“I would like them to wonder”: Drawings of schizophrenia
Published in The NB Media Co-op
(*artwork: ‘Wolfchef0’ by Incé Husain)
In Isaac’s Way Restaurant hangs a drawing full of words, numbers, and cartoonish faces.
The faces spin, pale and edged in turquoise, baring their teeth and glaring with wide eyes. The words weave between them, expanding from small and cramped to large and blaring. “NEEDLE”, they say. “FEED ME”. One face is violet with a blue beard, its eyes solemn and irregular; the title “BLUE BUDDHA DEAD” floats above. The phrase “all of my life all of my life” lies cradled between erratic hair and a severed head. The numbers count the days: “27th”, “29th.” The conglomeration circles itself, bursting against a background of purple, pink, orange, and blue.
This is Day 6 by artist John Gilmour, who draws schizophrenic states marked by hallucinations and paranoia. He finds clarity in these states by drawing, putting his “demons on paper so they’re not so scary”. Day 6 emerged from a time when Gilmour was unmedicated for three to four days, giving way to tormenting visions and voices. He hopes that his drawings will evoke curiosity and empathy for those with mental illness.
“Day 6 was a period where I didn’t have my needle in my system. It was a serious time. I’m hearing, seeing very bad things at that time. I don’t want to leave the house, I don’t want to answer the phone, I don’t want anything,” says Gilmour. “(Art) can help my feelings, my emotions. It gets what I’m going through at that point on paper. It’s what I’ve seen, it’s what I’ve heard. And I’m trying to express how I feel… I would like (others) to talk amongst each other and discuss the drawings and wonder. I would like them to wonder how it would be (to live with this).”
Gilmour began drawing in the 1990s when he was in a treatment center for his mental health. He initially kept his art to himself, uncomfortable with others seeing what he endured and believing his work was “no good”. He even sought to dispose of his pieces, burning many of them and taking a break from art. He returned to art in the 2000s, drawn by how natural and fulfilling it felt. His wife encouraged him to display his pieces publicly, and they found a wall at Isaac’s Way.
“My wife had seen me drawing,” says Gilmour. “She’d seen some of the beauty and she’d seen some of the scary stuff that I was putting on paper, and she said people should see what I draw because I was good at what I do. I tried a couple of pieces, and Isaac’s Way said they would be very interested in showing my art. I’m very grateful to them for taking that opportunity and letting me show.”
Gilmour also refashions antiques, creates clay statues of chefs that can serve as small vases, and does “bottle art” where he threads bottles with small lights and paints the glass. These have appeared in shops across Fredericton such as Whimsy, Chase Benjamin Antiques, and U Beautiful Creature. As an artist, he goes by “WolfChef0”, a name that commemorates his twenty-five year career as a chef and his wife’s pet name for him.
“She calls me ‘wolfie’,” says Gilmour. “I don’t shave for a while when I’m in a state and I get a long beard. It reminds her of me being a wolf.”
Gilmour was diagnosed with schizophrenia and bipolar disorder when he was twenty-eight years old. He wound up in a treatment center while navigating the court system; some legal trouble had lost him his children and everything he owned. His diagnosis came after he’d been seen by nine treatment centers.
“While I was in the treatment center they couldn't find the right (diagnosis) so I traveled to nine different treatment centers. And that's where they diagnosed me,” says Gilmour. “And it’s been a battle. It’s been a battle for a long time. Even before that.”
In a “regular state”, Gilmour says he is “as normal as the next person”. He delights in meeting new people, attentive to those around him and eager to make friendly conversation. When his hallucinations begin, he starts to withdraw. He ceases to feel and care, overtaken by harsh visions and voices that plunge him into paranoia and an urge for isolation. With treatment, these states can repeat every eight to ten weeks, and can last about two.
“In a regular state where I’m medicated and I have my injection, I can be as normal as the next person. I can have great days, everybody is my best friend. I’ll talk, I’ll talk, I’ll talk. How are you, I’ll say, what are you up to? I’m the nicest, kindest guy in the world. I would never harm anybody in my life if I could possibly help it,” says Gilmour. “Sometimes within weeks, I become fearful of everything and everyone. I see things, I hear things. And I don’t stop to talk like I usually do. Sometimes when I get in these states and I’m not with my wife, I run like there’s no tomorrow, and I get from point A to point B without talking. I’ve got my voices telling me “don’t trust this one, don’t trust that one”. At that point, I just want to grab whatever I can and run into the woods, wherever I can, just not be found.”
Gilmour strives to humanize mental illness through his art. By offering a glimpse into his states, he hopes to nurture a culture of openness, sensitivity, and respect for those with mental illness that encourages others to check up on them. He acknowledges that schizophrenia is a “scary disease”, but emphasizes that this doesn’t mean all people with mental illness are “bad”.
“We all have hopes and dreams like anybody else. It would be nice for someone to say “hi, are you okay, are you having a good day, do you need to talk, do you need a way home”. Sometimes all we do is we need to talk. That’s it. And feel like somebody actually cares. That would make our life a lot easier” says Gilmour. “I want people to be aware that mental illness isn’t something you have to be afraid of. All I’m trying to do is make awareness. Not everybody with mental illness is bad.”
Gilmour says mental illness can instill fear that drives away loved ones. He believes that older generations, like his family, find it especially difficult to understand acceptance. They grew up in a culture that treated mental illness as something to hide and fear.
“They want to lock us away in a room and throw away the key,” says Gilmour. “It’s terrible.”
Gilmour’s grandmother, at ninety-three years old, has always stood by him and is trying to better understand his reality. His mother, at seventy-four years old, has just begun to learn about his experiences and how to care for him. His wife understands that his fearful states are not a reflection of his heart.
“My mother is seventy-four years old and she’s just starting to come around and trying to understand a little bit more and that means everything to me,” says Gilmour. “I can be a scary guy sometimes and I don’t mean to do that. (My wife) knows that, when I’m feeling better, I’m the best man in the world. I’m trying to fix it. I’m trying to fix it.”
Gilmour says New Brunswick’s healthcare system is “not the best”. Large waiting lists delay timely care; one-on-one counseling is hard to access; some healthcare workers are insensitive, blind to how difficult daily life can be for those with mental illness. Gilmour encourages people to donate to Canadian mental health and addictions services so that care options increase and staff become better trained. He will be donating proceeds from his drawings at Isaac’s Way to the Child and Youth Care Association of New Brunswick.
“I feel like I’m a nuisance,” says Gilmour. “When I’m in a state like this, I feel like I’m a nuisance because sometimes I have to go to the doctor everyday, and I see their eyes roll back in their heads. Maybe my crisis isn’t your crisis, but I’m still going through a crisis. People don’t realize that rolling the eyes or anything like that - we see that. It’s very annoying. Because getting out of bed some days is very hard. They don’t realize that. I sometimes think it's harder and harder and harder to come back to being normal.”
Gilmour draws when his states begin to calm. Sometimes, his artwork is created in one burst; other times, he revisits a piece over months to years. He also ponders his pieces after they’re completed, reminding himself of the path of feelings that birthed them. These feelings escape words, but in art, they are vivid.
“I’m having a hard time, at the time, to explain what’s going on. (The art) gives me some clarity at times. There are stages to it,” says Gilmour. “Stage one, we have our calm. Then there's - as time progresses farther - a medication, my needle. It becomes not calm in my head, and there are things I see.”
Though Gilmour creates drawings to bring himself peace and fulfillment, he rejoices when others respond to them. He shares that people interpret his pieces differently; that his mother and grandmother have gifted his drawings to others; that his nurse practitioner has a piece. In one place where his art was hung, a child became afraid, and the art was taken down.
“Everybody will interpret it in a different way. If people can see it and enjoy it, that makes me feel more meaning than people realize,” says Gilmour. “But I don’t do it for others. If they enjoy it, great; if they don’t, sorry.”
His art mediums span pens, colour pencils, and markers. Some pieces burst with colour; others are in black and white. When money gets tight, he flocks to his wife’s makeup.
“Sometimes when we don’t have the money, I use my wife’s makeup. There've been times when I’ve needed to draw and I hadn’t had my needle and she said “take my makeup,”” says Gilmour, laughing. “I enjoy what I do. Most pieces have a story behind them.”
Gilmour says that stability in mental illness comes from having daily living essentials, like food, shelter, and family support. These enable focused self-care. He encourages others with mental illness to reach for their dreams, sharing that he’s helping those on the street to display their art. He knows a gentleman from the King’s Street Pharmacy who collects Hot Wheel cars, and introduced another artist to a woman who would like their work in her studio.
“I want to encourage other people who have the same problems to reach out for their goals, do their dreams. I encourage everybody to do art. If it helps them, however it helps them - please do it, do it.” ♦
A modified version of this article appeared in The NB Media Co-op on November 27th, 2023:
https://nbmediacoop.org/2023/11/27/i-would-like-them-to-wonder-drawings-of-schizophrenia/