Journals, Notebooks, and Ledgers - Amira Or

In recent years, many art therapists have begun to use art journals. Unlike conventional art surfaces, ledgers or journals are readily available and portable. Journals encourage spontaneous work without editing or self-censorship; they have something of the quality of a draft, free of the fear of the canvas or blank sheet. When you draw or paint in a notebook, you don’t have to get it right – the process is more important than the outcome.

I started writing and drawing in journals when I was nine, and since then, I have amassed a growing collection of texts and images. As the years pass, the material gathers in piles – large and small, orderly and jumbled, with hard or soft covers, plain or illustrated.

I received my first journal as a present for my ninth birthday.

When I browse through it now, I discover innocence: the death of Zalman Shazar, the assassination of President Kennedy, the Pope’s visit to Israel… all these caught my attention as the girl I was then. There is no cynicism or criticism. The Jewish festivals, activities on the moshav where I grew up, and birthdays also feature the same solemn gaze.

A typical entry in my journal reads: “I was seized by great sorrow on learning of the assassination of President Kennedy. The news chilled my heart as I thought of his nice little children and his young wife. But what has been done cannot be undone, and all we can do is honor his memory.”

These journals, with their little locks and their naivety, gave way to notebooks. As I passed through adolescence, the drawings gradually disappeared. The notebooks became simpler, the writing dense and unclear; piles of letters heaped on each other, the pressure of pen on paper – signs of emotional turmoil. Tensions and self-doubt pour out onto the packed, lined pages. There are few decorations now.

And so it goes on: travel journals, journals of motherhood, journals of seeking. Journals that have accompanied the twists and turns of my life.

My writing of quick journal entries, with a sense of tension and fear, intensifies during difficult periods of crisis and distress.

As the poet Rachel wrote long ago:

Screams I've been screaming, despaired and in anguish

in dire times of loss and distress

became lovely medleys of words I could cherish

My white book of poems, their rest

Unveiled were the veils guarding even from dearests

Exposed were my fiery seals

and griefs of the heart crouching over the secrets

indifferent hands can now feel.

English: Nadavi Noked

The fact that the journal is personal and is not usually exposed to critical eyes (“untouched by every hand,” as Rachel wrote) makes it a special friend, forgiving and accepting. When the desire arises to scribble, tear, or write without planning or editing anything, my notebook waits patiently in the drawer.

When I have felt the need to express some emotion, I’ve often wondered how: should I write or paint? Make a collage or a sculpture? But all this wondering made the need fade away. I saw signs of a similar feeling among some of my clients. The studio's huge variety of artistic tools was captivating and tempting, but in the end, the client sat on her chair in front of a bare desk.

This experience led me to invite clients to choose a notebook or ledger to accompany them through their therapeutic process. They are free to select the shape of the journal, the format of the pages, the art materials they use, and whether or not to add text. Connections and associations emerge between the pages, whether overtly or covertly.

One woman, aged about 45, comes to our sessions with a collection of poems she saves on her cellphone from various websites. She takes out a leather-bound block of paper from her bag, copies the poems she has chosen, and paints with watercolors as we talk. At the end of the session, she puts the journal back in her bag to continue working at home. For this client, the art journal is a transitional object that connects home to therapy, encouraging continuity.

Another patient always leaves her journal in a drawer in my office. At the start of every session, she sits down, opens the journal, and leafs back through it. Then she stares at the blank page for a while before choosing charcoal, chalk pain, or pastel and drawing something she will go on to talk about during our session. The drawing is like a preparatory sketch for our conversation – a ceremony of introspection, self-attentiveness, and building a foundation for the therapeutic encounter.

Over the long, hard year since October 7, 2023 – like many others – I have used my journal regularly: to let off steam, to bear my feelings, to organize images, and to regain my equilibrium.

The tolerant binding accepts it all, embracing pains, woes, and joys. Everything is received with a hug.

Journals by Amira Or – amira.or11@gmail.com 

Photos: Eldad Maestro : http://www.eldadmaestro.com