Newsletter #1

Dear reader,

The year began with the opening of my exhibition Active Imagination at Bærum Kunsthall in Oslo. The title came to me during a session with my sandplay therapist where she briefly explained that in Jungian psychology, active imagination is a method of consciously engaging with unconscious symbols and situations.

Later that day, when the curators asked for a title, it was the only phrase that came into my mind. Without much thought, I wrote, “Title: Active Imagination”, in an email and sent it off.

Weeks later, I wondered What is active imagination? To my surprise, the definition described quite well how I experience drawing and my practice in general.

For me, drawing begins with finding a certain state of mind triggered by concentration and an eagerness to explore. Once there, I begin.

As I draw, I start looking around. I’ve often referenced a chaotic scene from Monsters, Inc., where Sully, Mike, and Boo travel along a giant conveyor belt of hanging doors, searching for the one that leads to Boo’s room. Along the way, they step through different doors, one opening to a beach hut, another revealing a view of Mount Fuji. It’s a silly reference, but this is sometimes how it feels.

Once inside the scene, I start engaging with what I see, perhaps a situation or a conflict. If I get stuck or lost, I draw repetitive shapes or lines until I find my way again. Then comes a phase where I can correct something that feels out of place, amend a narrative, or simply leave things as they are if no solution is possible.

Finally, I step back from the drawing, look at it as if someone else made it, and try to reflect. Other times, I just let it be.

I sometimes call myself a time traveler. If we go back almost 30 years, along comes Lamby, my half-lamb, half-rabbit cuddly toy. Lamby is a resilient friend, always full of good advice, ready to sacrifice an arm, leg, or eye to stay by my side.

Like Lamby, the other cuddly toys in my family, Ted, Big Ted, Panda, The Fluffies, and Crocy are inanimate, yet they seem to hold great powers. I have always wanted to make a work for them.

During this process, I became aware of a number of teddy bear protests that have taken place over the last two years in response to the genocide committed by Israel against the Palestinians in Gaza.

I was deeply moved by these protests and began to wonder: Why are teddy bears being used to demand a ceasefire, to resist an occupation, to call on our governments to stop supplying weapons to Israel and to end their complicity in genocide and ethnic cleansing? 

While searching for answers, I went to a bookshop and asked if they had any books on teddy bears or cuddly toys. The employee replied that they only had books for adults. The answer annoyed me, but I left the shop ever more convinced that cuddly toys hold special powers; healing, listening, caring, fighting, and magical powers.

This led me to commission six teddy bear stools from artist and furniture designer Emmie Strang.

A few months later, I remembered a documentary I had seen featuring the non verbal therapeutic method called sandplay therapy. In the documentary, this method was used to help children in an emergency center for women victims of domestic violence.

I thought: If the logical, academic world can’t answer my questions about the teddy bear, maybe the unconscious world can.

So, I decided to try sandplay therapy and did four sessions.

From those sandboxes, I created four drawings and a series of ceramic sculptures for the show at Bærum Kunsthall, open until the 9th of February. I don’t know if I truly got any answers, but one thing is certain: I learnt how to play again, to activate my imagination. And that, in itself, feels like the most meaningful answer of all.

I am grateful to the teddy bears, to those who protest in the world’s vast sandbox, and to all who have preserved their ability to dream and imagine in a society marked by injustice, corruption, and violence.

Ayesha x