THE ART OF HEALING

The next day at school, a hush fell over the classroom as the teacher announced the annual art competition. I felt my heart pounding in my chest as I imagined standing atop a podium in front of a crowd of my peers, holding a large medal engraved with the words ‘Best Artist of the Year’. I could almost feel the smooth glass of the trophy in my hand and hear the cheers from the crowd. The thought of having my artwork displayed for all to see at the city’s art museum was thrilling, but it also made me feel terrified – what if I failed to meet their expectations?

After classes ended for the day, I rushed to the infirmary to help Sarah treat more patients. Since the virus outbreak started, our workload had grown from a manageable load to an impossible one. Sarah rubbed her tired eyes as I walked in and took my place by her side.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up,” she said, looking at Agatha who walked in to check on our progress as we worked. “We’re getting swamped.”

Agatha nodded, understanding the situation all too well. “I know, it’s tough,” she said. “But we must keep going. We cannot let the patients down.”

Sarah nodded, but Agatha could see the strain on my face too. We were all exhausted and in desperate need of help.

Agatha looked around and bellowed, “Ward boy! Get Dr. Volkov now! We need every bit of help we can get!”

Few hours later, Dr Volkov walked into the infirmary. His piercing green eyes surveyed the room, and I quickly tried to back away so as not to draw his attention.
“What is all this?” He asked, gesturing to the artwork I had arranged around.
The room.

Agartha began telling Dr. Volkov of my art competition entry, and he mocked me with a snort. “Art isn’t going to help cure the virus or save lives,” he sneered. The words burned like fire in my throat.

I watched him move around the room, inspecting each patient with a godly poise. He was so passionate about medicine, but I knew he could not understand how art could bring solace to people in difficult times.

After Dr. Volkov did his rounds, he turns and sees me standing at the doorway. His face, set to a mask of disapproval, looked like a thundercloud threatening to rain down judgment.

“Good morning, Alivia,” Dr. Volkov said with a chill in his voice, his eyes glinting with disdain.

“What can I do for you, Dr. Volkov?” I asked, my frustration barely veiled by my polite words.

“I just wanted to inquire about your art classes,” he said. “I heard that you have quite the challenge, and I was wondering if you are finding them useful.” The tone of his voice made it clear that he did not find art to be of any use or importance.

My annoyance and frustration reached their peak as I responded, my voice strong and sure. “Yes, I find them very useful,” I said. “Art is not just a hobby for me, it’s my passion and it’s what I want to do with my life.”

Dr. Volkov’s expression hardened as he stared at me sceptically, not believing a word I said. “I see,” he muttered disbelievingly. “Well, be sure not to forget your duties as a nurse while pursuing this dream of yours.”

With that, Dr. Volkov turned to leave, but I couldn’t let his comment go unanswered.

“Art and nursing are not mutually exclusive,” I asserted defiantly, meeting his gaze head-on. “Art can actually help with the healing process and bring comfort to patients.”

Dr. Volkov stared at me for a long moment before finally speaking, his brow furrowed in contemplation. “Really?” he asked sceptically.

I held my ground, determined for him to comprehend the importance of art and creativity in the healing process. “Art is not something to be taken lightly or pushed aside,” I said firmly, my voice unwavering. “It provides a source of hope and positivity during trying times, something people desperately need right now.”

His lips twisted into a grimace as he processed my words before finally giving me a single nod of acknowledgement before turning away without another word.

The door to my dorm room creaked open, and I stepped into the familiar darkness. The throbbing in my head was relentless, and I could feel Lara twisting and turning in my mind. I collapsed onto my bed and released a shaky exhale, my gaze settling on the paints and canvas that becked at me from the desk in the corner. I could feel the weight of the day pressing down on me and knew of only one way to release it.

Grasping a brush, I began to mix the paints on my palette, forming crimson reds, vivacious oranges and fiery yellows. My thoughts kept returning to the dead patients and Dr. Volkov’s disregard for my art – their suffering swirling around me like a maelstrom of emotion. In one fierce swoop, I grabbed a canvas and threw my paintbrush to it, letting every brush stroke be guided by pure emotion. The colours were strong and unwavering, solemn yet magnificent. I painted an illogical scenery filled with chaotic power that reflected what had gone down that day. The sky was an intense burgundy – a sign of danger and dread that encircled us all.

As I painted, the anger I felt evaporated into nothingness until there was only satisfaction left behind. When I stepped back from the canvas, there it lay in front of me; undone yet complete – a rough impression that reflected the feelings of the day perfectly. Raw yet mine.

I snapped to attention; a lightbulb of creativity illuminated my thoughts. I was driven to capture the harrowing effects of the virus yet display the beauty and meaning behind art, I was determined to convey the raw emotion in my work, pulling from my own experiences, and perhaps–just perhaps–others would relate to it too.

It was then I had discovered my vision. I would enter my painting into the competition and use it to enlighten the world on the true power of the virus. Even within chaos, there were glimmers of hope–and I wanted to prove that through my art. Just like Mr. Jenkins said, I found a subject that spoke to me on a deeper level, something I was incredibly passionate about–the turmoil of the virus on our lives. Could I prove that art brings hope when it is lost? Would others appreciate the raw emotion within it?