How Art Helps Me Navigate Bipolar: A Personal Reflection

What is your relationship with ‘madness’? Do you agree with the strictly bio-medical approach to madness, or believe that there might be something else to it?

I have been struggling with identifying myself as bipolar, and instead, focused on art as a tool to help me to cope with overwhelming stigma. I write in my spare time and I find it very therapeutic. Do you also use art as a therapy?

But let’s look briefly at madness and art.

Michel Foucault, the French philosopher, said that madness is a social construct that has been created by the forces in power, in order to control different aspects of ‘weirdness’.  Shakespeare touched on the theme of ‘madness’ in most of his works. For instance, in ‘King Lear’ the concept of madness is explored as both punishment and insight (Byrd, 1974)

(‘Lear and the Fool in the storm’, by Johann Ramberg, Folger Shakespeare library).

During the Renaissance period, according to Foucault, madness was sometimes perceived as possession of a different kind of wisdom, where the mad were viewed as interesting people, deemed of admiration by some artists.

The famous painting by Bosch, The Ship of Fools, or The Satire of the Debauched Revelers, clearly shows this different view on madness.

In this painting we can see the debauchery caused by some distinguished members of society. The two figures in front are a Franciscan friar and a nun, quite unthinkable at the time of the painting (1490-1500).

Bosch’s Ship of Fools symbolizes the medieval practice of sending the mad away on ships to a ‘fools’ paradise’. A lone fool reminds us of the ship’s purpose, but Bosch includes ‘sane’ hypocrites to blur the line.

This modern take (Narrenschiff by Thomas Bühler, 2009) reimagines the medieval practice.

It’s not the mad who should be sent away, but the hypocritical members of society harming others in God’s name, one could argue.

Moving from the Renaissance to the Age of Enlightenment, the view of madness started to change. The Age of Enlightenment was characterized by the predominance of reason, where all manifestations of weirdness started to be frowned upon. During the Enlightenment mad people started to be institutionalized, put away in secure facilities but still depicted as curiosities, where the public seeking entertainment could get it through the visits to asylums. In asylums the ‘normals’ could watch the mad, laugh at them, and think perhaps that they were lucky to have escaped such a predicament.

(A Clinical Lesson at the Salpetriere, by Pierre Aristide Andre Brouillet (1887).

The painting shows us a clinical demonstration given to postgraduate students by the famous neurologist Jean-Martin Charcot (Netchitailova, 2019).

This painting was painted before the official history of psychiatry started, but it shows the state of psychiatry as it is now. There are several doctors who claim to understand madness through words, without clear medical tests confirming the ‘diagnosis’.

But as a human being, when I look at the painting, I am not interested in what Charcot has to say. I can guess what he is trying to say. I am interested in the patient—I want to hear her story.

(La Salptrière by Tony Robert-Fleury, 1795)

In ‘La Salptrière’ we can see a famous clinician, Philippe Pinnel, who was a chief physician at the famous Hospice de la La Salpȇtrière, an asylum for the insane in Paris. Philippe Pinnel advocated a more humanistic approach to the treatment of psychiatric patients, and there are some rumors that he even managed to liberate some inmates from their ordeal.

In  ‘La Salptrière’ the artist shows how Pinnel orders the chains to be removed from a patient, which also demonstrates the growing power of psychiatry. Give the chains to one kind man in power, and he will liberate the oppressed. Give it to someone who wants to abuse the same power, and you are chained for life.

What do you think of Pinnel’s approach?

Moving back to the modern age, we don’t see psychiatric patients in physical chains anymore, but the power is still strongly in the hands of the psychiatrists, who can, by the act of simple words, deny a person their freedom, independence, and joy of living. There are no physical chains, but there are still walls: walls of the psychiatric hospitals, walls of the forced injections, walls of diagnoses which create stigma and put a mental burden on one’s mind.

(The scream Edvard Munch, 1895)

I can go on for ages with my critique of psychiatry, but the main point I am trying to make is that we shouldn’t judge those who appear as different or weird, we should instead promote kindness and understanding. The world of art shows us that the dilemma of madness isn’t purely based in the domain of psychiatry and bio-medical explanations. Madness can be also explored in the light of existing power relations and current discourse and ideology. We can change the narrative by providing stories from the ‘other’ side. What if madness is nothing else but extra creativity? What if it’s a connection to the Devine? What if, it’s a call for some spiritual healing and awakening of one’s soul?

(Mathias Grunewald, The Temptation of St. Anthony (1512–1516)

I explored the connection between madness and art in my articles in Mad in America and ‘Disability and Society’, that was reprinted by ‘Mad Studies Reader, 2025’.

In my daily life I continue exploring this connection by writing. I also consider it as art. Writing is therapeutic, and so many other expressions of art, including music and paintings. What about you? Do you also find art helpful?



6 responses to “How Art Helps Me Navigate Bipolar: A Personal Reflection”

  1. I do find art helpful (and always did) but was not giving enough attention to it until you pointed it out. Giving examples along with a selected history of each, as your opinion, got me thinking again. It’s why I’m online so much… the thinking, + the reading, the viewing, the listening … btw I am bipolar 2 (with complications) but do not let that diagnosis get involved in my comment-post weight ranking. Thanks and please continue to post. // Mike, (who is LoL at ‘comment post ranking’ but will leave it in my reply)

    1. Thank you so much Mike for your continuous support towards me and my writing!
      Yes, the art world challenges the view that it’s just a mental illness. Everyone I met who has been diagnosed as bipolar struck me as very creative, with out-of-the-box thinking not ill. Sad maybe and very emotional but not ill.
      I might be wrong, of course, after all I am not a medical doctor, but from my experience I prefer to refer to the phenomenon of bipolar as ‘condition’ not as an illness.

  2. Really great piece. Raises lots of questions. I have so much to say about this but don’t want to make it all about me, so I’ll offer just a handful of thoughts:

    1. I definitely can’t subscribe to the biological (or as I think of it, materialist) model of mental wellbeing. For me, as someone who has been given a multitude of labels (including bipolar), everything revolves around a sense of self, the stories we tell ourselves that maintain a given sense of self, and how our environments and experiences challenge or support those stories. What is the most real part of us, given that nebulousness? Probably our feelings. They are the one thing we cannot ignore. And when people and things are gone from our life, how do we connect to them? Through feelings. In a very important sense, we ARE our feelings. When we have good feelings, we’re ‘in’ good mental health. When our feelings are literally insufferable, the brain doesn’t know what to do, and our bodies and nervous systems break down and that’s where madness starts
    2. You raise a great question when you mention the idea of there being a connection to the divine in all this. I firmly agree. I have approached the question of spiritual truth with a number of lenses, and what makes most sense to me is the basic gnostic model. We are fallen in some sense, and trapped in a kind of prison. I think this drives a lot of our neuroses, and I think there is only a limited range of experiences that give us opportunity for the good feelings I mentioned above. They all revolve around connection. Connection to ourselves, to our kin, lovers, nature, and – if we’re really lucky – the one true God out there beyond the confines of the prison. Adding this dimension of thought to my model makes me think of madness as a kind of disconnection.
    3. Art – in my case: music and writing – doesn’t just help. It’s essential for me m sometimes it’s the only thing keeping me going. And the strangest thing is that when we fully give ourselves over to the art, answers bleed back through from the other side (some people call this the ‘ideosphere’). Information we had no real hand in producing. We couldn’t say where it came from or how it came to be. Several of my songs – incidentally, the best ones – more or less wrote themselves

    it’s all very fascinating.

    btw, my favorite version of the Narrenschiff is the Oskar Laske one, from 1923. Austria between the wars was a very special place and time and a lot of great art was made then

    https://sammlung.belvedere.at/objects/8187/das-narrenschiff

    1. For me it’s writing that fulfils my need to connect with the Devine and my own soul. Creativity has enormous healing ability. Painting, or doing something with one’s hands, such activities can validate one’s individual self worth.
      Thank you for your comment!

  3. If you look at the history of humanity, what do you see?

    Well, many things, but this theme keeps cropping up: the family trying to destroy the scapegoat; the mob trying to destroy the individualist; the committee trying to destroy the independent thinker; power trying to destroy autonomy; cowards trying to destroy heroes; the numb trying to destroy the visionary; the tone-deaf trying to destroy the singer; the sick trying to destroy the well.

    Occasionally you will glimpse the tattoo of passion and creativity. But mostly you will choke on the fumes of suppression and standardization.

    1. Yes, that’s the sad truth, unfortunately.

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About Me

I am a doctor of philosophy, a university lecturer, and a lover of cats, fine wine, dancing, theatre, and human eccentricity. I was born in the Soviet Union (Moscow). I am fluent in four languages, and have spent all my adult life studying (except from 18 to 19) working and living throughout Western Europe. Despite a surname-Netchitailova- that translates from Russian into English as “unreadable”, my greatest passions in life are reading and writing. My personal struggles have made me appreciate the manifestations of weirdness that exist everywhere.

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