You might remember our friend Wim from funny and irreverent articles about rats with peeing disorders, black kids getting harassed by the French police, and the secrets of ER. For reasons explained in Cunts by Nuts, for Nuts, Wim has been going to therapy for about a year now, the kind where you make pictures and sculptures to deal with emotional crisis and express things that you have a hard time formulating with words. Or something, we’re not sure. Wim’s the expert on this actually, so take it away, Wim.
Due to the lack of improvement in my psychological health while undergoing behavioral therapy, my parents decided to send me to art therapy class instead. Whether this is a consequence of me behaving like an ass or them simply bringing out the worst in me is unclear though.
I go to art class once a week along with some other people: mostly odd, elderly ladies and role-players. I’m constantly shit-scared of having panic attacks in front of them, but I’m trying really hard to still purge stuff out while I’m there. Here’s some of my work.
I went to my first class today. The teacher made us sit in a circle together. At first I got scared that I was gong to puke on the floor listening to all the new age talk, but I didn't. When it was time to paint I only took black and white paint because I didn't want to stand in line for the others.
Still don't want to stand in line.
I'm obviously a closet-case semi-racist.
Today's therapy class started out with a five minute drawing session. The main task this evening was to make a “triptych” – a work of art divided into three sections. However, our teacher played granny porno music so loud, I missed out on some information, hence, the result of my efforts looks more like an envelope than the altar painting our teacher had in mind.
This is the little crust of a product I gave rise to. I intended to draw in black but since there were no dark crayons around I chose a red one.
Imagine eternally watching boring TV shows with the most unpleasant people you know and without weed. Imagine that and you might get a slight idea of how today’s fucking shit piece of art tutorial session felt like.
We were supposed to paint “elements” like earth, wind, and fire and that kind of shit, for fucking four hours! I was totally cracking up after one and left the building. A couple of days later my pictures (see below) got sent to me by mail! Fuck, what do those nuts at Affective Centre think? That those shit stains of paintings are somehow essential for my well-being?? Fuck that.
Anyways, my brother laughed so hard when he saw them that maybe it was worth it. He thinks they’re the ugliest pieces of poo-poo art he ever saw. We agreed on them looking like something you could get hold of on a charity flee market. I feel like a dummy at the moment.
I don’t think my mental health is improving. I’m still cutting classes in school and having a hard time concentrating. For some reason though, I’m at rest with attending this weird art group (even though my teacher sucks). Haven’t missed out on a single session. I’ve absolutely no clue why I’m not quitting out on art class like I do with everything else.
Yesterday we made sculptures. The idea was to construct an object we’d seen in a dream. I made these pretty swell pieces of poop.