented, such as manaia in Māori culture, turtles in Pasifika cultures, Superman in American culture and the dragon in Chinese culture.

This is similar to what was observed by Hiiemäe (2019, p.118), where the majority of research participants saw “the contemporary Estonian concept of spirit-animal or power-animal [as] mostly connected with the Native American (Amerindian) cultures”, rather than with the animal guides of Estonian folkloric traditions. Hiiemäe (2019) offers an insight into this, noting that the boundaries between human and non-human realities can be understood as culturally established and fluid, rather than fixed, enacted through “imagined, lived, and narrated social interaction” (Hiiemae, 2019, p.116).

Hiiemäe has highlighted the role that imagination has played in contemporary therapeutic notions of animal spirit guides.

Imagination has become an important research concept in the social and human Sciences… In the twenty-first century, the concept of power-animals or spirit-animals… has been shaped [through imaginings of how indigenous healing approaches historically took place. This has found] resonance in circles much wider than the New Age subculture, offering to the experiencers of this novel animal–human relationship an empowering pillar of identity and life history narrating. (2019, p.16)

We agree with Kaimal & Arslanbek (2020, p.4) that:

Non-indigenous therapist(s) should gain cultural competency, learn about trans-generational history, recognize social values and create culturally safe spaces in order to provide best practices… [and guard against] misappropriation of Native American spiritual and shamanistic practices in art therapy… [highlighting] the need for culturally informed and respectful practices.

We attempted to balance this ethical responsibility with an acknowledgement that from a post-Jungian perspective (Teixeira de Menezes & Boechat, 2022), animal guides appear in similar and different ways in the ontologies of many cultures, and have moreover entered popular contemporary Western culture.

The concept of inner guide has universal manifestations in images in the fairy tales, myths, and religions of different cultures. Jung explored this concept intuitively first as a child, later through his method of active imagination. The most common images of inner guide are protective animals and beings, safe and special places, and light and sound images. (Lusebrink, 1988, p.99)

Further, the kinship between Jungian thought and pre-modern world views may offer a way of transcending binaries (Teixeira de Menezes & Boechat, 2022).

In working with Te Whare Tapa Whā, a Māori model for health as an overarching framework (Durie, 2001; Manaia, 2017), we concur with Garai that holistic approaches “counteract splitting and fragmenting tendencies [identified in the use of medical models] by placing the emphasis on the harmonious integration of body, mind, and spirit and creating a mutually satisfying interaction between the individual and his natural ecological environment” (1984, p.76).  The decision to work with animal spirit guides supported these objectives.

We were guided by the notion of “being aware of…[our] own cultures, biases, and worldviews when engaging in cross-cultural interactions with… [the youth], and in taking into account different aspects of their… experiences” (Keselman & Awais, 2018, p.79). Also, we acknowledged that “learning from the… [youth] about their culture [was] an important aspect of building cross-cultural relationship[s]” (p.82).

Table 1. Ethnicity of participant and symbol(s) chosen.

As can be seen in Table 1 above, there was no immediately obvious relationship between ethnicity and symbols chosen. The choices were made through personal or intuitive associations, which were held privately. Each participant found a way to begin working with their chosen guide animals, some using art materials and others beginning to write a story. At the end of the session, we opened the space to further share what each had been working on and the significance that it had, and to encourage further engagement in the process during the week ahead. Some artworks were shared through the Zoom lens and some were retained, deemed to still be in progress and not ready to be shared.

Arts therapist as participant

Figure 3. Marion Gordon-Flower, Life is art, 2021, mixed media on paper and black rock, 300 × 420 × 30mm.

I had taken up story writing in support of the group process and had chosen the deer and the hawk as my symbols, which had strong presence within my childhood environment. There was a visitation from the writer’s muse in my own process, and at the end of the Zoom I was compelled to continue writing to complete a story to share at the next session, both with those who were returning to the Zoom group and with newcomers.

As an arts therapist, I am mindfully aware of the need to hold a careful balance between engaging authentically in my own process and remaining present to the primary role of holding the space for the participants. Moon (2002, pp.197–238) explores the perceived risks in taking up the role of art-maker alongside participants. These include that the visual-arts process can be narcissistic, and it might become a distraction from client responsibilities. Also, it could intimidate clients who might evaluate their creative output as being less competent or worthy. Moon concludes that, although there are some circumstances in which the therapist would need to refrain, “the use of our own art making in sessions ought to be cultivated as one of our most significant and potentially effective contributions to therapeutic work” (Moon, 2002, pp.237–238).

Writing in the session held risks of becoming self-consumed and distracted from the Zoom group members; however, the words arrived in an easy and playful flow, and when I continued after the session I was able to engage more deeply into the unconscious process.

Arts therapist’s background and process

Figure 4. Marion Gordon-Flower, Expressions of identity, 2022, digital photograph of mixed media compilation, 1060 × 800mm.

In my childhood environment in Aotearoa New Zealand (Wiri, 2001) I developed a deeply appreciative relationship with nature. Our family lived on Ngāti Whare hapū (subtribe), Tūhoe iwi (tribal) land, which had been designated as an agricultural training farm for Māori youth. My father was an agricultural tutor and each morning I walked to school with both Māori and European friends in a shortcut across iwi land near the house of the rangatira (Māori chief). This land had previously been cleared and was mostly a mānuka (tea tree) plantation. However, our little valley was on the verge of Te Urewera, an expanse of untouched native bushland that stretched to the heights of the ranges behind the communal farm and our house, and lined all of the winding roads that led outward.

Jane (2022, p.6) describes a similar context in Australia in presenting her art-based research created on Dja Dja Wurrung Country, the unceded land of the Djaara people of the Kulin Nation:

The land here is rich with beauty and wisdom, from beneath the forest floor to the canopies of the tallest trees, and above… I am privileged to call this place home and honour the First Nations people and the interconnected systems of life that depend on and interact with this land: the plants, the animals, the elements, and the people, as well as the stories of place.

My formative years were spent in very close play in and observation of nature, whilst also being privileged to share the pūrākau (stories) of Tūhoe iwi, which included animals as tiramaka (omen) and patupaiarehe (fairies) that lived in the bush nearby. During my primary schooling I was awarded two books for achievements by my Māori teachers, one relating to the study of nature (Saunders, 1964) and the other of European fairytales (Holmes, 1950s). Both resonated strongly with my psyche and have remained companions in my bookshelf to this time.

My chosen animal spirit guides of the deer and the hawk were both prominent features of the landscape and the lifestyle of my childhood community. Deer hunters came to Te Urewera from other parts of Aotearoa New Zealand to hunt, for sport and for meat. Deer were also the frequent cause of car accidents on the narrow gravel roads at night. I was once given an orphaned baby-boy deer to hand rear, which was successful until the time of the seasonal roar, when he began to lose his spots and became a ferocious fighter. My parents thought it was perhaps a blessing when he was tragically accidentally shot by a mortified hunter in the paddock alongside our house, still tethered by his collar. His deer eyes had glowed in the darkness of night, attracting a gun. In terms of the hawks, these could be seen majestically soaring through the sky overhead, then swooping down to chase prey or to land on the carcasses of dead animals. Frequently these were possums that had been mesmerised by vehicle headlights.

Despite these somewhat brutal associations, the deer and the hawk brought fond memories of childhood and were an immediate spiritual connection to Tūhoe and Te Urewera. Interestingly, in contrast to what my childhood experiences had been, the qualities gleaned through internet searching were as follows: Deer – sensitive, highly intuitive, achieving a balance of confidence and success, and gentleness and grace. Hawk – perspective, ability to see things from all sides, extremely compassionate and empathetic. Perhaps it was due to the circumstances that we were all facing in the Covid-19 climate, in which we were using Zoom as an escape from reality, but the disparity added further appeal to the selection.

Sharing the story at the next Zoom session

…The draught was a warm breath that ruffled the newly named Zariel’s hair.
“Do you have a name?” she blurted, and then blushed.
“Not as yet,” came the reply.
“Then I will name you Tarak, which means morning star,
because when I looked up, your eyes looked like stars.”
Tarak was so excited by this his wings made a big push down
and he went upwards as fast as a rocket…

When I narrated the story at the beginning of the next Zoom session, it was greeted by all as something that resonated with them and that they had found pleasurable to hear. There was feedback from two of the newcomers in the respite setting that it expressed things they had experienced on an inner level, which had been difficult to put into words. It was evident that the story had sealed a bond of confidence in the arts therapy space and a commitment towards continued attendance post discharge. In contrast to my own first expectations in wondering about the age level for the writing, participants were comforted, sheltered and inspired by what the story held. Going forward, the story became a point of familiar connection for those now attending independently, and an opening for those attending from respite for the first time. In developing the PowerPoint presentation, I had not foreseen it remaining as a process for more than two or three weeks. However, the interest in the notions of guardianship and animal spirit guide archetypes remained active for ten weeks, with the story of Zariel Deer and Tarak Hawk being continually requested and revisited.

Although the storyteller is telling the story, he is not the essential storyteller. The story itself is the essential storyteller. The story itself is telling the story… the story is a surprise for the storyteller, and this is known to all storytellers. (Knill, 2017, p.36)

Dunne and Madrigal (2022) have described the significance of Indigenous oral narratives as being mediatory more than literal and medicinal within the time (p.48). This is evident in Māori culture where pūrākau (stories) have been handed down orally through the generations. They are rich in metaphors and remain largely unchanged in the retelling, however, are applied in different ways and situations at different points in time with a view to providing wisdom and healing the collective psyche. The archetypal characters of my story had arrived through the Indigenous cultures, and the oration of the story, which focused on guardianship relationships, proved both mediatory and medicinal within the time.