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Immerse Yourself

With International Forest Bathing Day falling on 12 September, I thought I would explore this intriguing idea, which for many people has become a way to improve wellbeing.

The expression “forest bathing” is memorable and striking, but could also be confusing. Not only is there no need to get wet, but you don’t even have to be in a forest. The expression is used to cover different ways of connecting with nature and the outdoors. Thinking about bathing, I think of words like cleansing, immersive and soaking. So maybe this is an opportunity to feel your mind “cleansed” as you “immerse” yourself in the natural world, and “soak in” the sights and sounds of a forest, a field or a single city tree. Unlike a shower, where the focus is on speed, bathing is more about slowing down and going deeper, absorbing: as is forest bathing as a form of nature connection.

And why forest bathing? Forests do have a particular place in popular imagination. They are hushed, places of stillness, a world of their own. They enfold you in their shade. So again there’s the idea of an immersive experience of nature – but as we know, that’s in no way limited to forests themselves. I used to walk regularly in a wood. There was a hush, a feeling of being enclosed, away from the open fields which surrounded the wood. Walking there regularly I got to see it in all different moods and times of year. But now that I live nowhere near a wood or forest, I still immerse myself in nature all the time.

Founded two years ago, the Forest Bathing Institute is working to develop forest bathing in the UK: running forest bathing gatherings at places like Leith Hill, Kew Gardens and the RSPB Sandy reserve, and training people to become forest bathing guides themselves. Another important aspect of their work is cooperating with six UK universities on research into the impact of forest bathing. Lived experience and testimonials can be powerful, but assessment, monitoring of measurable impacts, is needed if forest bathing is to gain the recognition and funds it deserves. To this end, the UK’s first peer-reviewed research paper into forest bathing’s health benefits has recently been published. It reveals clear impacts on mood, emotions and also heart rate.

And forest bathing is growing rapidly. Organisations like the National Trust & Forestry England promote and explore forest bathing. Many Forest School programmes in different locations draw on forest bathing. With forest bathing videos on You Tube, you don’t even have to be in nature – instead you can try immersing yourself in the natural world from your desk or chair.

The more forest bathing grows and the more research is done, the more questions will be answered. I wonder if people who live in urban areas benefit most from forest bathing, as a welcome contrast to their everyday? I wonder if forest and woodland will be proven to have a stronger impact than other natural settings?

Thinking of forest bathing reminded me of the Whipsnade Tree Cathedral in Bedfordshire: trees planted to form the shape of a built Christian cathedral. As in a built cathedral, this becomes a reflective, contemplative space, somewhere to think what matters.

Do you have any experiences of forest bathing to share, or thoughts or questions? It would be great if you’d like to share in Medley’s Facebook group Thank you https://www.facebook.com/groups/359291215486002

Best Practice

Picture a person searching for well-being support. Maybe they are lonely or at a loose end, bereaved or new in an area or in a country. Maybe they’re ill, anxious or depressed. Imagine this person hears about different well-being support where they are, maybe through a social prescriber. Picture them turning up at a drop in at well-being cafe on the one hand and a scheduled support group on the other. Or imagine they go to a regular group and also to a one off event. How will the experiences differ? Which will prove more helpful, more intimidating, more relaxing, more supportive?

Photo by Daniel & Hannah Snipes on Pexels.com

Over the last few weeks I have led art and craft for well-being for some different groups. One was a drop in session. One was a one off scheduled group workshop. The others were regular, ongoing scheduled groups. Reflecting on the events afterwards, I started comparing these different models.

Imagining someone turning up for the first time at a drop in session, I can see it could feel more informal and relaxed. Someone who struggles with commitment or feels unsure about going along at all may well prefer a drop in. It’s flexible so they can suit themselves in how long they stay. There’s no pressure to do anything in particular, so they could just go along to sit for a while, have a coffee or do some arts and craft or play cards only if they want to do so. There’s a freedom and spontaneity about it, but that very informality may not work for everyone. Drop ins can be very hands off. I can imagine that if someone comes along hoping for company and to get to know new people, this might not happen. People come and go at different times and some just end up sitting on their own support worker, support worker, or in a little huddle with others. There can be a lot less interaction.

From an art for well-being perspective, drop ins can be very bespoke and flexible. I set out a variety of ideas so people had a choice. There’s also more likely to be a one to one approach – one lady wanted me to demonstrate a particular craft activity step by step, just for her.

Then picture a person going along to a scheduled group. They might feel nervous or trapped, knowing the group lasts a set amount of time, maybe feeling they’ll be expected to talk and contribute, or to take part in a specific activity which they may not like. This could reduce engagement and attendance, but they may find this more structured model more cohesive, helpful, and motivating. They’re more likely to get to know other attendees and build connections. And from an art for well-being perspective, a scheduled group makes creativity far more of a shared activity, as people all go about an idea at one time, interpreting it in different ways, and then get to see at the end what others have made or produced, laughing over mistakes and challenges along the way, and seeing what media or materials others use, all enriches the experience. Then again, the very idea of show and tell might see the person head for the door.

And how do one off workshops compare with regular, ongoing groups? A one-off workshop will most likely be focused on a specific issue, like an art workshop for an illness support charity, or a session on welfare support or on living aids. For someone who’s interested to learn more on that specific issue, a one-off workshop may be the most beneficial. Or for someone wary of commitment, a one-off can be a chance to trial a group with no pressure to return. But if the event introduces an activity that people might like to continue, like art or drama, then it needs to signpost how they can pursue the activity.

Regular, ongoing groups become part of someone’s routine, a goal in the week or month, a little community which can be warm and supportive and form bonds. But someone might find them too regular, feel pressure never to miss a session, or find them limiting. In sharing art for well-being, ongoing groups enable people to experiment with a wide variety of themes and styles over time. Even sometimes to cooperate on a group production, such as a mural or wall hanging.

Imagine that person searching for support. If these different models all exist locally or online, then which the person finds most positive may depend mostly on their personality or on other commitments and issues. Unpredictable health might make it difficult for them to commit to a weekly group, for example. How important it is then that well-being support is as varied as possible. And just this week, the NHS has announced plans to open drop in community mental health hubs in public places like libraries and banks, to make mental health care more accessible, another example of the drop in model.

Out In The Sticks

Well-being hubs and community initiatives abound. Research constantly proves that feeling connected and spending time with other people are overwhelmingly positive for well-being and for overall health. But so many well-being hubs and community centres can be found only in towns and cities. Is rural isolation still falling through the gaps? Are villages being left behind? And this leads on to another question. Which is genuinely better for well-being, living in the countryside or in the city?

One irony is that living in the countryside and spending time in nature are known to be highly beneficial for well-being. Whether it’s forest bathing, country walks, a slower pace of life or while swimming, nature connection is promoted as calming and grounding, reducing stress hormones and blood pressure and slowing heart rate.

But is this enough to balance out the negatives? Is it even possible that nature’s well-being benefits have less impact on country dwellers? It’s all too easy to take for granted quietness, clearer air, scenic views, and dark night skies when you experience them all the time. It may well be that when city or town dwellers experience nature on a day out, it’s the contrast which enhances the impact. Calm is more likely to descend when you wander through a wood or even sit in a town park, if sirens and traffic are a more familiar soundscape for you.

Villagers have always been seen as strong and supportive communities, although this fuels negative views of villages as insular or intrusive as well. Community spirit still thrives in many villages and has only grown in some as villagers cooperate to run community owned shops or pubs. But even many villages have become less cohesive and little more than dormitories.

With relentless urbanization. An ever larger majority of people in the UK and many other countries live in towns and cities. Yes, towns and cities have many problems and are seeing real changes to high streets. But changes to how people live and shop have a disproportionate impact on rural communities where facilities were more limited to start with. When a village shop or pub closes, there won’t be another one to switch to. Villages of all sizes have seen their pool of amenities shrink over the past 20 or 30 years in particular.

And rural communities can never hope to match urban amenities. Take the boom in community well-being hubs across the UK, whether they’re warm spaces in winter, night light cafes for people struggling with their mental health, or drop in well-being cafes at different times of day, some with activities like arts and crafts or games to play, some attached to food banks. Many churches are running well-being hubs as well as other community venues. I recently attended one city well-being cafe to share art activities. It was a welcoming and relaxed space with people coming and going, sitting down for a coffee or something to eat or to play cards or do some crafting. It’s open 4 mornings a week, something no village is likely to have. Most towns and cities will now have a choice of well-being hubs, whether occasional, daily or weekly. Many are funded by a range of grants supported by trusts and foundations, businesses or in partnership with the NHS. And yes, some villages too have well-being hubs or events, but many have nothing like this, particularly smaller and more rural villages. There’s also an irony about the many walking for well-being groups which are particularly successful. They’re obviously all about getting outdoors and connecting with nature for mental health, but they’re also inaccessible to many country dwellers.

Many people who live in towns and cities either imagine the countryside to be a rural idyll, like being on a holiday all year round, or wonder how on earth you can manage without a shop or gym round the corner. Like most life choices, the reality is more complicated. As well-being and mental health initiatives continue to grow. Rural communities must not be sidelined. There are charities and organizations addressing rural isolation, like ACRE and campaigns on farming and mental health. But at present there are still real gaps in provision. There’s also real scope for more to be done, an area to prioritise in this crowded sector.

Recipe For Success?

Is there a recipe for what most helps wellbeing in a group setting? Is it ever possible to generalise about something so personal & individual? As I’ve led and facilitated a few different kinds of wellbeing groups lately, they’ve set me wondering about this once more. Is there a golden rule for the ideal group, a magic ingredient? Or maybe the sheer variety and diversity of groups & initiatives that exist now is that magic ingredient: strength in difference. In running a wellbeing group, then, should you take 500 g company and 50 ml creativity, or equal amounts of activity & chat, or maybe company is the only ingredient you need?

As an art for wellbeing practitioner, sharing creative activities is obviously my priority, and there’s no doubt that it adds another layer to a group. Coming together to share not only time but also an activity. Seeing how others interpret the idea or theme and what they produce. Agreeing that you all like a certain medium or think pastels impossible, or getting ideas for new styles to use. Showing what you draw or paint or craft (motivating for some, scary for others). Sharing a creative activity shifts the focus of a group, so that at its centre is creativity, which is something very active, productive, positive, colourful, tangible and sensory. Of course conversation during the group will never be limited to arts and crafts. But even while we talk about everything under the sun, the session still has that central focus which enriches and enhances.

Exercise, dance and walking groups for wellbeing have a lot in common with creative groups – uniting participants on common ground, that extra layer of activity to enjoy together (although exercise groups may have less time or spare energy to chat). Singing groups, choirs and drama groups too come together around an activity to form community, cooperating as a team to produce a shared performance.

And then there are the vast majority of wellbeing groups, where the main element is company and conversation. Yes, it may well be the company that draws most participants to the other groups as well, with the painting, knitting, walking or singing simply an add-on! But whether or not they are the main attraction, these activities can still have their impact. In wellbeing groups that focus on chatting, there’s no other layer. Groups will vary at the grassroots just like any gathering. Some will have a shared link, like a group for people with a particular illness or disability. Making that shared experience the main theme of conversation can be the most beneficial way – a chance to learn how others manage symptoms, or to let off steam with others who understand. Wellbeing now prioritises peer support more and more, and it can be empowering as well as supportive & caring. Empowering, turning the tables, so people know they are helping each other, so they’re not always or only the ones being helped. On the other hand, the shared “elephant in the room” may be only rarely mentioned, as members prefer to set it to one side. And I know some people steer clear of support groups for fear of hearing horror stories and getting depressed.

Maybe it is that difference that can be all-important. If group members concentrate on little else, or have other company in their lives but want to attend a group to connect with others on this shared issue, then a chat and support group may be best. If they are weary of that issue overshadowing their day to day lives however, so that they long for a different but still caring space, then an activity group may feel more positive. And this also mirrors the differences within art for wellbeing itself: using art as an expressive tool, focusing on thoughts and feelings, or as an escape or haven, focusing on anything in life in general.

No one recipe then, but an entire cookbook. No magic ingredient, but a whole cupboard.

In Performance

A group of women wearing flowing red from head to toe stand and strike dramatic poses in a silent tableau. Or they form a procession. Every change of facial expression can be clearly seen as they wear mask-like white foundation make-up. In their headdresses, long robes, gloves and shoes, all scarlet red, they are an unforgettable and unsettling sight. Who are they, you might well ask, and what are they doing? Is this some kind of show, performance or spectacle? Yes and no. I would say it’s where performance art meets activism. The Red Rebels were founded seven years ago to witness to the climate and ecological emergency. Powerful performance is their chosen tool as they call (silently) on governments & individuals to act before it is too late. They attend a variety of events where they express themselves through mime or pose, and through colour. After all, red is a colour of power, drama, a colour that demands attention – although chosen by the Red Rebels to represent lifeblood.

As someone who spends a lot of time focusing on the visual, the Red Rebels’ chosen mode of activism strikes a chord with me. The performance itself would be an impressive spectacle, but here it becomes something far more important as it calls for change. Refusing to give up, turning to imaginative ways of getting through to audiences and breaking down barriers that may be about indifference or ignorance or despair.

When art becomes activism, not only can it be a powerful tool to engage audiences and spark conversation & action (all the more now that content depends on innovative visuals to drive engagement online). Not only can it cast fresh light on issues that may lose their urgency or impact over time as change seems only to recede. But it can also help individual wellbeing in the face of worsening news stories. So many people now, of all ages, are experiencing eco grief and climate anxiety as they feel disempowered and lose hope. Creative activism can become a way to reclaim hope, to assert yourself and to participate and act. Maybe all the more if you are not drawn by marching and NVDA. Grief and anxiety alike feed on inactivity & helplessness. But where human individual bereavement is absolute and specific, in eco grief there remains a chance for action. So much has been and is being lost, but not all, not yet. Eco grief can have more in common with anticipatory grief, yet here again, it is different, with its glimmers of turning things round. Performance art and other creative activism enables us to play a part in that turning.

The Red Rebels remind me of public performance art I’ve heard about in different settings and places and about diverse issues. I’ve seen images of a performance in Los Angeles in 1977, In Mourning And In Rage, when a group of women covered themselves entirely in black (with coffin-shaped headdresses) to condemn violence against women. Giving a campaign an unforgettable visual identity. And it doesn’t have to be all about performance. Yesterday I saw images of artwork by Ruth Urbanowicz, artist and activist with Christian Climate Action, entitled Ecological Stations of the Cross.

And arts, culture and creativity intersect with the climate movement in another way too – the controversies that still swirl around fossil fuel companies sponsoring arts venues and companies. Culture Unstained is one organisation campaigning for museums, galleries, theatre and ballet companies to break free of these connections. Their work mirrors the long-running campaign in the USA to halt arts funding by pharmaceutical companies held responsible for the opioid epidemic.

Performance, activism, imagination and hope.

Make A Mark

In its essence, art is all about the moment the pencil, pen or brush makes contact with the paper or canvas, and what happens there. Paul Klee famously compared art to taking a line for a walk. Is that what matters most? Is it art’s main purpose, creating any line at all (or pattern or image) where before there was only space? Is it even important what that line, pattern or image looks like, or not?

The Big Draw, a wonderful organisation that promotes and shares the power of art and creativity, has a different theme each year for its Festival, and this year’s theme is Make A Mark. It’s a chance to focus on creating as an activity in itself, and it encourages people, groups and schools to hold events that encourage experimenting, playing around with art, thinking about different styles and creating without limits. I’m running a Zoom workshop on Saturday 11 April called Make A Mark – a relaxing time to draw in different, unexpected ways (https://www.thebigdraw.org/events/make-a-mark-zoom-workshop ) It’s a theme I probably wouldn’t have thought to choose for a workshop, but The Big Draw Festival theme set me thinking! I do enjoy experimenting more as I share art for wellbeing with others, discovering how fun and absorbing it can be to let go and forget about being exact or predictable.

Experimenting can stand alone. Or it can be particularly helpful where people are hesitant or wary, where they may not have confidence in their own ability or are simply not used to doing anything creative. Where the very word “drawing” can make some people panic, mark-making and experimenting with different approaches can be more positive and attractive. Sometimes it can be a “way in” to art. Occasionally I’ve used quick experimental ideas as a warm-up exercise at the start of a group. But sometimes it’s also something experienced artists turn to for a change or to rediscover their joy in art. Or it may form the foundation of their practice.

After all, it’s clear how it was this very focus on the experimental, casting off rules and traditions, that ran like a thread through major 19th and 20th century art movements, and runs on today. Unlikely colours, paintings that sum up an atmosphere rather than recreating an exact scene, brushwork that becomes a subject all its own, imaginative ways of using line and motif to create something that feels totally new, the product of one person’s imagination. To some people, doing that feels far more creative than using art to reproduce or recreate what we see around us. I like a balance – and I know some people who find experimental art too confusing or unsettling.

To me, one of art’s greatest gifts is the way it opens up a way to respond to the sheer variety of life, the myriad colours, forms and experiences. It becomes a way to contribute as a participant, not an onlooker – to make your mark, however perfect or imperfect, something that is your very own.

Each And Every

As someone who draws or paints most days and works as a visual art for wellbeing practitioner, I would never have thought that writing would suddenly prove more helpful than visual art as an expressive outlet. But this is what I’ve found as I endure bereavement, as I explored recently (https://medley.live/2026/01/22/lost-for-words) Now I’m reflecting on the importance of variety, and of the new.

Can visual art be more, or as, powerful when it stands alone? Or might it always be stronger as one form of creative expression among others? Is the richness of combining different artforms the best way to use the arts for wellbeing? Is it misguided to limit ourselves to any one artform and assume that it will always serve us best?

As I find it helpful to balance writing with drawing as I journal, I’m also wondering whether I (and others) would find it even more helpful to experiment with other artforms too. Maybe to improvise music to express how I or they feel, or to act out a sketch, to dance or mime. Each of these artforms might prove useful or instinctive at a particular time, or combining them all might help someone explore and express feelings in diverse ways. Just think of the many different thoughts and feelings that crowd our minds at any one moment. Different artforms might draw out different feelings and so be more beneficial.

Or maybe writing has helped me more because it is so new. While obviously I use words all the time, I’ve never before written to express how I feel.

Using visual images can be a language of its own. That might be by producing your own images, a creative and active contribution, or by gaining a glimpse of how others see the world as you look at their artwork. In journalling, illustrations can sum up a thought or a feeling & explore symbol or metaphor, making the vague more specific. Yet I find myself writing words on symbolic pictures, as if I feel image is not enough here. I want to make the symbol more obvious, explain what it’s about, even though I know that image can stand alone, can have more to say than words, can engage more widely. Words can be too personal, too individual, whereas an image can allow the viewer more freedom to interpret what they see however they wish. Maybe other artforms could balance other needs. Where thoughts feel too complex to express in words or images, maybe movement could dig deeper, in dance. Or if you struggle with apathy as whatever you are experiencing saps your motivation, other artforms might feel like less of a mountain to climb.

Varied artforms will also be more likely to fit the different thinking patterns we all have, visual, auditory or kinaesthetic. For example, a person with kinaesthetic thinking patterns might respond more to tactile visual art like modelling or ceramics, or to dance. Each may overlap, dance combining sound and movement, or drama combining sight, sound and touch.

Maybe my discovery of writing has less to say about the arts and more about just how unpredictable are human reactions. Either way, it’s making me wonder how I might experiment with different artforms, in my own life and my practice. Creativity is all about the wonder and variety of life. Maybe, the more varied creativity itself becomes, the more it can reflect that wonder.

Becoming

Gone are the days when children were supposed to be “seen and not heard”. But there are still many expectations and assumptions about childhood. Very different ones now. Children are supposed to be cheeky, playful, fun-loving, even naughty. Quieter, more unsure, polite or serious children are thought to have issues. There are also many uncertainties and conflicting opinions around children’s mental health, the soaring level of children being diagnosed as having SEN, school absenteeism, exams & assessments, and children’s own sense of identity. Parenting is under constant scrutiny, whether young children starting school not toilet-trained, or the endless debate over smartphones and social media use. Then there ate other pressures – around 1 million children in the UK are believed to be young carers.

Reflecting on all the many issues overshadowing childhood and adolescence has encouraged me to prepare a short course aimed at anyone who works with or cares for children and/or teenagers. “Becoming Creative: Sharing visual arts for wellbeing with children and young people” is a flexible course to use in your own time at home, setting out some of the different ways art can boost mental health and wellbeing in the young, and suggesting activity ideas on a range of themes – https://medley.live/children

Why should visual art and creativity have a contribution to make here? I see all the time how they can contribute to wellbeing in many different situations, so why not in youth…They can restore some kind of balance, allowing a child or teenager to rediscover some spontaneity and adventure in the everyday. They’re practical activities that can help reduce screentime. They’re active, productive and varied, and so provide an outlet and expressive voice. And at a time when arts education is under particular and constant threat as budgets get ever more squeezed, sharing arts and crafts with children in any setting at all is more important than ever – whether that’s in therapy, youth clubs, playschemes, care settings or at home.

There are 5 words I use a lot in my work to highlight the different ways visual art can boost wellbeing for anyone, and each fits wellbeing in the young just as well. They are: root, ground, express, absorb and connect. Art can root children in life – instilling a feeling of belonging, helping them explore and respond to a world they are still discovering. Art can ground children, literally creating a space where they can try to slow down and be in the moment, however briefly. Art can help them express how they feel, whether though colour and symbol or through words as well, in ways appropriate for different ages. Art can absorb children, helping build concentration, little by little. And art can connect children – with their peers as they share an activity that can and should be all about fun, not ability, and with adults, as they make cards or gifts to share or take part in community projects, like with care home residents, helping break down generation gaps.

Childhood can be a time of dependency, which many find frustrating or difficult. Creativity empowers children to put their own stamp on their lives and to experiment, hopefully away from set structures or expectations.

Lost For Words

Creativity and art are central to my life, and as I share art for wellbeing with others, I see at first hand the impact it can have. Sometimes I share my own lived experience, how art helps me navigate issues and gives me a sense of purpose and connection. But now I’m navigating a very new and very personal issue.

Photo by Jessica Lewis ud83eudd8b thepaintedsquare on Pexels.com

For now I’ve found myself overwhelmed by loss. My lovely mum passed away suddenly a month ago. Although her health and mobility had been declining for several years with Parkinson’s, her passing was unexpected, as she developed sepsis, and treatment came too late. Bereavement has so far felt different than I’d ever imagined – more unreal, more crushing, more physical, more about regrets over missed chances to get more help sooner. And now, as time moves on, about absence. That’s so far, on this journey of a million miles.

Things I thought gave my life joy pale into insignificance. But it’s also reminded me what matters most, what life is really all about. Faith and hope we all need, and it’s all too easy to let faith become overshadowed by the day to day.

At first, writing alone proved my most helpful creative outlet. Writing and journaling about feelings is something I’ve never felt drawn to do before, but with a pen and a notebook, my thoughts could get out of my head and down in black and white. They don’t become any less painful or unbearable, but writing allows me to unravel them for a while, make some sense of them and record how they change. I might be writing down memories or regrets, or noting something practical I’ve learned about Parkinsons or sepsis, or remembering the order of events to rationalise hpw and why it all went so wrong. Or I might be noting kind tributes and comments about Mum, or ideas for new things to do now.

Sometimes, yes, I need to close the notebook and do something totally different. But I struggled to concentrate for long – at first – on anything other than what had happened, so the writing became a way to dwell in that space and to explore more actively than by thinking alone. Even simply forming the letters with my pen was something active to focus on.

Writing makes the intangible blur of thoughts tangible as they take shape on the page. It’s slowing down now as the days go on, but for a time it was something I turned to a lot. And now it’s something I can turn back to, a record to re-read.

Gradually, it’s become journaling, as image and creativity have started to creep in. I use some word art – writing words in different sizes or styles. It can highlight what certain words express – like writing thoughts to form circles or spirals, turning the paper as you write, to represent how thoughts go round and round your head. Or writing some thoughts in graffiti style, large and shaded, and others in minuscule lettering to show how you’d like to hide them away. And now I’ve illustrated two or three of the pages as well, with symbols.

In the rawness of loss, writing and creating has enabled me to vent, to express, to explore. It’s become an emotive and personal record of what it is for me to lose someone so dearly loved. And so I will write on.

Down Memory Lane

Memory – a word that packs a powerful punch. Nostalgic, bittersweet, or simply happy and unclouded, or painful, or dark, or everyday, or even drifting out of your grasp. Memory can desert us after all.

Memory can become as fragile as a dandelion “clock” – one gust of wind and the seeds float away and scatter on the air, with little left behind.

And not all memories will be welcome. Letting them go can be a blessing, like lifting a weight or a shadow. Even if you can’t or don’t forget, the rawness may lessen, the memory blur around the edges. Years ago I read a Laura Riding poem about the “thistlepath” of memory that summed this up so well, but I have never yet found it again. And sometimes the memory remains as strong and as stinging as ever.

Other memories root us in life. Remembering good times can be reassuring, consoling or just fun, something to laugh about or raising a smile. Yesterday I found the first artwork I remember creating, a colouring of Santa for a children’s competition. My 4-year old self used every colour crayon I could find, obviously not knowing that Santa is supposed to be red and white.

Each month through this special year as UK City of Culture, Bradford 2025’s organisers have suggested a different drawing theme. An art for wellbeing group which I lead (based around Bradford) has experimented with each idea in turn, and for December the final suggestion came from artist Phoebe Boswell, and it’s all about drawing memories.

How might drawing memories be a helpful thing to do? Wondering what to draw for the Bradford 2025 challenge was interesting, making me reflect what truly stands out as I look back, what I would consider my happiest memories or the moments I’m most glad happened, and what negative memories I feel I need to remmember and which I’d rather let go. The little everyday things can get overshadowed, and yet they make up the fabric of our lives, and can be more enjoyable in the moment than some of the highlights.

So getting creative about memory can help reassess priorities, see what matters to us most. It can celebrate, allow us to feel that moment or period of our lives over again. You might draw your first memory, or a song, a show or a tou you remember from childhood. Or you might prefer to dwell on a more recent memory, maybe looking back over this year as 2026 nears. Many of us like to preserve memories by writing a daily diary or journal, and taking photos or video. Drawing’s another way to hold on to memories and record maybe too how they make you feel. Or if it’s something you want to forget, you could draw the memory quickly, then tear the paper up, or cover the image with paint or scrawl. Maybe a concrete way to cast it aside, even if only in that moment.

Reminiscence therapy is another way that memory can be celebrated and shared, even revived. It’s being used more and more, with photos, household items, music and conversation as a stimulus to spark a memory and exercise the brain, as in early-stage dementia. Art and creativity can be used within reminiscence therapy, making collage or scrapbooking on a theme as you talk for example.

There are so many different ways to use art and creativity for wellbeing. Maybe drawing memories would help. Or maybe you prefer to live in the here and now, or look ahead. Draw something that enriches the here and now instead.

Confidence And Community

Hold a pen or pencil in your hand and draw a line on a sheet of paper. A simple act. How do you feel? Excited, wondering what image you might go on to create? Bored? Daunted? Is it full of possibility? Many more of us all the time are experimenting with art and with the arts in general, to see how they may boost our wellbeing. But even as creative health has become so mainstream, there are still many barriers to participation, all kinds of barriers that may stand in the way.

What about the “four Cs” for a start? Confidence is a major barrier, because so many people doubt their artistic ability. They may feel happy crafting or colouring, but shy away from drawing in particular. Sometimes in the end they enjoy experimenting and laughing off their own fears, but sometimes it can be more serious. There’s imposter syndrome, where a person feels out of place, as if they’re not entitled to be there or do that, or don’t deserve to. Such low self esteem can be deep rooted, sometimes in negative comments by a school teacher or other adult during their younger years, sometimes down to more generalised anxiety or identity issues. And even if a little renewed confidence starts to emerge, staying motivated is more unlikely if art feels like an uphill struggle.

And that leads on to the second C, Commitment. Someone might start out motivated, but be unable to sustain that over time as they lose interest or the initial buzz wears off. Other practical time commitments can also prevent participation, whether work, caring commitments or hospital appointments. Or a person may be too ill to attend or take part and so drift away.

Then there’s Concentration. People may have short attention spans, or have trouble focusing because of pain, anxiety or depression. ADHD can further hinder concentration, as the brain races ahead and boredom soon sets in.

And there’s Convenience. Online groups raise issues of digital literacy and exclusion, and ironically it’s people who could most benefit from home-based activities, like older people who have trouble getting out, who are most likely to be digitally excluded. In-person groups may not be possible for them, or for people of any age who are ill, disabled or have no transport.

As an art for wellbeing practitioner, I’ve encountered all these issues and more – shared by participants, or, importantly, by those who do not participate, as problems that hold them back. Overcoming these and making arts for wellbeing as inclusive, positive and equal as possible is fundamental. It’s one element that is at the heart of the Creative Health Quality Framework, and of other initiatives, like emerging work by the National Centre for Creative Health.

To be truly inclusive, any activity needs to be flexible and open, and responsive to the individual. Making group activities inclusive is a challenge where members’ wants and needs differ, although I’ve found that it can be helpful sometimes to suggest a wider theme rather than a specific idea. Have examples to show anyone who prefers to follow a lead, but leave the overall prompt flexible so that people can take it in whatever direction they choose. You could suggest a figurative art activity and also a more experimental, abstract idea on the theme, for those who have more confidence with abstract art. Sometimes I suggest two ideas on one theme, one art, one craft, so participants can do whichever they choose. Yes, craft is usually more inclusive for those who are wary of drawing, but demands more material and equipment (an issue for online groups, where materials won’t be provided). And it’s more likely to exclude men, as craft still has more of a traditional gender bias than art. Even with art, gender still seems to be another barrier to participation, with men considerably under-represented. The ratio of participants in my most recent art for wellbeing challenge was 59 women to 1 man.

There’s a fifth “C” I want to include, which also shows how what feels like a barrier to some is the very opposite to others. It’s Community. Taking part in arts for wellbeing isn’t only about creativity, it’s about connecting in community too. And for someone with social anxiety or phobias, that can be a real issue. Yet I’ve heard fellow practitioners say they know many participants come more for the chat over tea and cake than for the painting or the singing. That’s not to say they don’t enjoy the activities, more that connection is such a powerful motivator to encourage them through the door in the first place.

Do you have any thoughts to share about what makes creative health inclusive or exclusive?