Tag Archives: art journal

What does depression look like ?

I was diagnosed with depression at the age of 18 and this is what I experience when I’m having an episode. The first signs are usually my decreased appetite and tendency to oversleep. My triggers are stress-related and lately it has been the transitional period of life I’m in right now where things are all up in the air.

The experience of having a depressive episode is something I have found people often misunderstand and drawing this was extremely cathartic.

We are enough.


We swallowed the pangs of that knotted feeling,

the aubergine of doubt tainting our dreams.

It tasted sickly, like a cherry-flavoured expectorant

yet bitter like cold and flu pills

when they rested upon your tongue for much too long a time.

We were ill with discontent, ridden with the symptoms of

an unfortunate case of inadequacy.

A chronic condition of constantly qualifying, quantifying …

until we realized we were calculating infinite,

which, of course, is a crushing epiphany.

But once it passed, we felt it.


We are enough.



Paneer Tikka

In the effort to become a self sufficient adult who knows how to feed herself, I’ve started learning how to cook this summer and I have to say it’s a lot more fun than I thought it would be. Maybe just as good as eating the food.

Recently I learned how to make one of my favourite snacks, paneer tikka and was pleased that it turned out well (high five to self) 🙂



Art Journal- The Red String of Fate

There are many types of love that exist in the world and I love that the red string of fate, an east Asian belief, encompasses them all. While, typically, romantic love is the most over rated leaving platonic severely under appreciated, the red string of fate can just as easily apply to soul mates, good friends or even crucial acquaintances. This legend also represents the elasticity of the bond between people, tangling but never breaking. It’s enthralled me since I came across it.



Art Journal- Lyrical Lulls (Part 1)

Don’t you love those moments when you’re listening to a song and a certain lyric just sings out at you?

Art journalling is such a mindful and expressive process but the wonderful part is when you open a blank page and have an idea about what you want to paint but along the way, it turns into something else entirely, the synapses firing as watercolours drip and merge. I’d begun with the idea of painting the entire page but the way it shaped was far better by adding a lyric to a song I was listening to. This was my most in-the-moment art journal page.


Swallows, some tea and burnt edges gave me this…


IMG_0500 IMG_0501


Art Journal- A Statistical Semester

In school, mathematics was a nightmare of a subject for me, with the paranoia of miscalculation and scribbling away in rough columns incessantly. Not that I was terrible at it, but it felt terrible. I suppose I can chalk that up to my terrifying and mean math teachers. Who asks sixth grade kids to calculate their answer up to three digits anyway, right?

I never thought math would inspire me but statistics has changed my mind. Cutting out a few sheets of old notes and letting some free writing rein turned into a full two pages in the old art journal and it’s like mixing something I love with something I’m not too fond of.


In case the writing isn’t too clear, the free verse writing goes like this…

I did the math and I don’t count

Asymptotic is the curve and I lie within that unknown, incalculable area.

If outliers are not served by mean, median and mode, what good is it, you tell me?

For average is not an achievement but is represented for all its worth nonetheless.

I’m a standard deviate.

My values 0,1,2,25,61,72 cannot be roofed below a meager root

…cannot be reduced to a decimal approximation.

Because how can you count all the way up till infinity?

You can’t.

So I’m just a misrepresented out-of the box curve statistic

And that’s all right with me.

Your calculations never ceased to bore me anyway.

Keep counting away. Keep notching the tally.

I won’t be there.