Thoughts from an emerging art therapist
By Vivyan Yeo

Installation view of ‘MENTAL: Colours of Wellbeing Gallery’. Image courtesy of Marina Bay Sands.

‘MENTAL: Colours of Wellbeing’ is an exhibition for Generation Z, or those growing up in today’s technologically saturated landscape. Co-presented by Artscience Museum and Science Gallery Melbourne, the show features 24 artworks by artists, scientists and designers across the globe. It explores diverse perspectives on mental health and presents a multifaceted view of the virtual world – a mode of expression, support, over-dependence and addiction all at once. Surprisingly uncomfortable, the show raises questions about how we, as humans, try to care for ourselves. As a student pursuing a Masters in Art Therapy, I look to my studies in search of answers.

Targeting a large population, the exhibition is understandably pulled in multiple directions. It tries to be fun while tackling a serious issue, using vibrant colours to depict what is usually seen as gloomy. The result is a presentation of vivid artworks that are rather stressful to experience. Amongst the most eye-catching is ‘Even in Fear’ (2008) by Zhou Xiaohu, which features a balloon inflating in a pink cage. As it increases in volume and pushes against the metal grid, we see visitors covering their ears in fear of what seems like an inevitable ending. Just when it is about to explode, the balloon begins to deflate. This cycle of increasing and decreasing pressure mirrors what anxiety might feel like, always at risk of bursting at the seams.

Another work that perpetuates unease is ‘Anxiety Animations’ (2022), initiated by EYEYAH!, a Singapore-based educational platform. Colourful and loud, its images were created by artists worldwide and selected from an open call. They come together in a frantic array of moving images and represent the many facets of anxiety. Both ‘Even in Fear’ and ‘Anxiety Animations’ are displayed in the same room full of brilliantly-coloured works, thus contributing to overwhelming brightness. While these artworks illustrate anxiety clearly, I wonder if they might be taken at face value due to their instagrammable nature.

Emanuel Gollob, ‘Doing Nothing With A.I.’, 2019, participatory installation. Image courtesy of Marina Bay Sands.

Dr Kellyann Geurts and Dr Indae Hwang, ‘Thoughtforms’, 2021, participatory installation. Image courtesy of Marina Bay Sands.

In art therapy, there is an emphasis on how our body carries knowledge. However, many artworks in the exhibition seem to veer away from innate human wisdom and lean towards external technological methods. ‘Doing nothing with AI’ (2019) by Emanuel Gollob, for example, allows visitors to don an electroencephalogram (EEG) headset. A giant robotic arm learns from the collected brain activity to create and perform dance choreographies. Similarly, the work ‘Thoughtforms’ (2021) by Dr Kellyann Geurts and Dr Indae Hwang encourages participants to let an EEG headset record their thoughts, feelings and memories. A 3D printer then materialises the data into an abstract shape.

By relying on technology to understand ourselves, are we instead distancing from our inner truth? This is not necessarily so. According to art therapist and writer Bruce L. Moon, the core of creative action lies in structuring chaos. Without a physical form, our mind might seem chaotic and ungraspable. Translating and externalising these nebulous feelings into something we can see and touch is a potentially comforting experience. Whether in the form of a painting, a 3D-printed object or a dancing robotic arm, vague thoughts can seem less monumental and more manageable. Such technologically-oriented works thus contribute to a thought-provoking exhibition, though their loud aesthetic might overshadow these subtle, more nuanced messages.

Other works like Wednesday Kim's 'The Aesthetics of Being Disappeared’ (2019) frame technology as a source of comfort and escapism from the real world. The multi-video installation showcases a kaleidoscope of images and text from internet culture, revealing just how overpowering and immersive the virtual realm can be. Similarly hectic, Tromarama's animated video work, 'Remind Me Later’ (2019), features rubber-like figures bent and stretched in random sequences. Floating in a pink void, they demonstrate our simultaneous addiction and struggle to keep up with the latest technological advancements.

These works remind me of transitional objects, which in psychology, are things we imbue with special meaning. They give us strength and comfort during times of difficult transition. Often in the form of a blanket, soft toy, or 'lucky charm', we would ideally internalise this strength until we can face life changes with confidence. Could social media and technology be new transitional objects for people who feel alienated in life? The works of Kim and Tromarama show that the virtual realm indeed provide solace. On the flip side, they also convey how the internet’s complex, inconsistent and ever-evolving nature might lead to over-dependence, preventing one from standing on their two feet.

Lee Yi Xuan, ‘State of Mind’, 2021, acrylic panel. Image courtesy of Marina Bay Sands.

The exhibition also features more traditional process-driven practices as ways to process unexplainable emotions. This is seen most clearly in one of the quieter works in the show – ‘State of Mind’ (2021) by Singapore artist Lee Yi Xuan. Echoing Moon’s idea of structuring chaos, Lee engaged with her inner turbulence by inscribing on an acrylic panel with a compass. While aggressive and frenzied, these scribbles are contained within a neat circle. The work embodies a balance between catharsis and control, allowing feelings to pour while being safely held within a boundary.

Shwe Wutt Hmon, ‘Noise and Cloud and Us’, 2021, photographic installation. Image courtesy of Marina Bay Sands.

Other process-driven works spotlight caregivers, contributing to an exhibition that reveals hidden labour. Amongst the most thoughtful was ‘Noise and Cloud and Us’ (2021), a photographic installation by Burmese artist Shwe Wutt Hmon. These images depict Shwe’s sister, Kyi Kyi Thar, who is trained as a painter and lives with schizophrenia. They show Kyi walking around, lying down and painting, and are intentionally black and white to reflect Shwe’s bleak outlook at the time. Acknowledging Kyi’s love of colour, Shwe invited her sister to paint over the photographs as she pleased. Kyi chose to colour only the paintings within these photographs, suggesting that art is her main source of joy. The collaborative result gives a glimpse into the perspectives of both the caregiver and the cared-for. Using art as a tool for expression and connection, the sisters invite empathy and understanding towards those living with a mental illness.

‘MENTAL: Colours of Wellbeing’ brings to mind several ideas relating to art therapy, namely the need to visualise one’s emotions, dependence on transitional objects and the therapeutic process of making art. In a society that finds it difficult to talk about emotional wellbeing, I find the show to be successful in introducing mental health issues. Future exhibitions, however, could include more works like ‘Noise and Cloud and Us’, which provide a window into specific contexts, grounding the viewers in real, lived experiences.