Sometimes the smallest things, help us heal.
…for me, it was drawing flowers and especially one. This Banksia.
Let’s start by looking at this flower. The middle is an abstract version of the orange banksia. It’s got very pointy leaves, a vibrant ultramarine blue with a very dark blue to create shadow and dimension.
I don’t want to talk around it. It started with one thought.
“I am going to draw an angry vagina”
A banksia brought me healing.
The reference. I found these recently in Perth and it became a full circle moment.
Using Art as a Way to Process Difficult Moments
In February 2024 I found myself having a miscarriage. That experience is something I don’t wish anyone to go through. It comes with so many different feelings and emotions, and for me, for a start, it was the fact that I didn’t know what to do while the whole thing was happening. I decided I had to quiet my mind and trust that my body would do what was needed to be done. While most people celebrated Valentine’s Day, I was going through another big event in my life, which I would have preferred not to be a part of.
However, thanks to years of trauma and dealing with such (thanks to the flood and mould exposure in 2022),
I knew what would help me in doing just that.
Drawing…
But what?
Why I Started Drawing Flowers Instead of Places
A Banksia: A Journey of Emotion
(Symbolism: resilience, rebirth, and new beginnings)
And this is for all the intuitive people out there, who might understand what that process feels like.
I just asked myself, what do I want to draw? The vision of a Banksia came up. An orange banksia, to be precise. I loved the creamy colours and gentle nature. But when I started drawing a completely different Banskia emerged. Spiky, bold, tangled, fiery and ANGRY. It was so cathartic. I pressed down my pencils to get all the emotions out, and it helped. I drew this within half a day.
Over the following days, and going through the pains and disappointment in myself, my own body, paired with the thought that I am now one of those statistics who have lost a child.
I had to talk to someone, so I started calling on those closest to me. My friends, and especially those who themselves went through it.
The next flower came to be after I started to talk through it, cry through it and reach out.
Waratah: The Start of Healing
(Symbolism: strength, resilience, and beauty, often representing protection and healing and a deep connection to the land and ancestrial wisdom.)
I had to talk to someone, so I started calling on those closest to me. My friends, and especially those who themselves went through it.
The next flower came to be after I started to talk through it, cry through it, and reach out. for support.
It was another flower from the Protea family, a waratah.
Only after weeks, I reflected on the symbolism of flowers, and I was baffled by the path my drawings had taken. Even though I didn’t have words at the time, I took a direct path to heal myself and moving through the phases of grief and loss.
Daisy: Rediscovering Roots
(Symbolism: innocence, purity, true love, and new beginnings)
The third and final flower was the Daisy. A flower I picked so many times when I was litlle. I made flower crowns with it, and it just reminded me of my home, Germany, and the longing for connection with my mother.
It was probably the most positive one I drew, the colours became softer, the forms and shapes are more round and flowing. It even has some flower buds which seem to be a hopeful sign.
And that’s why I started drawing flowers.
It was a long process to work through the aftermath of a miscarriage. All the feelings and emotions that come with it. The beliefs about your own body, especially because it took a long time to fall pregnant again. The way my partner and I went through it was completely different, and I felt immensely disconnected because I felt so alone in that pain.
It was especially difficult because the grief of that experience would show up at the most surprising and unexpected times, and still does to this day. It showed up when we went to the places where I was pregnant and we were so happy, looking forward to it.
The questions from strangers, if we have another one, or “Is he your only child?” Knowing they were just making conversation. I would openly talk about it in these situations, as I found it odd to just pretend nothing had happened. It also almost felt like I wanted to tell them so badly that we could have another child, that we had followed the expectations of society to have kids in a quick succession. These were the ugly feelings. Where I couldn’t separate if it was my own expectation or others’ expectation. I felt judged for only having “one” child and not having fallen pregnant yet. And I am pretty sure I judged myself and my body for failing to do so.
Over a year later, in 2025, I finally had the wonderful and very unexpected news that we were in fact, pregnant again.
Ciao,
