I've been working as an art therapist for eight years. It took me a while to understand the nature of my work, and there are still times when I struggle to explain exactly how transformation unfolds.

In a world that often wants clear answers and explanations, art therapy holds a special place for me because it has largely been a space of unknowing and unlearning. It is a practice of letting go of the assumption that I must know what my clients need, be the expert at art, or arrive at precise assessments. Interpretation and strategy have their place, but meaningful change often happens when the right conditions, intention, and presence come together.

During my training, I explored how culturally rooted art forms such as rangoli, lantern painting, and mandala-making could create shared spaces for expression among elderly residents from different cultural backgrounds. These simple, sensory-rich practices showed me how art can invite connection before words — allowing emotion, memory, and relationship to surface through colour, pattern, and gesture.

Later, working with children with special needs expanded this understanding even further. Art-making rarely stayed neatly at the table. It moved across floors, walls, skin, and space. In those moments, therapy became less about making art and more about attuning to body language and curiosity. Holding their goals quietly in mind, I learned to trust spontaneous responses and follow their lead — recognising how trust and play can support emotional regulation.

These experiences reshaped how I see creativity. Art moved beyond expression and became a way for people to feel seen, regulated, and connected.

Today, in my work with youth and individuals navigating mental health challenges in the community, I continue to hold this orientation. My role is less about directing the process and more about creating the conditions where something meaningful can emerge.

I trust this process — in my art, my relationships, and in life.