Art That Confronts, Not Comforts: Creating Through the Lens of Chronic Illness

ART Through the Lens of Chronic Illness

ART isn’t always meant to please - sometimes, it’s meant to provoke!

In a world that often values aesthetics over meaning, I use my art as a powerful tool of expression.

Art has always had the power to inspire, provoke, and shift perspectives. For some, it's a source of beauty or escape. For others, like myself, it’s a mirror held up to society—a tool to challenge, to question, and to bring light to the invisible.

My art isn’t made to please the eye, but to challenger the viewer to confront realities they may not understand. It’s not made to comfort. It’s not tailored for a gallery opening where smiles and wine flow freely without consequence. My art exists to shake you a little—to make you pause and sit with discomfort.

That’s intentional. And it’s necessary.

I live with chronic illnesses—Lyme disease and Lupus—that have changed every aspect of my life. And no, I didn’t “choose” this life, nor did I find it in some poetic twist of fate. It found me. And while I didn’t get to choose illness, I did choose how I respond to it. I chose to create.

Don’t Pity Me. Understand Me.

When viewers confront my work and see themes of pain, isolation, and the invisible weight of chronic illness, some feel compelled to respond with pity. Let me be honest: I do not want your pity. Pity is passive. It reinforces power imbalances, often stemming from a place of superiority, even if unintentional. I don’t need to be rescued. I need to be heard. I need to be seen.

Instead of labelling me as “brave” or “inspirational” or, worse, “tragic,” take a moment to genuinely engage. Ask yourself: What is this work really saying? What can I learn from this perspective I’ve never considered? Perhaps instead of rushing to judgment or emotionally checking out when things get real, you could lean in.

We are far too quick to turn away from what makes us uncomfortable in today’s image-obsessed culture. But discomfort is not inherently bad. It’s often the seed of empathy, change, and awareness.

Catharsis over Clout

Art is my outlet, my way of processing a reality that many cannot see or begin to understand. I don’t create art to get attention or likes on social media. I create because I need to. It is cathartic—a way to process pain, loss, and transformation. Through painting, writing, and mixed media, drawing, sculpting or poetry, I give form to things that can’t be seen: fatigue, brain fog, nerve pain, and grief.

Bright colors dominate my work not to symbolize joy, but to draw viewers in—to give contrast to the “bad news” I deliver through visual storytelling. They are my way of delivering hard truths wrapped in a palette that invites your eyes before it challenges your assumptions.

I often say I deliver bad news in bright colors. My work may look bold, vibrant—even cheerful from a distance. But look closer. Look deeper. You’ll find layers of struggle, pain, resilience, and the story of a body at war with itself.

If that makes you uncomfortable, sit with that discomfort. Because I will not water down my truth to make it more palatable for you. I will not sugarcoat illness. I will not sanitize suffering to protect your comfort.

Redefining Disability and Value

Living with a chronic illness brings with it a series of losses. The loss of energy. The loss of certainty. The loss of bodily autonomy. The loss of previous versions of myself. Each day, I adapt. I relearn how to exist in a body that doesn’t always cooperate, that often hurts, that forces me to slow down in a world obsessed with speed and productivity.

Illness brings limitations. It forces you to relearn life—how to move, how to think, how to be. When you live with Lyme or Lupus, you're not just dealing with symptoms; you're navigating a new reality. But these limitations don’t make us less valuable.

But let’s get one thing straight: being chronically ill does not make me less than. It doesn’t make me disposable. It doesn’t make me a burden or unworthy of inclusion. The idea that a person’s value is measured by their physical functionality is one of the most harmful narratives we perpetuate as a society.

Society too often labels us as “disabled” in the most dismissive sense—seeing only what we can’t do instead of honoring all that we are. Living with a chronic condition isn’t a flaw. It’s a different kind of strength, one that doesn’t get celebrated nearly enough.

We need to redefine what we mean by “productive,” “valuable,” and “whole.” There is a richness in diversity that includes illness and disability. Inclusion must mean more than just checking a box—it must encompass the unseen battles and invisible symptoms so many live with.

The Tyranny of Superficiality

We live in a world of filters, fast fashion, and forced positivity—a world where image often outweighs authenticity. In such a superficial society, empathy must be cultivated intentionally. Diversity should not just be a buzzword, and inclusion must include bodies and minds that function differently.

It’s not enough to say we believe in these things. We have to practice them.

We live in a culture obsessed with performance and perfection. But health is not a measure of worth. Productivity is not the only valid contribution. We need to move away from shallow ideals and begin embracing empathy, diversity, and inclusion in the truest sense.

Chronic illness and invisible disabilities deserve space in the conversation—both in art and in life.

My art pushes back against that superficiality. It exposes the rawness underneath the surface. It demands that we examine the systems, stigmas, and assumptions we too often ignore.

I didn’t ask to be a spokesperson for chronic illness. But if my journey can open eyes, if my creations can spark a conversation or encourage just one person to see beyond what’s visible, then the pain becomes purposeful.

Finding the Silver Lining: Transformation Through Art

It would be dishonest to claim that I always find beauty in my experience of illness. Chronic conditions like Lyme disease and Lupus are relentless. They rob you of so much—energy, time, and often, identity. But through art, I have found moments of meaning. I have found a silver lining, not in the illness itself, but in what I’ve learned through surviving it.

Resilience is not about being untouched by struggle; it’s about transforming it. I have taken what could have silenced me and turned it into color, texture, and voice.

If I can find purpose in pain, surely we as a society can find it within ourselves to expand our understanding, broaden our empathy, and challenge the limited ways we view health, art, and ability.

I didn’t choose to be sick. But I chose to turn my pain into purpose. Through my art, I’ve found a silver lining: the chance to educate, connect, and heal—not just myself, but others.

Resilience isn’t the absence of suffering; it’s the courage to create in spite of it. If I can find light in the middle of a storm, maybe you, too, can find space to expand your view of illness, ability, and art.

Raising Awareness, One Medium at a Time

Lyme disease is a global health threat that remains dangerously under-recognized. I didn’t understand the risks until I became part of the statistics. Now, I use every platform I can to raise awareness—because people are still being misdiagnosed, dismissed, and left in the dark.

Lyme disease and Lupus are complex, misunderstood, and often ignored by mainstream media. They are “invisible” illnesses—meaning symptoms are not always visible to the outside world. But just because something is invisible doesn’t mean it isn’t real.

I’ve made it my mission to raise awareness not just through painting, but through every creative outlet I can access. I do this not for accolades, but because this fight is urgent.

Through blogging, poetry, visual art, sculpting, podcasting, and advocacy in multiple languages, I’ve made it my mission to educate others about the dangers of Lyme disease and the realities of Lupus.

These stories aren’t often featured in mainstream media, which is why raising awareness through art is so vital.

And that’s why I won’t stop talking about it. Because silence serves no one. Because visibility matters. Because the more we share, the more we dismantle stigma. Art is my way of being loud about what others often wish to ignore.

Beyond Beauty: Reframing Art’s Purpose

Too often, people believe that art must be beautiful to be valid. But what if beauty isn’t just about what pleases the eye? What if true beauty lies in truth, depth, and emotional honesty?

My art isn’t always pretty—but it’s real.

It speaks to those who live with invisible struggles and to those who need to learn how to listen better. It’s raw, loud, bright, and unfiltered—because real life is all of those things.

If you believe art must always be beautiful, you may want to reconsider what beauty even means. Real beauty doesn’t always come in polished, pristine packages. Sometimes, it’s found in honesty, in raw expression, in vulnerability.

My art is not about perfection. It’s about truth. It’s about expression. It’s about connecting with those who feel isolated in their pain and educating those who’ve never had to think about what it means to live with a body that betrays you.

Art That Makes You Uncomfortable Can Open Your Eyes

If you’ve ever looked at my work and felt uncomfortable, ask yourself why. Sit with that feeling. Is it because it’s easier to ignore illness than to confront its reality?

My request is simple: Don’t pity me. Don’t turn away. Learn something instead. Listen. Engage. Open your mind to the idea that illness doesn’t erase artistry, and pain doesn’t cancel out purpose.

A Final Word: Connection Over Curation

I didn’t set out to be a chronic illness advocate. But through my journey, I’ve found that art can build bridges between people—between what is seen and what is unseen, what is understood and what is misjudged.

To the viewer: If my art makes you uncomfortable, that’s okay. Sit with it. Lean into that discomfort and ask yourself why. If you feel pity rising in your chest, replace it with curiosity. If you want to turn away, I urge you to turn toward. There’s something here for you to learn.

To the Lyme and Lupus community: I see you. You are not alone. Your story matters. Your voice is valid. Your pain is real.

To my fellow artists, creators and advocates: Keep creating through the chaos. Keep challenging the world to see more than it wants to. Keep pushing boundaries. Keep speaking truth, even when it shakes the room. 

Because in a world that constantly tells us to be silent, compliant, or invisible, our art is our defiance. Our story is our strength. And our voices—raw, vibrant, and unapologetic—will not be ignored.

And to everyone else: Don’t look away from what you don’t understand. Use your discomfort as a doorway to deeper compassion.

Let’s Rethink What Art Can Do

I’m not here to decorate your walls. I’m here to wake you up.
Because art isn’t just about beauty—it’s about truth. And through that truth, we can change minds, shift hearts, and maybe even change the world.