A Matter of Healing
Eyes closed, I place my hands on the surface of the clay. Springy under my fingers, its firmness presses back. A little more pressure, I can make an imprint; with enough force, I can break the surface. To work with clay is to negotiate its unique properties, to get to understand its different states, from wet to dry, from sticky to firm, from pliable to brittle. To work with it, on the other hand, is also to get to know oneself, or so certain methods of art and sensorimotor therapy suggest. The negotiation, thus, is two-directional. I get to know the clay and, perhaps, the clay gets to know me, or at least, I get to know myself through it.
The slabs on view here are evidence of an experiment. Using an altered version of the therapeutic method “Working at the Clay Field” (Arbeit am Tonfeld®), I attempted to learn about clay while also witnessing aspects of myself materialize in the clay. In the Tonfeld method, a trained therapist guides a person as they interact with clay packed into a box measuring 45 x 40 x 5.5 cm. With eyes closed, the person explores the clay through touch, allowing their hands and psyche to connect via sensory experience. Developed by psychotherapist Heinz Deuser in the 1970s, the method initially relied on a Jungian-informed, depth-psychological framework. Over time, it evolved to incorporate growing knowledge about sensorimotor processing and its connection to healing. In all versions, the facilitator or therapist observes the person's posture, hand movements, and the forms made in the clay and guides their subject through a processes of self-discovery and healing mediated by haptic interaction with the clay.
I began this project with the intention of examining whether methods from therapeutic practices, like this one, could be meaningfully integrated into the space of the studio. What emerged through this project was an unexpected transformation of myself as an artist into a conversant double: therapist and patient at once, locked in dialogue. That is, as I worked in the clay, I played both roles: doer and observer. A further doubling occurred between my position as a psychological subject and as an artist. These positions too came into conflict. The version of me playing the psychological subject sought to work in an unrestrained, intuitive manner, while my training in art compelled continual self-editing through the lenses of art-historical reference and aesthetic judgment. The results were these objects, but also a feeling of frustration that my attempt at bringing healing into the studio resulted in internal conflict. However, these objects, I propose, encompass this tension: the holes dug again and again could be interpreted to represent unmet desire and the continual attempt to dig deeper into myself and the project.
