REFLECTIONS ON HEALING THROUGH ART
TEXT: ANA ESCOTO
Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, Can’t Help Myself (2016). © Solomon, R. Guggenheim Foundation, New York.
“It is still always that death which continues inside of me, which works in me, which transforms my heart, which deepens the red of my blood, which weighs down the life that had been ours so that it may become a bittersweet drop coursing through my veins and penetrating everything, and which ought to be mine forever.” — Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters on Grief
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In our fast-paced, hyper-connected world, contemporary art has emerged as a profound vessel for exploring existential questions and healing. Far beyond the simple act of visual enjoyment, art has become an emotional and psychological refuge, offering a space where trauma, loss, and even death can be articulated, understood, and reconciled. But how does this process unfold? How does art—whether it’s installation, painting, performance, or even digital media—serve as a tool for healing, not just for the artist, but also for the viewer?
Art’s healing potential is often rooted in its capacity to confront the body and mind with raw, unprocessed emotions. An exhibition, through its respective curatorial dialogue, can provide a meaningful space to process these emotions. As the term cura (meaning “care” or “healing”) suggests, art can engage with the wounds of the human condition, offering a sense of comfort, agency, and sometimes even closure. Healing through art doesn’t require answers or resolutions; it is the act of expressing the inexpressible, of confronting the unspeakable—namely, the fragility of life and the inevitability of death. This reflection on mortality, paradoxically, has the power to connect us more deeply to life.
Art can help us process trauma
Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, Can’t Help Myself (2016). © Solomon, R. Guggenheim Foundation, New York.
One of the most visceral examples of contemporary art engaging with themes of death and trauma is the installation Can’t Help Myself (2016) by Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, presented at the Venice Biennale in 2019. This haunting piece features a robotic arm programmed to continuously leak a thick, crimson fluid onto a white surface, a deliberate imitation of blood loss. The robot’s futile, repetitive attempt to preserve itself resonates as a metaphor for human vulnerability—its helplessness mirrors the way we struggle against our own fragility and the inevitability of decay.
This piece embodies the essence of trauma: the repeated and disjointed attempt to repair the self, despite the impossibility of true restoration. For the viewer, there is something deeply cathartic in witnessing this robotic "death" unfold. It serves as a reminder of our own corporality and the transience of life. In a sense, it becomes a mirror, reflecting our own embodied experience of vulnerability and mortality.
Art can offer new perspective to personal struggle
‘Nature Mortes’, performance by Anne Imhof (Oct 2021). © Palais de Tokyo
Art doesn’t just provide a platform for shared experiences; it can also act as a personal mechanism for healing. My own relationship with art as a healing medium began with a deeply personal experience—an encounter with death that occurred after a near-fatal medical condition. A series of complications following a routine surgery led to my suffering from a severe case of epistaxis (nosebleed), which nearly claimed my life. In those moments of crisis, art—once a source of joy and inspiration—felt distant, foreign, and meaningless. Yet, as I slowly began to recover, I realised that art could also serve as a tool for healing, helping me reestablish my connection to the world I had briefly lost.
While writing and reflecting on this experience, I began to see how deeply the physical act of recovery mirrored the process of artistic creation: both are fraught with vulnerability, self-exploration, and reinvention. Like the robot in Can’t Help Myself, I too had been in disrepair, desperately attempting to "fix" myself, unsure of whether the restoration was possible. It was through the practice of art—whether in making, observing, or writing about art—that I found a path to begin to heal.
Art can help us connect to the embodied world
Eliza Douglas in ‘Nature Mortes’, performance by Anne Imhof (Oct 2021). © Palais de Tokyo
Art’s healing potential is intricately tied to embodiment. As the French philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty notes in Phenomenology of Perception, the body is not merely a vessel for the mind, but is the very ground of our experience of the world. Through art, we engage not only with the visual world but also with the emotional, psychological, and embodied one. Our bodies experience trauma, joy, pain, and healing in ways that cannot always be articulated through language alone. Art provides an alternative way to experience and process these emotions.
One such artist whose work speaks to the embodiment of trauma and healing is Anne Imhof. In her 2021 Nature Mortes Carte Blance show at Palais de Tokyo, Imhof used the body as a primary tool of engagement. The installation invited viewers to walk through a labyrinth of glass walls that offered a glimpse into both the physical and psychological landscapes of trauma and healing. The space was charged with an intense sense of loss and longing, and yet, it was also imbued with moments of transcendence, as viewers were confronted not only with their own mortality but also with their capacity to navigate these experiences.
Carte blanche à Anne Imhof, Natures Mortes (2021). © Palais de Tokyo
For those familiar with the process of healing, the space became an invitation to reflect on personal wounds and the way we mend them. For others, it might have been a confrontation with the fragility of life and the urgent need to heal both individually and collectively. Imhof’s work, like Can’t Help Myself, emphasizes the cyclical nature of life and death—both corporeally and existentially. The viewer’s journey through the installation becomes a metaphor for the journey of life itself: filled with loss, renewal, and ultimately, the acceptance of impermanence.
Art can highlight collective experience
Still from Regina José Galindo, Presencia (2017). Photography by Ameno Córdoba.
While healing through art is often an individual and personal journey, it can also be a collective, political force. The Guatemalan artist Regina José Galindo, known for her poignant performances addressing violence and femicide, uses her body as a powerful tool to bring awareness to the pervasive effects of systemic violence. Her work is a direct confrontation with both personal and collective trauma, often involving her own body in a ritualistic engagement with death and mourning.
In her performance Presencia (2017), Galindo embodied the victims of femicide by standing motionless in public spaces for hours, wearing the clothes of the deceased. In doing so, she brought attention not only to the personal loss of these women but also to the larger political and social issues that allowed such violence to occur. Galindo's work is an act of mourning, but also a call for justice and reflection—an attempt to heal a community scarred by loss and silence.
By using her own body as both the medium and the subject, Galindo transforms trauma into an act of agency. Her work does not merely provoke a visceral response; it also creates a space for healing by forcing us to confront uncomfortable truths about our shared humanity, and the ways in which we can collectively heal from political and social wounds.
Still from Regina José Galindo, Presencia (2017). Photography by Ameno Córdoba.
Art provides us with a language that transcends words, offering a route to healing that encompasses both personal and collective experiences. Through contemporary art, we can confront death, trauma, and suffering, acknowledging their presence without being consumed by them. Whether through the desperate movements of a robot, the stillness of a performance, or the reflective nature of an installation, art allows us to engage with our mortality in a way that is both painful and restorative. It provides a space for mourning, but also for the possibility of renewal—allowing us to reconcile with what it means to be human in a world that is constantly in flux.
By engaging with these works, we don't just confront death, we learn to live in the face of it.