Painting an Accurate Portrait of Breast Cancer Survivorship

Bonnie Annis is a breast cancer survivor, diagnosed in 2014 with stage 2b invasive ductal carcinoma with metastasis to the lymph nodes. Catch up on all of Bonnie's blogs here!

I don't know when my love of art began, but I would have to say more than likely it was when I was in elementary school. When I opened my first box of Crayola crayons and saw the myriads of colors, I was astounded. They were so pretty! Immediately, I took a piece of paper and began to draw. As I worked, I felt peaceful watching the colors glide across the paper. Not only was I being productive, but I was learning the power of creativity to express myself.

As I grew older, I began to dabble in other mediums — acrylic paints, oil paints, mixed media, assemblage, and other artistic materials. Though I've never had a formal class, I've taught myself various techniques by watching others, watching YouTube videos, and experimenting on my own. As I watched, I learned what I liked and disliked. What I found surprised me. Of course, realistic art impressed me, but abstract art did, too. I loved that each piece of art conveyed a message. I wanted mine to do that, too.

When I was diagnosed with cancer, I found art to be wonderful therapy. Picking up a brush and wielding it against a canvas, I could express myself freely. Some days I painted realistically, and other days I painted abstractly. My mood dictated the technique for the day. Friends and family members soon became recipients of my art. Often, they would exclaim they had received a clear vision of how I was feeling from my work. Happy days were normally filled with brilliant colors, while sad days were dark and moody.

I entered several art contests in our community and won prizes for my work. One of my paintings was even selected to be used in a cancer magazine, and I was so proud. I wanted my work to speak to the lives of other women going through breast cancer.

Though I still paint, I find myself writing more than ever. It has been a very cathartic release since my diagnosis. I've had the honor of writing for several publications focusing on cancer in women. As I've written, I've tried to give a very clear picture of my breast cancer journey. I haven't wanted to sugarcoat anything, but I haven't wanted to scare anyone to death either.

Over the years, I've found many cancer publications choose to paint a breast cancer journey in a very positive light. While I understand they want to give patients with cancer hope, I also feel it's important to share the negative aspects of the disease. Real life isn’t always easy, and it should never be portrayed as such, especially regarding health issues.

Artists use both positive and negative spaces in their paintings. These different values can help draw the eye to a specific point in a work of art. Without the negatives, the positives don't shine. I feel it's the same when survivors paint their experiences with breast cancer.

If I were using art to explain where I am on my cancer journey today, you’d see a canvas filled with muted tones. There would be no dark spaces and no bright-colored spaces. Instead, there would be soft, gentle tones blended abstractly. The reason I feel this way is because I’ve finally come to a point of acceptance along my breast cancer journey.

In March, I will be returning to the cancer treatment center for an annual checkup. No longer do I go to my appointment with fear and dread. I am expecting the visit to be routine, thus the muted tones. In the past, if I were to paint a piece of art to portray the beginning of my journey, it would be splattered with dark blobs overshadowing bright colors. The dark would overpower the light, but not so now.

As a breast cancer survivor, I don’t think I can give an accurate representation of my life if I don't let others see what I’m feeling. The only way they can do that is to stand before my canvas, study it, and come to their own interpretation.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and though there have been many dark, depressing days along my cancer path, there have been glorious days as well.

I have a canvas on my easel right now and have been working on it for days. Though it’s been cold and dreary outside, I’m not feeling that way on the inside. As I lift my brush to the canvas, wet paint slides easily. I feel powerful as I carefully place each stroke. No longer do I work on a painting for hours at a time and finish it; instead, I work in quick increments and then step away to reassess. I think that's the same thing we have to do with our lives, especially after having been diagnosed with cancer. It’s important to experience, feel, understand, and accept our lives much in the same way an art connoisseur would do.

Cancer is not a clear black-and-white picture. In the beginning, it's often a muddled mess, but as days go by, and feelings change and grow, a clearer picture often presents itself.

The muted tones of my life and my canvas have melded together over the years. I've watched gentle, soft greens push into heavenly shades of blue. I've watched rosy pinks wade into majestic purples. It’s been interesting to see my work evolve, just as my outlook toward breast cancer has over the years. No longer does it possess the power it once had over me. Now I wield the brush and paint what I want others to see.

I read somewhere that our purpose is to leave the world a better place than when we found it. For me, leaving a true and accurate picture of my life as a survivor is one of the best ways to do that. More importantly, I want my life’s work to convey a very specific message — that fear loses power in the face of someone who’s known courage. Cancer forced me to be courageous. I never expected that to happen, but perhaps that’s part of the masterpiece breast cancer created in me.

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