Words

Writing

Two essays. On travel and the discipline of presence. And on the cathartic act of making work about the things that hurt.

Essay

The art of being in the moment; time away from the canvas

I've just returned from a holiday in Crete, Greece. I sketched just one day out of seven while I was there. Why?

Because sometimes it just feels good to soak up all of the foreign smells, the beautiful scenery, feel the warm sunshine on your skin, to let your senses dance to all the different tunes, and to really be in the moment.

When I create artwork, I genuinely feel a huge disconnect to everything else around me and a delicious connection with what I'm working on in that moment. There's something quite surreal — a bit like when you're driving, and you realise you've driven ten miles and become aware that those miles felt like a dream, as though you weren't driving at all.

Dionne Williams sketching in Crete

When I travel to other countries, I'm so stimulated by everything I see, hear, smell, taste and touch, that to 'lose' myself in a sketchbook almost feels like I'm removing myself from a big sensual party. Don't get me wrong — I have a huge romantic idea of filling hundreds of sketchbooks with doodles, picture snapshot memories, collages, pressed flowers, poetry, thoughts, ramblings. But I don't. Maybe I should learn to sketch mega fast? What would it hurt to allow myself ten minutes to quick-sketch something that has captured my interest?

Travelling and art are two of my biggest passions (though I have many more). So it seems logical to marry the two up and create a huge passionate travelling creative love affair. Who knows what will emerge.

Essay

Addressing mental health through art; the face behind the mask

I'm giving myself permission to heal any internal traumas. A cathartic outpouring of emotion — shared openly through artistic practice.

How can someone as bright, happy and bubbly as you are, Dee, create such dark and scary artwork?

This is a question that pops up quite regularly. Perception and what we perceive is our own individual creation. How we present ourselves to the world is forged from our own construction — arguably based on our innate need to fit in, be accepted, be part of a bigger community.

We learn quite quickly that to fit in means putting on a brave and happy face. Nobody wants or needs to see actual pain, suffering, angst or sadness — apparently we've realised these feelings make people uncomfortable. So we hide them, bury them, push them to one side. Anything to avoid actually confronting real, raw, painful emotions. Why? Because it hurts.

Some of us have become so adept at wearing masks that we've learned to hide all that real, raw, and sometimes messy stuff. In my own experience, spending a lot of energy trying to mask my inner turmoil only serves to delay growth and avoids a really vital healing opportunity.

By allowing my subconscious to flow out using the tools and materials I use to create portraits, I'm giving myself permission to heal. In doing this, I've seen other people open up their own wounds and share their painful experiences. To be able to affect others in a way that heals — that brings me so much joy.

See the portrait series →