Artists and Clinicians: Working with the Unconscious
Many artists recognize the experience of following something they don't yet understand. The work takes shape before the mind assigns meaning. One proceeds not from comprehension but from necessity — drawn forward by an impulse that resists articulation. Coherence, when it comes, often arrives long after the work is made.
This is how the unconscious enters the studio, the rehearsal space, the written page — and the therapy room. It offers material before it offers explanation. The task, for both artists and clinicians, is to stay in dialogue with what is emerging: to hold uncertainty, notice recurring patterns, and recognize when something deeper is quietly organizing the work from within.
When the Work Arrives Before the Idea
We live in a culture that places great value on clarity and intention. Artists are often asked, "What is your work about?" before they have even started a project. The expectation is that meaning should come first and the work should follow. For many artists, it's the other way around — like a writer following a sentence just to see where it goes. The work begins with a feeling, not a thesis. Meaning gathers later, often slowly and mysteriously.
This is the unconscious at play. It doesn't express itself in a linear format. It communicates through images, sensations, symbols, fragments of ideas, and emotion. Raw material emerges first; insight comes later.
Staying With the Not-Yet-Clear
Working this way asks a lot of the artist. It asks them to stay with what they don't yet understand without rushing to explain it. It's natural to want to label what the piece is about, decide its meaning, and strive for clarity. These urges make sense. But if interpretation is forced, you risk shutting down what is still growing. Many artists, often through trial and error, learn to stay in this uncomfortable space — not forever, but long enough for what's emerging to gain shape, depth, and complexity.
When the Work Takes the Lead
Throughout history, artists have described feeling that the work itself is leading the process, not them.
Hilma af Klint described her paintings as guided by forces she did not fully comprehend. She frequently produced entire series long before she possessed the language to articulate their meaning.
Leonora Carrington pursued dreamlike imagery that resisted definitive interpretation; her symbols remained fluid and open rather than fixed.
Jean-Michel Basquiat layered words, signs, and fragments in ways that were immediate and intuitive, inviting multiple interpretations rather than a single definitive reading.
Agnes Martin spoke of waiting patiently until something arrived — only then proceeding with deliberate, quiet precision.
These artists worked in very different styles, but each listened, responded, and adjusted rather than controlling the outcome. For many, the work becomes a partner in the process, not just something to manage.
Meaning That Comes Afterward
Interpretation often arrives much later. An artist may revisit work created years prior and discern a pattern previously invisible: unprocessed grief, a relationship being navigated without conscious awareness, or themes connected to history, culture, or identity that only came into focus with time.
Such meaning is discovered rather than controlled, and it is rarely singular. A work may contain multiple layers simultaneously — what it signified to the artist at the time of its creation, what it means to them now, what it evokes in viewers, and interpretations the artist never anticipated. The work continues to speak and unfold, even as understanding evolves.
Parallels With Psychological Work
This mode of working extends well beyond the arts. Therapeutic and analytic practice often follows a comparable pattern. Thoughts, images, sensations, and emotions frequently arise before their meaning can be determined. A dream surfaces. A memory re-emerges. A phrase recurs within a session. To interpret these experiences too soon risks foreclosing the process before it can unfold.
Creative practice and clinical work operate in similar ways. In both, uncertainty is intrinsic — not a problem to be resolved. Artists and clinicians alike recognize the value of remaining present with what is emerging, without forcing it toward premature clarity.
A Few Questions to Take With You
We invite you to reflect on the following and share your perspectives in our private networking group.
In which contexts do you feel the most pressure to quickly explain yourself?
What happens inside you when you let something exist without rushing to explain or justify it?
This work is supported by honoring the connection to process — to becoming. It often begins with something small: a thought, a mark, a rhythm, an image that surfaces unexpectedly. The invitation is simple, even if it isn't easy: follow it a little further, and stay open to wherever it leads.
by Dr. Amy Vail and Alli Fischenich