And So, I Began to Paint: Finding Solace in a Brushstroke
Soma Datta 
I share how art helped me heal during tough times. Discover how creativity became my way to process emotions and find comfort—maybe it can help you to
We had just received confirmation that Milo had an aggressive form of cancer and was on borrowed time. We had only adopted him four years earlier, yet it felt as though he had been with us forever. As a childless couple at that point in time, we had poured all our unfulfilled desires of being parents into him. Milo was our son, and hearing that he had only a few weeks to live was earth-shattering.
I remember teaching myself to sew and making a quilt for him when we began the testing. Despite subtle hints from the vets that something sinister was going on with his little body, I refused to give in to the fear of losing him. When the diagnosis was eventually confirmed, I was devastated but persevered to complete the second quilt I was sewing for him. I had promised him two quilts, as he loved the first one so much and adored being tucked in by my husband every night. They had this whole ritual where my husband would tuck him in, and he would pretend to sleep. But the moment we got into bed, Milo would reorganize the bed into a nest more befitting for him and his comfort! And so, I quilted and persevered as I watched his little body fight the disease with everything he had.
By the time I completed the quilt, Milo’s health had been on a rollercoaster. He would have periods of doing really well, only to suddenly regress. I had both holistic and mainstream vets involved in his care, and they were all puzzled. He had exceeded his expected time by many months, and it even seemed that he might beat the disease, as he was healthier than he had been before his diagnosis. But then his health would crash again, and we would prepare ourselves to let him go. Yet, at the pre-euthanasia appointment, he would bounce back to apparent good health, and the vets would ask us to wait, as he was too comfortable and happy to leave just then.
I continued to follow all health protocols as per the vets' guidance and persevered through it all, alongside my academic, employment, and home duties. However, the mental stress of multitasking and not having a support system to share the pain with began taking its toll on me. I watched Milo’s triumphs and setbacks as he also developed dementia and struggled with new, challenging symptoms. This time, the vets discussed that this might be the beginning of the end.
To cope with it all, I began attending a weekly art group more regularly. I had attended before, but as my doctoral studies were nearing completion, it had become harder to go consistently. After Milo’s prognosis, I needed to attend this art group, as it allowed me to escape for a while. It gave me the opportunity to chat with others in the group who had lost their four-legged babies to old age or disease and learn how they navigated the journey of letting go of their dogs. I also found a friend there who became my pillar of support when Milo was gravely ill. She provided the non-judgmental support and listening ear I desperately needed. Much later, she also helped me cope with the grief after Milo’s passing. The art group became a place of solace for me, where I could process my emotions and find comfort in the shared
experiences of others.
While Milo was still yo-yoing with his health challenges, and we all thought he might stand a fighting chance, I decided to paint for the art markets and started creating tiny artworks of Milo. Up until then, I had no idea how to paint pet portraits or how to use oils or acrylics. I was still learning. But somewhere in my head and heart, the grim reality that the treatment was failing, and that all I could do was make him comfortable, began hitting me hard, to the point where I was no longer functioning.
My way of slowing time, or perhaps immortalizing him, was to start painting him and capturing his essence the best I could. As part of the painting process, I would photograph him. Only four of those photos ever turned into paintings of Milo, and I sold all except one. For me, it was therapeutic to paint him. I felt connected with him as he physically faded away and sending a copy of him in good health out into the world felt right.
After Milo got his wings, I began painting pet portraits professionally. What I realized was that painting him was not just a way of immortalizing him but also a way of grieving and letting go. I understood that I would never get over his death but hoped that someday I would learn to live with it. The knowledge that paintings of him have gone out into the world acts as a balm to my grieving heart.
Years ago, I had returned to art on a therapist’s recommendation that I needed to take up a hobby to improve my mental health. But during Milo’s illness and after his passing, I truly realized the power of a creative pursuit like painting. Evidence suggests that the act of painting has therapeutic benefits on the brain and stress levels, and that may have been the case for me. But what I also experienced was the opportunity to find a support network, friends, and people who had gone through the same pain I was experiencing.
Art connections, even if temporary, helped me cross over that stage and move towards healing. The motivation of losing Milo was so strong that I didn’t stop to think about whether I could learn a new medium or a new subject to paint. The need for expression overtook all fears and mental blocks, and in the process, I found both healing and a new purpose.
Art has an incredible way of reaching into the deepest parts of our souls, offering a safe space to express what words often cannot. Whether you're facing grief, stress, or any emotional turmoil, picking up a brush, a pencil, or even crafting materials can become more than just a pastime—it can be a lifeline.
As I discovered through my journey with Milo, the act of creating allows us to process our emotions, find solace, and sometimes even heal wounds that feel insurmountable. I encourage you to explore the world of art, not with the pressure of creating a masterpiece, but with the intention of allowing your heart and mind to breathe. Who knows? You might just find that art is the balm your soul has been searching for.
Categories: : creative me-time, Wellbeing
