Open Access
Published: October 2024
Licence: CC BY-NC-SA-4.0
Issue: Vol.19, No.2
Word count: 7,478
About the author
A South Asian therapist’s take on tackling mental health stigma with community arts and cultural art practices, through an intersectional lens
Rupa Parthasarathy
Abstract
I present this article from the perspective of a cultural artist, a first-generation woman of colour, and a graduate therapist trained under a dominant Western pedagogy. I run my creative studio practice as a social-enterprise model within a South Asian demographic, a community that resists psychotherapy due to the stigma around mental health. My unique social location has meant I have to improvise on my art therapy approaches, lean on frameworks that offer flexibility beyond the dominant theories, and explore culturally sensitive community arts as a possible approach to meet clients in community settings. In this article, I chronicle my experiences, observations, and learnings from the Community Arts for Well-being project I developed and implemented while I was navigating my amma’s (mother’s) cancer diagnosis and her subsequent passing. The project involved a public art installation celebrating Diwali, using yarn-wrapping of trees as a visual expression to raise awareness about the role of arts in mental well-being. Two passions fuelled my motivation for this article: contributing my intersectional voice to representation within the Australian art therapy landscape and sharing insights from using community arts to tackle mental health stigma in South Asian communities.
Keywords
South Asian art therapist, community arts, arts for well-being, tackling mental health stigma in South Asian communities, knitting for mental health
Cite this articleParthasarathy, R. (2024). A South Asian therapist’s take on tackling mental health stigma with community arts and cultural art practices, through an intersectional lens. JoCAT, 19(2). https://www.jocat-online.org/a-24-parthasarathy
Recipient of the ANZACATA-JoCAT Author Support Bursary
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Figure 1. Rupa Parthasarathy, Warp and weft, 2024, digital art.
What is this about,
this imagery and autoethnography?
It’s a tale exploring my intersectionality.
A roadmap for other therapists,
who experience this world differently,
of being an ‘Other’, like me.
How it all began (2018)
In 2018, as a mature Master of Art Therapy graduate with over a decade of experience in corporate training and a Graduate Diploma in Counselling, I was at the threshold of a new career as an art therapist. I felt silently confident that I had arrived in “this land of mystical flying elephants”. The land of mystical flying elephants is a metaphor I used as the closing reflection of my second-year research paper to describe the emerging landscape of art therapy. I thought I had all the necessary tools and knowledge to transition into a paid role as a professional art therapist within a year of graduating. However, I failed to consider some details about myself that would render this map and experiential training challenging and, in some instances, obsolete: my intersectional identity as a first-generation Indian migrant, woman of colour, and cis-gendered, graduate therapist influences the therapeutic relationships I form (Collier & Eastwood, 2022; Crenshaw, 1991).
In this article, I reflect on the insights and transformation that occurred when I embraced the concept of self-reflexivity (Collier & Eastwood, 2022). My background as a South Asian art therapist-turned-entrepreneur sets the context. I present the Community Arts for Well-being project that I developed in response to the resistance and stigma I faced while working predominantly with a South Asian demographic.
Your spool
As a non-native English speaker, I experience words getting lost in translation. I’ve moved away from standard academic conventions to illustrate the complexities of a bilingual person’s experiences. As a storyteller, I use the metaphor of weaving (Masters, 2021) a unique tapestry, to conceptualise my emerging practice. The warp represents the art therapy theories and my application of assimilated learning to develop my professional identity. The weft weaves the voices of intersectionality that I live as a cultural artist, South Asian art therapist, woman of colour, social entrepreneur, and grieving daughter (see the following table). My goal is to explore the interrelationship of intersectionalities in developing professional identity. I understand that my format may be complex to navigate. I invite readers to embrace my process here on the page.
Table 1. Your spool.
Warp: Setting the scene (2018–19)
The art therapy space
As a recent graduate therapist, I was particularly interested in art therapy literature (Gussak & Rosal, 2015; Hogan & Coulter, 2014 Rubin, 2011). This literature taught me how to structure therapy sessions to create a safe space for clients. During my community women’s shelter internship, I gained valuable experience working with individuals and groups. After graduating, I was eager to hone my skills in setting up an art therapy room and establishing effective therapeutic relationships (Case et al., 2023). Throughout my graduate studies, I was introduced to various art therapy theories and practitioners who worked in diverse settings (Case et al., 2023; Hogan, 2016; Kramer, 1993; Malchiodi, 2012). As a mature graduate with a decade of corporate experience, I dreamed of having my own space where clients could visit and where I could work with a range of art materials. I also yearned for the convenience of having a sink and a big rectangular table for group sessions.
The materiality and process in art therapy
Moon’s (2011) ideas on materiality and how different media can impact the therapeutic process in a given setting inspired me. I wanted to practise with a nuanced understanding of how materiality affects the expression of imagery (Moon, 2011). My placement experience in community services laid the groundwork for witnessing the three-way relationship between an art therapist, picture, and client (Schaverian, 2000). As a new graduate, I had internalised the belief that a good art therapist should be both a skilled artist and a knowledgeable psychotherapist. Before becoming an art therapist, I worked as a freelance henna artist. I learned the value of traditional arts in a therapeutic setting (Arslanbek et al., 2022). However, my lack of formal fine arts education has sometimes made me doubt my ability to provide knowledgeable input about using art materials (Moon, 2010).
Art as therapy vs art psychotherapy
As a trainee, I was fascinated by exploring the type of therapist I would become, despite not having a background in fine arts. During my placement, I witnessed the therapeutic benefits of image-making on one’s well-being (Dalley, 2008). My goal was to become an art psychotherapist and provide therapeutic interventions using various creative mediums (ANZACATA, 2023). Straying from this definition felt like a professional failure to me.
Landscape of art therapy
In the second year of my master’s, reading the literature on intersectionality validated my lived experiences. However, I considered it a concept for intellectual discussion. While I learned about art therapists such as Talwar (2019) and was introduced to art therapy in a diverse context as a trainee therapist (Howie et al., 2013), I relegated these therapists to the periphery of my mind. In retrospect, I can now understand how my resistance to dealing with my marginalisation contributed to this behaviour (Eastwood, 2021).
Weft: As a new graduate
I felt ready to explore my artistic identity, which led me to prepare a Kolam (traditional floor drawing) activity as a presenter for the Creative Gathering – ANZACATA Brisbane Symposium, 27–29 September 2019. Muddling through my imposter syndrome, I took the opportunity to invite my peers to take a glimpse of my world and represent a part of my culture. During the symposium, I met art therapists from India, the UK, and New Zealand, who showed genuine interest in what I had to offer. This formative experience of being accepted and seen by peers bolstered my hope and inspired me to explore using cultural arts in my art therapy practice.
I was eager to work in various settings, such as hospitals, community service, aged care, schools, or private practice. My motivation was mainly driven by financial and cultural needs (Gopalakrishnan, 2019). Despite obstacles, I stayed motivated, networked extensively, sought feedback, and applied for numerous jobs. Some art therapy positions were already filled by volunteers, while others required at least three years of postgraduate experience.
I anticipated that my career as an art therapist would be challenging. I grew up in a culture that highly values academic achievements and success as privileges reserved for men. My decision to pursue higher education and retrain myself, as a mature student, was my way of challenging this norm. Though my parents and brother had differing opinions about studying, they supported me. My amma issued a caveat reminder to prioritise being a good wife and mother. I took great pride and felt a sense of personal accomplishment when I successfully graduated with a master’s degree while working full-time and raising my family. Moreover, I was proud to be my family’s first art therapist/mental health professional. Graduating also brought relief that I no longer had to be confined in a classroom as a person of colour within a predominantly white space, which I had found challenging and exhausting to keep up with (Ekemezie, 2021).
“So, what do I do now?” I pondered.
“How do I fit in?”
When I stand out as a graduate trainee and the world I dwell in?
“What are the options?” I considered.
I could volunteer.
Study for another degree or two.
Wait for institutions to validate me with yet another certificate and approval.
I hear Amma’s voice: “What kind of mother leaves her kids to chase after a career?” she hollers.
She sounds louder, not a singular voice but a cacophony of many voices.
As I pay attention, I recognise the voice as my own, internalised standards, passed generationally by my grandmothers.
“You are a mother, too,” I hear the mother in me reason.
“You have a responsibility to lead your future generations to break free.”
Thus began the next phase of my journey, with the leap of faith to give myself a chance (Figure 2).
Dear readers, this is the contextual story of my intersectionality,
the backdrop to which I founded Mindkshetra, a creative wellness studio.
Figure 2. Rupa Parthasarathy, Setting the scene, 2023, digital collage.
Warp: Finding my way (from March 2020 to September 2022)
Starting a social enterprise
By early 2020, I had renegotiated my working hours in my corporate role to make time to start my private practice in a part-time capacity. ‘Kshetra’, in Sanskrit, means ‘sacred place’. The concept behind the name Mindkshetra is based on the belief that everyone deserves a chance to access a sacred space in their mind – a space dedicated to nurturing their creativity and helping them cultivate a thriving mind. Mindkshetra operates on a social enterprise business model, contributing to sustainable development goals (SDG) (United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs, n.d.). Mindkshetra’s framework allows the practice to direct part of the revenue generated through profits to sustain my ability to volunteer as an art therapist and collaborate with community organisations to uplift community well-being. This framework also allows me to offer subsidised therapy sessions to economically disadvantaged clients. Accessing cost-effective mental health services is one of the barriers faced by South Asian communities (Prajapati & Liebling, 2022). The studio also offers art-based wellness courses as a means of self-regulation and a way to build proactive coping (Aspinwall & Taylor, 1997).
My studio is in Wentworthville, on the lands of the Boolbainora clan of the Darug people. It is home to a thriving, diverse, and young community of over 9000 people, with 67% speaking a language other than English and 47% having a university or trade qualification (Parramatta History and Heritage, 2020). Addressing mental health issues is one of the main priorities of the Western Sydney area health network (Mental Health Commission, 2020).
An empty studio
Unfortunately, my acquisition of studio keys in March coincided with the onset of the first wave of Covid-19. Between the first and second Covid-19 lockdowns (June 2020 – July 2021), I set up the studio space with the support of my family, fully aware of how each decision in setting up the space might influence the therapeutic settings (Case et al., 2023; Hogan, 2001). When the space was ready to receive clients, the second Covid-19 lockdown and restrictions prevented them from accessing the studio (NSW Health, 2020).
Navigating digital space with storytelling
I have always been fascinated by narrative therapy’s approach and the power of storytelling (Gibbs, 2015; Linnell, 2010). During the first Covid-19 lockdown, I created digital content over six weeks by sharing a weekly story about a psychoeducational topic and providing art therapy-related content elaborating on the theme. The lockdowns also allowed me to explore online art therapy sessions with other art therapists (Snyder, 2021). To maintain the experiential aspect of working with different materials (Garner, 2017; Moon, 2011), I also shared recipes for making playdough and slime with my clients, and sometimes mailed them the art materials needed (McKay, 2019).
As the restrictions eased, it was intriguing to notice that people avoided visiting premises or shops, and preferred to visit places of worship and participate in rituals and festivals at community centres. Not only was I facing the resistant attitude people within my community held about seeking help for mental health concerns, but also health anxiety about visiting public spaces as a result of the Covid-19 pandemic (Loya et al., 2010).
Metaphors and symbolism
To address this cultural resistance to discussing mental health issues, I started visiting the spaces where community members congregated. I used materials, mediums, and traditional art forms that connected people to South Asian culture. I applied what I had learned from the Brisbane symposium and used the practice of kolam-making to draw an analogy of the transitory nature of life. I also drew parallels to the psychoeducational concept of acceptance (Hall et al., 2011; Jhaveri, 2021).
I collaborated with Indian folk artists in the community. I invited them to hold workshops on cultural art forms such as Warli painting, Lippan (clay and mud work), and Gond art at the studio. The workshops aimed to: (1) create a culturally sensitive space, where connecting with culture provides a safe space for expression; (2) allow participants to draw from the strengths of community to nurture their well-being; and (3) allow participants to experience the therapeutic potential of art-making.
The art therapist on the move
The opportunity to visit community spaces also allowed me to experiment using yarn within a group setting. For example, I facilitated a gratitude circle exercise with a Fijian Indian group (Figure 3), where group members threw yarn to one another while acknowledging their gratitude. As the yarn was passed around, I invited each member to express what they were grateful for. The group thus created a transitory mandala. As the final member shared their gratitude we stood in silence, acknowledging the collective gratitude the yarn mandala represented. I then invited each member to become a witness and make an imprint of the design formed as a memory, making an observation that , while Covid-19 may have challenged our ability to connect physically, gratitude still connected us.
The inspiration
The idea to propose a community art project to the local council was inspired by witnessing what artists, musicians, and art therapists worldwide were doing to motivate communities around them. As I watched the balcony concerts on television and observed how people from around the world responded to express gratitude to the healthcare workers and lift human spirits (Lai, 2020; Taylor, 2020), I felt it was my duty as an art therapist to contribute to this voice of hope.
The community art project I envisioned was to start a knitting circle to uplift community spirit. Little did I know then that, like the time it takes for a seed to sprout, I would need to patiently wait for nearly two years for this idea to blossom into a tangible project.
Figure 3. Rupa Parthasarathy, Gratitude circle, 2021, photograph.
Weft: As a Woman of Colour
Before the Covid-19 outbreak, I kept my opinions to myself to avoid upsetting those around me: my peers, my mentors, and my white allies. I had mastered the art of suffering in silence, brushing things off with a polite smile in response to microaggressions (Reese, 2021; Williams, 2020) such as, “Oh! Where do you come from?” or “You speak such good English.” However, witnessing the injustices around the world during the pandemic, including racial hatred (BBC, 2020; Pellerin, 2020) and travel bans (Gunia, 2021; Yang, 2021), ignited a deep sense of anguish. I observed this anguish in many of my family and friends. This land of opportunity started looking like a glorified prison to many of us. The heartbreak of not being able to meet family members and, in some cases, the inability to attend the funerals of loved ones caused a sense of dread. These collective experiences shifted my internal tectonic plates of tolerance forever. Since then, I have been working on channelling my repressed rage over unsaid things into the voice of advocacy.
The pandemic brought out many inequalities and prejudices that had lain dormant under the surface for a long time, and it severely impacted the cultural and creative industries (Australian Council for the Arts, 2020). During this period, I also witnessed an upsurge in the innovative ways artists and creative organisations expressed themselves. From Google’s virtual reality zoo characters (Stein, 2021), to museums offering online exhibits (Nalewski, 2021), to street-art projects happening worldwide, art provided a new platform for connection (Fairley, 2020). This experience led me to consciously hone my cultural artist identity and employ art-making to bridge the gap created by cultural, linguistic, and geographical differences (Dissanayake, 2013; Kapitan & Kapitan, 2023; Rubin, 2011a).
I feel, in retrospect, that my internal yardstick to succeed fuelled the urgency to start a private practice within a year of graduation (Cox, 2023). It was a bold and risky move, as I had to learn how to balance the responsibilities of running a business while simultaneously still working (Choi, 2022). My research revealed that it can take up to three years to achieve business stability (Guidant, 2019) in a normal environment, and I did not anticipate a pandemic to unfold. Thus, I spent the first two years of building Mindkshetra learning to survive, rather than thrive, a challenge that compelled me to explore creative ways of working through a pandemic and with people who resisted psychotherapy.
As the world unravelled in the pandemic, so did my inner world. In January of 2020, my amma was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer. I was fortunate enough to be able to travel to India to nurse her to health after her mastectomy, and return to Sydney before the Covid-19 lockdowns and travel bans. In India, I spent my free time finger-knitting. I knitted while seated in waiting rooms, while she was sleeping, and while travelling with her. I found the repetition of making patterns calming to my anxious brain; it felt like an easy way to control the barrage of emotions (Riley et al., 2013). I was pleasantly surprised to discover during this visit that Amma was, in fact, skilled at crochet.
The idea to yarn-wrap trees around my area shifted to wanting to start a yarning circle for South Asian women impacted by breast cancer within my community. Thus, I approached the local council to seek permission at the end of the first lockdown. It is hard for me to separate which identity informed which during this period. However, I recognise that I put forward my professional voice in these meetings.
I fondly remember the first time I met the council representative. I arrived for my appointment with the librarian with a yarn basket to demonstrate how finger-knitting works. She was a Caucasian lady with kind eyes and a stern demeanour, who meant business and hoped to wrap the meeting in ten minutes. We chit-chatted for a few minutes; while she was curious about the art process, she hesitated to try it. I am unsure what instigated the shift – the proximity of the yarns, my encouragement, or her realisation that the only way to end this meeting was to humour me. She picked the bulkiest yellow yarn and said, “I had a sweater that felt like this; my nan knitted that for me”. I noticed our conversation shifting from resistance to joint brainstorming, and we spent the next 20 minutes exploring the idea of starting a knitting class for library seniors. I thanked her for her time and left the meeting with the memory of her smiling, the contact details of the Cumberland City Council Art Director, and her suggestion that I reach out to him. That was the end of August 2020.
This incident is so vivid because I remember walking in with the feeling of apprehension and self-doubt and walking out feeling hopeful, with a renewed belief in the power of art-making (Crimmin & Montagu, 2016) – a tangible memory I drew strength from every other time I faced resistance.
It was a month later, during a phone call with the Cumberland City Council Art Director, M, that I discovered the council was seeking expressions of interest from local artists and organisations to work on ideas for a public art installation (Project for Public Spaces, 2018) during Diwali to uplift community spirits. I used that opportunity to pitch an extended version of the knitting-circle concept to create an installation for Diwali and Mental Health Month. Unfortunately, the second Covid-19 lockdown happened before I could follow up with him. By the time we reconnected, it was June 2022.
As a profession, therapy deals with alleviating human suffering (Locher et al., 2019; Rogalla, 2020). It allows us to understand that adversities are a part of life and provides us with the tools, theories, and solutions to navigate and cope. The constructs of grief, loss, and bereavement are conceptualised as the most significant life stressors experienced universally (O’Connor, 2019). An important application of art therapy is using art-making to access the creative process to alleviate psychological distress and bereavement (MacWilliam, 2017; Nelson et al., 2022).
I had a fair understanding through my own lived experience of grieving various forms of loss: the migratory grief of losing connection with my homeland (Blanco, 2023), mourning the death of my appa, and of close family members during Covid-19. As a graduate art therapist, at the onset of Amma’s diagnosis, I felt reasonably confident in my ability to brace myself for the onslaught of grief that was to ensue. However, I failed to understand that having cognitive understanding and a lived experience does not soften the intense feeling of being overwhelmed and sad.
In the following years (January 2020 to September 2022), I rode an emotional roller-coaster of shock, hope, and despair. Amma went from being in remission between August 2020 and March 2021 to being on life-support by the end of August 2022. Moon (2016) characterises this type of grief as anticipatory. Grief that lurks around, shading your being, and starts even before the person passes away.
In the first week of September, I flew to India to be by her bedside and spend time with my family. Her prognosis kept fluctuating. Our communication with her became limited as her condition was critical. I had taken some yarn with me, hoping the thread would symbolise the yarn of hope like last time. I also remember feeling frustrated about navigating the hospital system in India. One night, wanting to do something calming, I reached out to the twelve-ply orange yarn I had carried and started finger-knitting. After nearly two hours of knitting, I accidentally dropped my yarn. As I stood up to secure my piece and save my work, I entangled the yarn more. I had to unravel the full piece, and it took us (my brother and sister-in-law and me) another two hours to untangle the knots and salvage at least some parts of the yarn. We ended up cutting substantial parts of it. This memory is a metaphor for all the feelings I was carrying – the entanglement, heaviness, sadness, and fear of losing Amma any day.
While I had confidently made my elevator pitch of the knitting-circle project spontaneously, I had no idea at the time the enormity of the task I had put my hand up for. Fortunately, my collaborations with other organisations and the time lapse due to restrictions allowed me to become operationally prepared. As a budding entrepreneur, I knew this was a prized and rare opportunity that would help promote Mindkshetra’s work. Hence, two years later, that September, when M gave the final go-ahead to my proposal, I decided to circumnavigate my grief and keep working on ways that I could still complete the project.
On the day of the call with M, something serendipitous happened. I was brooding over the timing of the project on the way back from visiting Amma in the hospital. When we arrived home, a package had arrived for Amma. As I opened it I was surprised to find a pack of colourful yarns. I took it as a sign of my mother’s blessing and approval to keep going. Sadly, Amma passed away the following week without a single word exchanged between us. I flew home with the weight of unsaid words, unexpressed love, and with a pack of twelve balls of coloured yarn (Figure 4).
Figure 4. Rupa Parthasarathy, Amma’s crochet work and yarns – Amma’s gift, 2022, photograph.
“Now what?” my mind hollered.
“Should I honour my grief and sit still?”
or
“Do I keep the commitment, a dream I have been working hard to fulfil?”
“Whose voice do I lean into?” I asked myself.
The tenacious woman of colour, struggling entrepreneur, grieving daughter or the developing art therapist?
“You committed, so pull your head in!”
I heard a voice from within. She was mine, yet so foreign.
“How do I do this with only two weeks to go?” questioned the not-so-confident she.
“So what?” she retorted, feeble but with clarity. “Giving up without trying is failing.”
“You are ignoring me,” she cried, feeling maudlin.
“Grieve, you will,” she said, “whether you knit or sit still.”
“So, what is next?” asked she, wanting to hang on to some normalcy amidst this whirlwind.
“Get knitting,” she instructed, “envisioning every stitch as your step towards your healing!”
Warp: Yarning for mental health and Diwali (October 2022)
Setting up the various spaces
The project was a multi-faceted endeavour. The proposal included: (1) creating a central installation in and around Friends Park by 1 October to kick-start the installation; (2) conducting a series of free knitting workshops for community members and using the works created to yarn-wrap about 20 trees that looped back in and around Wentworthville to form a visual circle; (3) showcasing the cultural artworks made by Mindkshetra students as part of the installation; (4) holding a finger-knitting stall during Diwali Mela to engage with the community; and (5) conducting the de-installation of the works.
Considerations for the installation space
As the installation space was outdoors in a public area, both M and I, considering the risk involved, agreed it would be prudent to restrict any installation involving climbing to nominated team members from Mindkshetra. Though drawing this boundary was necessary to uphold safety, it made me consider the implications such a boundary can have on fostering participation from community members.
Considerations for community space and group work
The community workshop sessions were designed with collaboration in mind. We planned to host a series of these sessions in October, open to people of all ages. M was responsible for reserving rooms, and advertising and marketing the project on the council’s website, including the dates and locations of these free workshops. We anticipated a diverse group of participants, with numbers ranging from five to 20 in each workshop. The workshops were structured to encourage participants to work together, drawing on Case and Dalley’s (2014) conceptualisation of how instrumental group work can be in overcoming resistance. These sessions were designed as open, drop-in sessions for maximum participation and flexibility. We promoted that no prior art experience was needed, and the workshops could be attended any number of times, fostering a sense of inclusivity and teamwork.
Yarn bombing and symbolism
I created the public art installation based on the concept of yarn bombing in response to the grief and loss I felt between 2020 and 2022. The Oxford English Dictionary (2024) defines yarn bombing as covering public objects and places with knitted or crocheted materials; it is also known as guerilla knitting (Fox, 2024). I was inspired to create a substantial installation after seeing pictures of streetscapes yarn-bombed worldwide by prominent artists (London Kaye, 2023; Prain & Moore, 2019; Sayeg, 2015; Twilight Taggers, 2011). I was drawn to the bold colours, the effect of anarchy, and the ethereal sense of connection that the art form evokes.
As a practising Hindu, I spent my childhood surrounded by traditional architecture and religious symbolism, as seen in temples (Dehejia, 2007). I grew up witnessing several Hindu rituals where priests tie raksha sutra, sacred red or black threads, around the wrists of people, symbolising protection and auspiciousness, as a shield against opposing forces (The Divine India, 2024). Women also tie various coloured cotton threads around pipal trees to seek the blessing of longevity for their husbands’ lives (Rajendran, 2018).
Using yarn as the link
Given my background and interest in sculptures and significant artworks, using yarn was very appealing, but I did not know how to crochet. However, I taught myself finger-knitting and watched instructional videos, which gave me confidence that I could teach people without prior experience. Diwali/Deepavali, the festival of lights, is an event that symbolises the victory of light (knowledge) over darkness (ignorance), and is the biggest and most important holiday in the Hindu religion (Das, 2019). Every October, Mental Health Month coincides with Diwali. Using this metaphor for my installation story, I drew parallels between the light of conversations and connections, and how they can eradicate the stigma of darkness surrounding mental health. I used the phrase ‘yarn wrapping’ instead of ‘yarn bombing’ to soften the language.
Discovering the art of being a ‘therapist’ in different spaces
During my early years as a private practitioner, I found it challenging to label myself as an ‘art therapist’, as my work predominantly involved community-based arts as therapy. As Hogan and Coulter (2014) point out, the adaptation of art therapy practices to accommodate cultural nuances can shake a therapist’s core beliefs and lead to a sense of isolation in resistant environments. This feeling of isolation was particularly acute when I was introduced as a group facilitator, a role that seemed to overshadow my identity as a therapist.
Despite my intellectual understanding that many art therapists were operating in diverse settings (Eastwood, 2021; Hogan & Coulter, 2014; Nolan, 2023; Talwar, 2019), I struggled to align my work model with the traditional role of an art therapist. However, I learned to sit curiously with these questions in supervision.
Supervision as my anchor
To anchor myself, I sought professional supervision since graduating in 2019 early on. Over the next two years, I worked with three professional art therapy supervisors, who helped me find some grounding on what it meant to be an art therapist through art-based inquiries (Awais & Blausey, 2021). Through supervision, I discovered that the misalignment between my intellect and emotion stemmed from experiencing life from an intersectional space and internalised expectations as a developing therapist. Learning to be a therapist in different spaces is an ongoing process that I will continue to hone throughout my professional career.
Weft: As a grieving daughter
I came home determined to complete the project. The brief required preparing knitted works to wrap a ten-metre-circumference fig-tree trunk, its enormous branches, and five other trees in the park. With a fortnight to the deadline, this transpired into many knitting hours. As I had a depleted emotional capacity to coordinate contributions from within the art therapy peer community, I recruited my family and the folk artist S, with whom I conduct cultural workshops, to pitch in. Although I had anxieties about completing the knitting on time, I felt comforted knowing that I was taking action to honour my amma, all the while praying for the knitting goddesses to grant us a miracle (Figure 5).
By installation day, I had learned the art of compartmentalising (Lycette, 2018). I mentally resolved to wear my professional hat on the installation day. As we arrived on site, I offered a silent prayer to Amma to show me a sign that she sent her blessing. In that moment of prayer, I remembered the day we cremated her; there was a mild shower. The earthy scent accompanying the rain was cleansing and soothing, and I felt as if the heavens were shedding a tear with me.
Figure 5. Rupa Parthasarathy, Getting ready: Collage, 2023, photograph.
As I was a novice installation artist, there was an avalanche of creative decisions waiting to be made onsite. I enrolled my family and S’s family to help me with the installation. Very quickly, I realised that our knitted works were only sufficient to cover the branches of the trees (Figure 6). We had no knitted works to cover the trunk of the tree. As we took a break to reassess how to proceed, I heard a senior passerby comment to his wife in Hindi, “Koi Mannat jaise lag raha hai” (“Looks like someone is praying for something”). He was referring to the Indian ritual of tying cotton threads on a pipal tree to make a wish.
Figure 6. Rupa Parthasarathy, Installation, 2022, photograph.
As I heard him, it hit home, that this was the cultural symbolism that inspired me to pitch this idea; thus, I took his comment as the creative solution we needed to complete the installation without the knitted works. Our team of six gathered around the tree and used the leftover coloured yarns to wrap the trunk. As the yarn moved from one hand to another, layer by layer, it created a unique, aesthetically pleasing pattern (Figure 7). Though unplanned, it was a delight to witness the installation come alive (Figure 8).
Figure 7. Rupa Parthasarathy, Wrapping of trunk, 2022, photograph.
Figure 8. Rupa Parthasarathy, Completed installation, 2022, photograph.
As if on cue, it started raining as we secured the final wrap. I took it as a sign that it was my amma’s way of letting me know that she was proud of me.
For the entire month of October, I experienced my art therapy space extending beyond the walls of Mindkshetra studios and around all the installation spaces. The central installation piqued interest within the community, and we slowly started seeing traction in workshop attendance numbers. As the project’s primary installation artist and art therapist, I juggled conducting the knitting workshops to collect the knitted works on weekdays with installing them around assigned trees on the weekends. We had a deadline to complete the installation before the Diwali mela on the 28th. Despite the demanding routine, this experience allowed me to interact and engage with, as well as observe, community members in a non-therapeutic environment. This fostered a sense of community and connection, breaking the barrier that often exists in a traditional therapeutic relationship between a client and a therapist (Schaverian, 2000). It also provided a subtle platform to tackle conversations about mental health stigma. The four anecdotal stories presented here serve as supporting evidence of this claim, highlighting the sense of belonging and unity that was fostered.
During an installation outside the library, while wrapping yarn around a tree, I met a man of Indian heritage who spoke only Hindi. He was visiting his son in Sydney and felt his son needed a support system to adjust to his busy life. As we talked, he handed me some knitted yarn from my bag, and I invited him to participate in installing the artwork. He happily agreed (Figure 9). We had conversations about social isolation and loneliness as we worked. As we continued working, the man shared that he could see how the project could help someone like his son. I suggested he bring his son to see the artwork and his father’s contribution. He seemed cheered by the idea, thanked me, and left.
Figure 9. Rupa Parthasarathy, The father from overseas, 2022, photograph.
Another group that attended the workshops was comprised of immigrant mothers (Figure 10). As carers of children under ten, they frequented the library and were eager to avail themselves of the free seminar. While their initial motivation to join the session was to keep their children engaged, by the end of the first session, they were enjoying it themselves.
Figure 10. Rupa Parthasarathy, The migrant women, 2022, photograph.
For many of them this was the very first time they had invested in their self-care. As we knitted, they shared their migrant stories: stories of disconnection and loss of family support, stories about their dreams for their children, and their hope of securing jobs for themselves one day. They showed up to every session with enthusiasm and met me at the park during installations, taking pride in seeing their works being installed. These women became unofficial project promoters (Figure 11), bringing many more friends to the workshops and advocating for the project’s significance to people they knew.
Figure 11. Rupa Parthasarathy, The local influencers, 2022, photograph.
During the project, I had a memorable experience visiting a daycare centre. I brought baskets filled with yarn, and as I entered the play area, the children surrounded me with curiosity. Some greeted me while others eagerly grabbed the yarn, unravelling it with their tiny hands. With the help of the staff, I settled under a large tree, surrounded by giggling toddlers. As I gently guided them to form a circle, I found us all entangled in a giant web of yarn. Each child took a piece of yarn, wearing it as a necklace or scarf or unravelling it. This experience taught me an important lesson about not taking myself too seriously, and staying connected to the childlike joy of making art amidst the hustle and bustle of adult responsibilities.
In 2020, following Amma’s diagnosis, I decided to channel my grief and shock into action by volunteering my services to Pink Sari Inc. (PSI), a non-profit dedicated to raising awareness about cancer and providing support to those in the South Asian community affected by it. In Australia, we also celebrate October as Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I negotiated with M to wrap four trees completely in pink in honour of all women affected by breast cancer. With the support of PSI, I invited survivors, family, and friends of people impacted by breast cancer to participate in a yarning circle (Figure 12). The session, though poignant, allowed the participants to seek solace in the comfort of the stories shared. These yarn-wrapped trees instantly caught the attention of passersby, particularly women, who recognised them as a symbol of breast cancer awareness. Many passersby appreciated the installation and came up to share their stories of someone impacted by cancer and take photos while I completed it.
Figure 12. Rupa Parthasarathy, PSI yarning circle, 2022, panoramic photograph.
Facilitating the PSI session, and subsequently doing The Pink Tree installations and listening to many stories of survival and loss felt emotionally draining. While the other installations had kept me distracted from grieving, it was hard to contain my feelings during the installation of these works. However, the act of completing them brought with it a sense of calm and solace to my aching soul (Figure 13).
Figure 13. Rupa Parthasarathy, The pink tree, 2022, photograph.
Warp: Exploring an intersectional approach (from November 2022 to the present)
Exploring community arts as therapeutic spaces
The Western psychological health model, rooted in the medical model, emphasises client independence and self-determination, with a focus on biological and cognitive interventions as agents of change, as discussed by Moodley and Barnes (2015). However, Eastwood (2021) has pointed out that this model overlooks intersectional identity markers such as race, gender, religion, and class, leading to a lack of cultural sensitivity in therapy. As mental health professionals, we need to be conscious of the impact of these oversights.
From the yarn stories, a common theme emerged – the feeling of yearning for or disconnection from one’s home, similar to the experience of many migrants. Gopalakrishnan (2019) highlights how the assimilation process into a new culture can negatively impact mental health due to social disconnection and loss of identity. Through collaborative community arts, as discussed by Conrad and Sinner (2015) and Chander et al. (2023), individuals can create a sense of belonging and recognition within their community, fostering collective knowledge and a feeling of being a valuable part of their community’s fabric.
Exploring finger-knitting and traditional arts as a medium
Studies conducted by Riley et al. (2013) and Guitard et al. (2018) suggest that knitting has various mental health benefits, particularly in enhancing memory power and concentration among seniors. Despite its traditional association with older white women, knitting can benefit people from all backgrounds.
When introduced to the South Asian population, finger-knitting sparked curiosity and engagement, evoking childhood memories for some participants. While there was initial hesitation, I observed finger-knitting to have a calming effect and provide a sense of gratification for most participants (Chander et al., 2023). Indeed, research (Yao & Li, 2022) indicates potential improvements in mental health, self-esteem, and social connections.
Using yarn as an art medium and installing lippan works created by the youth workshops allowed for the interlinking of culture and religious symbolism (Bhiwandiwalla, 2022), promoting cultural identity and pride (Arslanbek et al., 2022).
Exploring the influence of language on the therapeutic process
As a bilingual therapist trained under the European framework, I have developed a strong understanding of the significance of language in therapy. Reflecting on my experience as a migrant, I’ve gained valuable insights into the complexities that can arise from linguistic nuances during therapy (Karasz et al., 2016).
According to Kapasi and Melluish (2015), bilingual therapists can establish a deeper emotional connection and build rapport by switching between languages. I have found that language switching allows for a deeper understanding of my clients’ cultural backgrounds and encourages quicker disclosures. This underscores the potential and effectiveness of language switching in therapy, highlighting the impact of words, tonality, and linguistic choices in establishing a strong therapeutic connection.
Engaging with art daily for a month not only provided me with solace but also became a means of coping with my grief. It allowed me to apply my theoretical knowledge about the therapeutic potential of art in the grief and bereavement process to my own personal experience, to which I attribute a profound journey of personal growth.
The project combined various elements, including an installation, workshops, and a cultural art exhibition, and gained media and community attention (Figure 14). Community feedback emphasised the need to continue similar initiatives, providing opportunities for collective creative actions and connection (Gentle, 2020). The young mothers reported positive outcomes from attending the classes. The project received recognition through features on local radio and in a documentary. While happy about this achievement as a cultural artist, I struggled to embrace this approach as art therapy.
Figure 14. Rupa Parthasarathy, The exhibition, 2022, photograph.
The project’s conclusion also left me with a profound sense of loss, indicating my emotional investment.
“So, what is this?” I asked.
A question, in supervision in every session.
Art therapist, I cannot be,
as it does not fit what I envisioned art therapy to be.
“Perhaps it is a new approach,” my clinical supervisor suggested in reply.
“Have you considered that as a possibility?
“Working with the community, meeting them where they are, and setting the scene to hold within.
“Community art therapy – could it be your way of weaving your intersectionality?” (Eastwood, 2022; Talwar, 2019).
To assuage my ongoing inquiry into ‘who is an art therapist?’ and self-critique of ‘not fitting the bill’, my supervisor suggested I apply for a bursary at the end of 2022, an opportunity I thought I was using to appease my advocacy for representation. Over the next 18 months, while writing this article, I uncovered unconscious resistances and internalised biases I held about my intersectionality. Working through these challenges with supervision took time, as I had to simultaneously work on actively managing my impostor syndrome (Mullangi & Jagsi, 2019).
Preparing for the second installation in September 2023 coincided with the first anniversary of Amma’s death, translating into a creative block. I felt hollow inside, and completing this article seemed unattainable. The deep-rooted scars of marginalisation manifested as self-doubt, leading me to ask for another extension.
I focused on fulfilling my commitment to completing the community arts project for the second time, applying all the learnings from the first time. We used established networks, inviting the group of women and using Cumberland Council’s established youth networks. Spending another month immersed in art-making, facilitating groups, and doing installations enabled me to overcome my creative block (Brooke & Miraglia, 2015). It instilled a sense of accomplishment as I strived to finish this article.
Figure 15. Rupa Parthasarathy, The Tapestry, 2023, video.
“Is writing this article really an opportunity? Really possible?” I mulled, still unconvinced.
And then I heard her say from within, “Perhaps this is what Hogan and Coulter meant when they said that ‘An art therapist is someone in total control of her setting, both outside and from within’” (2014, p.13).
With this realisation, I acknowledged that I am now on a new journey, on the path of weaving my contribution as a South Asian therapist into the tapestry of art therapy (Figure 15).
“I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood.”
Audre Lorde (1978).
Consent
The guidelines and codes of conduct from the Australian, New Zealand and Asian Creative Arts Therapies Association (ANZACATA), the Australian Counselling Association (ACA), and Mindkshetra’s business ethics have been adhered to, and approval from Cumberland Council has been obtained. All participants have consented to the use of photographs for Mindkshetra’s advertising, supervision, and educational purposes.
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Author
Rupa Parthasarathy
MAT, GradDip Counselling, B.Nutrition & Dietetics, AThR
Rupa is a registered art psychotherapist and the founder of Mindkshetra. She has extensive experience working with young individuals and their families, concentrating on promoting overall well-being. Mindkshetra is a social enterprise creative wellness studio that equips young people and their families with innovative tools and psychoeducational resources to foster well-being. The studio also provides art therapy as a remedial intervention. Rupa has been actively involved in collaborative efforts with her local council. She has effectively led the Arts for Wellbeing initiative during the past two years, coinciding with October Mental Health Month in October.