228 • Introduction to Art Therapy
only provides art activities for bereaved children and other family members, but also helps
them to create plays about grieving. On the DVD you can see excerpts from one such pro-
duction, “A Bridge to Tomorrow” (C).
For many years, art therapist Marge Heegard has created drawing workbooks to help chil-
dren who have suffered losses, initially to help her own grandchildren. Her 18 books help
children to draw and think about many topics, from separation and divorce to illness and
death (Woodland Press and Fairfield Press). She has also written a guide for professionals
leading support groups (Heegaard, 1996). On the DVD you can see her as she leads such a
group (D).
Sandra Graves Alcorn has for many years offered art therapy to mourners through
churches and funeral homes. Individuals and families, who might not otherwise have sought
help, could do so through the grief counseling service she founded in the early 1980s. She
later organized three other forms of art counseling intervention to deal with murder and
suicide. She also created a compassionate workbook for bereaved adults titled Expressions of
Healing (Graves, 1994). On the DVD she is helping a child who has recently lost his mother
in an accident (E) (cf. also Meijer-Degen, 2006).
The loss of loved ones is a normal crisis, which if not mastered, can lead to depression.
Art activities can be a form of prevention, as vital in mental as in physical health. Seven-
year-old Christopher knew that I helped children through art. After his mother committed
suicide, he requested a visit to my art room and asked to come back a year later.
A Child Requests Art Therapy After His Mother Kills Herself: CHRISTOPHER (7)
Since I was a friend of the family, Christopher knew that I helped kids with their worries
through art. In fact, after his mother’s prior unsuccessful suicide attempt, he had proudly
shown me his “magical” creation. Using cut paper and glue he had created a flag, writing
“Save Me” (F) on one side and “Trouble” on the other (G). Inside, he had hidden a cardboard
hatchet and knife. It was a poignant attempt to keep her from destroying herself with his
protective weapons.
Sadly, Christopher’s fears were all too well founded. His mother’s melancholia, in an
era before effective antidepressants, eventually won out and she did kill herself. After the
funeral, Christopher asked if he could come to my office. His father, concerned about the
boy’s silence regarding the tragedy, brought him to the clinic where I worked. I, feeling sad
and helpless about the death of a woman I had known for many years, was pleased to do
what little I could to help.
Christopher’s visit to my art room was just a few weeks after his mother’s death. He
worried about getting messy with finger paint or chalk, because “my Mommy would yell at
me.” Projecting an image of “A Dog” (H) onto his scribble, he said it must be the dog he had
wanted so badly, but was not allowed to have because of his mother’s illness.
Christopher then made a dark, messy finger painting, commenting anxiously on how
angry his mother would be if she could see him. He wondered aloud as he painted whether
she was angry at him, and if his being bad or naughty or wanting the wrong things (like the
dog) had anything to do with her leaving him.
His story about the finger painting, as he drew lines in it with a stick, was that it was “A
Road, but,” he continued, “you’ll never find your way out ... No one can stop me ... They’ll
never find their way out. They’ll feel so sad ... They’ll be stuck there forever.” I asked what
“they” would do. Christopher placed his hand in the black paint, lifted it up to show me, and
then smashed it onto the paper, splattering the paint. He had certainly accomplished a lot
in his single hour.