I was looking around our house the other day at the number of pictures we have. A couple of large original oils from a Cornish artist we like a good deal. Various ‘witty” ones of which my favourite is a picture of a slightly tipsy woman standing on the deck of a boat. The caption reads “I’ve seen what water does to the bottom of boats. That’s why I drink Gin.” (I’m inclined to agree!) Then there are a couple of old paintings of Chester that are family “heirlooms”. They are in the spare room. We don’t much like them but can’t bring ourselves to part with them. I won’t give you an itinerary of our various pictures. You can doubtless provide your own. But what’s fascinating are the memories that come with each picture. Mostly good ones, but some less good. But that’s part of the richness of one’s own collection. They make up a kaleidoscope of memories.

Some years ago I did some group work with local sixth formers. They were not impressed at having to sit for an hour and a half listening to me droning on. As the hour and a half dragged on and I’d tried valiantly to find some way of drawing them in, I heard myself giving then their homework for the next lesson. “For next week I want you to bring in something that matters to you. and tell us why it matters.” We got round the issue of “My dad’s Ferrari’ or “My hunting cross bow” by asking them to bring in a picture of the object. They looked sceptical. So was I. But I was committed to it now.

The next lesson came. I’d put the chairs in a circle. I sat down and waited for my students to arrive. They did and came bringing an object with them. The lesson went surprisingly well, with most of the group having brought something and being able to talk about it. Unfortunately I was only a student on placement so the group had a limited life. But the exercise worked well.

As a therapist I do an assessment interview with any new patient. I’ll ask about their own history and that of their family. It’s now become an axiom that if I see a depressed woman there will have been a depressed, anxious mother and grandmother. Similarly with a man who comes with anger issues. There will be an angry father and grandfather. These people and their messages about how to meet life, hang on my patients “internal walls” like the pictures in their “real” worlds. They will have hung there for so long that they are almost unseen. Except that their presence will still convey a message about values=albeit unconsciously.

Sometimes I feel like a psychological tour guide, walking my patients round their psychic galleries, stopping every now and then to look in more detail at a particular painting or picture. I’ll invite them to look at the picture with me and tell me what they see. It can be very informative. Those details that leap out and demand my attention so often go unnoticed by my patient. When i point out a detail the response is often “I’ve never noticed that before. All these years and i’ve never really looked at it until now.” Once a patient begins to discover the detail in one painting or picture, they will often go on to look at all their pictures. Some they will like and want to keep. Others can be taken down and thrown away. Others will be kept because they feel too important, even though they represent a story that was toxic. This is my patient’s choice. I’m there as a galley guide not a “cultural policeman’. Whatever my own opinion might be!

So perhaps in the future when i’m doing an assessment I won’t directly ask my patient about their family history. Instead I’ll ask them to bring me a picture or painting that matters to them. Or an object. And invite them to tell me about it. This might make for some interesting sessions. Imagine the range of things that people might bring. A Constable painting; a soothing Monet; a manic Dali. Or a piece of music. Joni Mitchell; Beethoven or the Sex Pistols. Perhaps I should revise my web page. No longer “Terry Burridge Psychodynamic Counsellor” but “Terry Burridge Psychodynamic Curator.” Watch this space.