The Creative Act As Inner Alchemy

What if the act of creating art is not simply about expression—but about transformation? What if every brushstroke, sound, or word is a movement of the psyche, an act of becoming? The creative process mirrors the archetypal journey of transformation: a stepping out of the known, a descent into the symbolic, and a return with something new. As Levine (1997) writes, "Poiesis is the act of making: not simply the fabrication of an object, but the shaping of the soul through the expressive process" (p. 21). In this sense, art becomes not a product to be judged, but a threshold we cross—a space where we encounter ourselves.

Expressive Arts Therapy (EXAT) is a therapeutic approach that integrates multiple forms of art (visual arts, music, dance, drama, and writing) in a way that emphasizes the process over the product. It is grounded in the belief that all individuals are inherently creative, and that engaging with the arts in an intermodal, embodied way can promote emotional integration, personal insight, and healing (Knill, Levine, & Levine, 2005).

This movement into the creative process evokes what anthropologist Victor Turner (1969) called a liminal space—a threshold state where ordinary roles dissolve and symbolic transformation becomes possible. When we enter the art-making process, we step outside of linear time and into symbolic time; where change is more than cognitive - it is embodied, relational, and ritualistic. Jung (1964) described such spaces as a temenos—a sacred enclosure in which the unconscious can emerge and be engaged with. In creating art, we step into a psychological sanctuary, where our usual defences are softened, and symbolic content can arise and be transformed. The page, the studio, the dance floor - all become such spaces, where healing images and inner truths are invited to surface.

Knill et al. (2005) describe this shift as a process of de-centering, a core concept in Intermodal Expressive Arts Therapy. De-centering refers to the moment when the client steps away from habitual cognitive or emotional frameworks and engages instead with the aesthetic dimension: shifting focus from the problem itself to the creative response to it. In this way, the client enters into a space where new perspectives become possible. De-centering enables an encounter with the unknown, and in doing so, supports the emergence of insights and transformations that are not easily accessed through linear reasoning alone.

This encounter is often unpredictable. When we make art, we enter into a dialogue with something beyond the conscious mind. Shaun McNiff (1992, 2004) reminds us that the image (or sound, or movement) talks back to the maker. It responds, resists, surprises. In this dialogic space, we are not in control, but in relationship. The artwork becomes a kind of living other, guiding us towards what we have not yet seen or known (Jung, 1997). This relationship is not passive: it stirs emotion, memory, sensation. It reconfigures the inner landscape. Importantly, this is not a purely mental experience. It is bodily, sensory, felt. The hand moves charcoal across paper. The feet find new rhythms in movement. The breath changes. Through these embodied acts, the unknown is given form. As Levine (1997) writes, the symbolic emerges from the body and what cannot be spoken is danced, drawn, or sung. The act of creating does not simply express the self; it shapes the self.

This shaping, what Levine (1997) calls poiesis, is soul-work: a form of bringing-forth (Heidegger, 1977), in which what lies beneath everyday awareness is allowed to take symbolic shape. Through line, sound, image, or gesture, what was once vague becomes visible. What was fragmented becomes whole enough to be held (Winnicotts, 1971). The raw material of our lives - grief, longing, confusion - is not erased, but transfigured. The image does not solve our problems, but it opens a doorway. It invites us to remain with what we do not yet understand.

Ordinarily, when we encounter pain, confusion, or inner conflict, we try to resolve it quickly, through suppression or distraction. But in EXAT, we are asked to respond differently. Rather than avoid, we engage. We give form to the feeling. We move with it; we sound it out. The experience becomes something we can meet, not abstractly, but sensorially. The emotion becomes a colour, a rhythm, a texture. And once it has shape, we can be with it differently. It is outside of us, yet still of us. This is not dissociation. It is what Winnicott (1971) called a transitional space—a meeting ground between inner and outer realities, where play becomes possible even in the presence of pain. The art-making process provides containment. The artwork holds the experience. The body remains present. The breath continues. And it is this holding, not by the therapist alone, but by the imagination itself that enables us to stay.

Neuroscience supports what artists and therapists have long intuited. Engaging in creative processes activates multiple areas of the brain, not just those responsible for movement and perception, but also those related to emotion, memory, and imagination (Zull, 2002; Immordino-Yang & Damasio, 2009). Furthermore, aesthetic engagement has been shown to regulate the nervous system, activating parasympathetic responses that support rest, integration, and healing (Siegel, 2010; Cozolino, 2017). In this way, we are not only expressing emotion; we are co-regulating with it. We are not alone the artwork is there, the breath is there, the body is there. This allows us to remain - not forever, and not always comfortably -but long enough for something to shift. Long enough for a new image to arise. Long enough for meaning to take root.

The transformation we speak of here is not always grand. Sometimes it is subtle: a shift in posture, a softening of breath, a new metaphor. But these small acts of staying and responding accumulate. They form us over time. They open the possibility for healing, not as the removal of pain, but in the transformation of how we hold it. Ultimately, when we create, we change - not because we force change, but because we surrender to a process that invites it. The artwork becomes both mirror and crucible—a space where the inner world is encountered and reshaped. And from that space, we return altered, carrying not only the image, but the transformation it has made possible.

References

Cozolino, L. (2017). The neuroscience of human relationships: Attachment and the developing social brain (2nd ed.). W.W. Norton & Company.

Heidegger, M. (1977). The question concerning technology and other essays (W. Lovitt, Trans.). Harper & Row. (Original work published 1954)

Immordino-Yang, M. H., & Damasio, A. (2009). We feel, therefore we learn: The relevance of affective and social neuroscience to education. Mind, Brain, and Education, 3(1), 3–10.

Jung, C. G. (1964). Man and his symbols. Dell.

Jung, C. G. (1997). The Psychology of Active Imagination. Princeton University Press

Knill, P. J., Levine, E. G., & Levine, S. K. (2005). Principles and practice of expressive arts therapy: Toward a therapeutic aesthetics. Jessica Kingsley Publishers.

Levine, S. K. (1997). Poiesis: The language of psychology and the speech of the soul. Jessica Kingsley Publishers.

McNiff, S. (1992). Art as medicine: Creating a therapy of the imagination. Shambhala Publications.

McNiff, S. (2004). Art heals: How creativity cures the soul. Shambhala.

Siegel, D. J. (2010). The mindful therapist: A clinician’s guide to mindsight and neural integration. W.W. Norton & Company.

Turner, V. (1969). The ritual process: Structure and anti-structure. Aldine.

Winnicott, D. W. (1971). Playing and reality. Routledge.

Zull, J. E. (2002). The art of changing the brain: Enriching the practice of teaching by exploring the biology of learning. Stylus Publishing.