How creativity can draw together the threads of connection. Photo by Ailime.

By Christine Klippenstein

After four years at a school for writers, actors, musicians, visual artists and dancers, I like to think that I know a thing or two about the creation of art. I have seen, firsthand, optimism and frustration, ideas discarded and re-adopted and the brilliance of unexpected inspiration. I’ve experienced them too. But as I step up to the door of H’Art of Ottawa, I’m convinced I do not know art quite the way it exists here.

After all, H’Art is a visual-arts studio for adults with developmental disabilities, including autism and Down’s Syndrome, differences that surely affect the artists’ creative process. This way of thinking has me unsure of what to expect.

I feel comfortable within moments of my entrance. Every bit of wall space hosts a painting, and more are leaning in stacks on the floor. Paint splatters the floor and sink area. At the front of the room, above a desk stacked with supplies, hangs a collection of self-portraits.

While I’m hovering anxiously, a man named Michael points to a painting high on the wall – a stacked birthday cake decorated with cherries, chocolates and alligators layered in the icing. He speaks the line familiar to every proud artist: “This one’s mine.” He smiles. “That was me.” And that one – a garden – and this other one – a family of elephants – are his too. I ask about Michael’s self-portrait, and he points to a green-shirted man with a wide crescent-moon smile. It suits him.

Lin Rowsell, director of H’Art, introduces me to her assistant instructor Carmel and to their Wednesday gathering – Michael, Caroline, Marika, Alixe, Tracey, Chris, and Analisa. They are a close group, enthused about each other’s lives (Marika’s upcoming wedding; Tracey’s new haircut) and comfortable with their honesty: “Oh Alixe, you’re not supposed to hug people anymore, remember,” Caroline says in objection to her friend’s enthusiastic reception of me. Alixe pulls away from our hug and looks at me woefully. “Sorry!”

By Alixe Hysert. Courtesy of H'Art of Ottawa.

It’s nice to see an unusual group of people gathered in camaraderie over art. The morning-discussion topic this week is Everyone is Creative, a concept that coincides very well with my presence in the studio. The group proves to be open-minded, naming gardening, cooking and knitting among other expressions of creativity. They are then asked to answer, in their journals, the questions: Who do you paint for? What inspires you?

In my classes, we call it a writing prompt: Why do you write? Who do you write for? I remember spending weeks struggling with the answers. The simplicity of the questions had been terribly deceptive.

But the H’Artists don’t seem to have trouble: they paint simply because they enjoy it. This is the same conclusion I came to: one reason to create art is because you love to, a love that does not require the recognition of others.

As inspirations: the Northern Lights, flowers and animals, feelings, daily life and their fellow artists. It comes from exactly the same places as any other artist, anywhere in the world. Nature, emotions, human relationships – these are the soul of art, drawn from life.

I was surprised, at this point, to realize that there are more similarities than I expected between the H’Artists’ creative process and my own. The pride in Michael’s “That was me” is my “See mom, that’s my article online.” Our emotions often drive the pieces. As Marika tells me – in painting, the “inside comes out!”

And yet, it would be inaccurate to say that these paintings are not affected by the artists’ disabilities. On the whole, subjects are simple – dogs, birds, flowers, birthday cakes, hills – and style is generally naïve – bold, bright colours and almost no subtlety in line or composition. Everything is laid out plainly for the viewer’s eye.

The first thing I think of are the drawings of my mother’s young daycare kids, for they have the same innocence about them. Perhaps this is what allows their art to speak to the viewer despite bearing little resemblance to classical forms.

By Caroline Joanisse. Courtesy of H'Art of Ottawa.

A peaceful atmosphere rules the afternoon; the air feels muted by the whirr of a fan on drying canvases. I sit at Marika’s side and watch her dab pale green onto a line of trees. She and Carmel discuss the benefits of adding yellow wash, while Michael blends colours for his garden. Caroline is hard at work on a painting with strong Native designs. At the far end of the table, Alixe lets out a whoop of laughter.

My eyes wander. There is a gorgeous abstract painting hanging behind the door and I ask Rowsell about it. “Alixe painted that one.” Indeed, her abstract painting brings to mind the grace and delicacy of a silk scarf.

There is unmistakable pride in Rowsell’s voice. Alixe is not easy to hold a conversation with, and I haven’t been able to communicate with her since my arrival – except for the hug, which we both understood perfectly. When I approach Alixe to compliment her and ask about her art, she looks at the table and does not respond. I wish I could be certain that she heard me.

My eyes travel to the painting again: it is beautiful.

While the artists continue to paint, Lin gives me a stack of creative-writing journals to flip through. In Caroline’s book, scratched casually in pencil, I find a remarkable entry. “Sometimes I feel a little down. But that makes my art real because it comes from the heart.”

Those ideas have been felt by every artist through time. Here, it was Caroline who wrote them – Caroline the H’Artist, Caroline who even now is painting with rapt concentration, part of a greater creative journey.

The thought makes me smile.