PICTURES HANGING ON THE WALLS

The first time I hung my "nature" pictures on the walls of the clinic, I didn't think of them as bearing any relationship to psychotherapy: but, after I met Natalie, I was forced to look at them from a different angle.

         I have always been fond of nature. Perhaps it was because I grew up in a home which was a few miles outside of the city and was surrounded by the beauty of nature. There was a river on one side of our home and fruit and vegetable orchards on the other two sides. I used to go for long walks and enjoy the water, the birds, and the animals. I felt at ease and at one with them. There was also a park near our house which was abundant with shady trees. It was quite common for me to climb up a tree and read a book while my friends looked for me.

         Some people believe that throughout our lives we keep looking for an environment similar to the one in which we were raised; so, a few years ago when I decided to move to Toronto, I knew that I did not want to live in the heart of the city. It was too full of tall buildings, crowded streets, and pollution. I wanted to work in a hospital which was not in the downtown area but not too far out of the city either. Some of my friends suggested the Whitby Psychiatric Hospital and informed me that it was nearly thirty miles out of the city of Toronto. I remember the day I rented a car and came to Whitby to see the hospital; I was pleasantly surprised. The hospital was built on Lake Ontario which looked so peaceful that day; it was also surrounded by more than a hundred acres of land, populated only by trees and grass. I was even fortunate enough to see a dozen or more Canadian geese and seagulls resting in the shade. They seemed to be having a special get-together. I was so impressed by the hospital that I went to see Dr. Chang, who was the Psychiatrist-in-Chief. After I introduced myself, I told him that I had fallen in love with the hospital and wanted to work there. Dr. Chang greeted me, smiled, and said "You can start tomorrow." I told him that I had to go back to Saint John, New Brunswick to resign from my previous job before I could start the new one. So we both agreed that I would start working in January of 1984, and I did.

         Alongside my fondness of nature, I have also enjoyed my role as an amateur photographer. I must have taken hundreds of pictures over the years and made dozens of photo albums. I even went back to Pakistan to gather pictures of my childhood. In spite of my keen interest in pictures, I had no knowledge of the art of photography. My friends suggested that I buy an expensive camera and take a course in photography. I told them I have always been irritated by training courses. It surprised me to hear that so many Canadians took courses to learn how to swim, play tennis, and even cook. I told them that I learned all those things on my own. I could understand people taking courses if they wanted to participate in the Olympics, but if they wanted to do something as a hobby and for their personal enjoyment then I didn't see the need of a training programme. I had never had the desire to become a professional photographer so I never enroled in any of the courses that were offered.

         After coming to Whitby I met Monica, an English lady in her sixties who was an accomplished artist of her time. She suffered from Chronic Depression and in the last few years she had stopped painting. In my first couple of interviews with her I realized that previous doctors had tried to treat her with medications. None of them had focused on the artistic dimension of her life. One day I made the suggestion that she resume painting; I felt it was the only way that her depression would improve. In the beginning she thought I was joking but when she realized that I was serious she replied, "I don't think I'll be able to paint again." Then she sighed deeply and started to reminisce. "There was a time that I had my paintings exhibited in the galleries. I used to receive letters which complemented me for my achievements; editors would write about me and my works of art in the newspaper, and I used to have students who studied directly under me."

         "But you can do that all over again." I tried to reassure her.

         "Dr. Sohail! Art is freedom of expression. No one can force a person to create. Being a writer yourself, you must realize that you cannot force people to write poems, and even if you did, the poems created would be lifeless."

         "But one can train and condition oneself to create more." Then I told her the story of Pegge Hopper, a Hawaiian artist whose interview I had read in an anthology of her paintings called Women of Hawaii. In the interview Pegge was asked what she had learned during the four years she studied at the New York School of Arts. She replied that before she went to school she would wait for a moment of inspiration before she picked up her brush to paint; after her training she would sit with her paints and brushes in front of the easel every day. Since she waited in anticipation of those creative moments every day, they came to her more often.

         I asked Monica if she could bring out her brushes and her colours and sit in front of the easel for a couple of hours, two or three times a week. For the first few weeks she practised that exercise but nothing happened. It wasn't long before the creative juices did flow, and then she felt overwhelmed. She completed nearly a dozen paintings within a few months time and according to her, they were better than they had ever been before.

         Some of those paintings were purchased for three to four hundred dollars even before they were completed. Monica's rediscovery of her creative self not only helped her depression and increased her self confidence, but it also enhanced my interest in art and paintings. When I enquired about Monica's creative work she told me that whenever she saw an impressive natural scene she captured it on film and later on she would paint it on the canvas. Gradually I became more aware of the relationship between photography and painting through the creative expressions of her art work.

         Coincidentally, during those days, one of my colleagues introduced me to Mary Ellen, an artist who lived in Whitby. I was pleasantly surprised to meet an artist who not only had a good understanding of the human psyche but also had a keen awareness of social and political processes. It did not take us long to become friends. When I saw her creative work I realized that her paintings were shot with black and white film. She painted a few distinct parts of the pictures to produce the desired effect. I had never before seen such a creative synthesis of photography and painting. The colours she chose for the pictures were sometimes changed from the original, often different only in a subtle shade from the natural colours. This added a unique dimension to her art. Mary Ellen was exploring the creative relationship between human beings and their environments. Mary Ellen introduced me then to her brother Sean who was not only an artist but he was a poet as well. Next I met their mutual friend Rowena who told me that as an artist, she "thought in colours".

         Meeting these artists opened my third eye and I started to see trees, birds, animals and other objects of nature from a different angle. It was as if I was developing a new relationship with my environment.

         During the same period of time, I visited San Francisco to attend a poetry conference with my friend Zahid and while shopping at Fisherman's Wharf, we saw a beautiful camera. It was not only automatic, it also had a built in zoom lens. We were so excited to find such a camera that we bought two of them, one for each of us.

         After that purchase I felt like a child with a new toy; I carried my camera with me wherever I went. In the next few months I took pictures of anything and everything that sparked my interest, or appeared impressive. On my next trip, which was to Venezuela, I took the camera with me, now one of my friends. When I developed the pictures of my trip I was pleasantly surprised with the results. I had taken a photo of the sunset over the ocean with a sailboat in the distance. It was so beautiful and artistic that I jumped with excitement. That was my first real victory. I showed that picture to many of my friends. They were as surprised as I was with the results.

         At the same time Monica took part in an exhibition of her paintings. She took pictures of her paintings and had them laminated by a local photographer. I liked the idea. The pictures, laminated on a wooden board, looked much better than framed photos. So, I enlarged my picture of the Venezuelan sunset and had it laminated. It turned out to be quite impressive.

         My interest in nature and taking pictures of trees, birds, lakes and sunsets continued. I took my camera with me wherever I went. It became my third eye. In the next two years I took dozens of pictures in dozens of cities throughout Asia, Europe, and North America of various natural scenes.

         Finally I selected a few pictures which included:

         - a picture of the sunset in Venezuela

         - a picture of a turtle eating leaves from a bush in Barbados

         - a picture of waterlilies in Paris

         - a seagull standing on one leg on a small beach in Oshawa

I hung these pictures in my office. I also hung a few pictures of Niagara Falls and seagulls frolicking in the water nearby; these I placed on the walls of the waiting room  of our clinic. Those pictures added an artistic touch to the otherwise neutral decor of the clinic. They were hanging on the walls for more than a year when Natalie forced me to see them and think about them for a different perspective.

         I met Natalie a few months ago when she was suddenly discharged from one of the inpatient units because she had broken one of the rules of the ward. She was asked to see me to be followed as an outpatient. When I met her the first time she was curled up in a chair in my office. She looked to be in her twenties and was holding a stuffed bird in her arms. When I said hello, she stared at me angrily, but did not utter a word.

         When I introduced myself, she remained silent. I felt a bit lost. To show some personal interest I asked her "What kind of toy are you carrying?" Even before I finished my sentence she screamed "I want to see a female therapist."

         I tried to explain to her that I worked with a team of mental health professionals and there were a few female nurses on the team. I reassured her that if she wanted to see a female therapist I could arrange that for her and I got her an appointment with Joan, one of our mental health nurses.

         After a couple of weeks when I met Natalie and Joan, Natalie told me "I hate all men, and I hate you the most."

         I smiled and said, "You have a right to hate me, but I would like to know why you hate me so much?"

         She said, "You called my friend (she pointed to the stuffed bird that she was carrying) a toy. You insulted my friend and you insulted me."

         "But I had no intention of insulting either one of you. I'll be more careful in the future."

         During that visit she agreed to see me for half an hour every other week. The next time she came to see me she still looked angry. She said, "I don't want to sit in the chair. I want to sit on the floor."

         I thought for a few seconds and then I got her a cushion from the waiting room so she did not have to sit on the floor as my office was not carpeted.

         In the next few sessions she told me that she hated people and that she loved birds and animals. She would not touch human beings and did not want to be touched by them.

         She was still a mystery to me. At the end of the interview she told me that she wrote poems. I responded, "I would like to read them. They might help me to understand you."

         In the next session she brought her poems but did not show them to me. She said, "I don't trust you yet."

         In the next session she gave me the book but asked me not to read the poems until she left. I obliged.

         When I read the poems I realized that she was physically, emotionally and sexually abused by her father. Those traumatic experiences had made her very bitter. Maybe that was why she hated people so much, especially men. I felt very sympathetic towards her. In the next session I told her that I felt sad when I read her poetry but I was optimistic that if she continued with her therapy that she would be able to live a happy and productive life. She looked at me with unbelieving and untrusting eyes as if she was saying "That's what all the therapists say." I did not respond.

         After that incident every time I met with her, I found her a little less angry.

         Then one day I entered my office and saw a picture of a bird on the blackboard in my office; I used that blackboard for the education of my patients and their families. I recognized the bird right away. It looked exactly like Natalie's friend. I knew it was her present to me.

         In the next interview I thanked Natalie for her present. Without saying a word she put her cushion on the floor and sat down, leaning against the wall. She looked relaxed for the first time. I felt as if we were approaching a breakthrough.

         After a few minutes I could not resist and so I asked her "Natalie, I feel as if you don't hate me anymore?"

         She agreed.

         "And your attitude has changed."

         She agreed again.

         "What made that change?" I was curious.

         She gave me a brief response. "Your pictures."

         I was puzzled. "My pictures?"

         "I have been looking at the pictures hanging on the walls. I think that if you took pictures of the lake, the birds and animals with so much affection, then you can't be such a bad person after all."

         And then she smiled for the first time. It was the smile that every therapist waits for, a smile that is the first turn towards healthy relationships and destinations.

         After Natalie left my office that day, I kept thinking about the pictures hanging on the walls, the way I am today.