[LAUIL602] Balance Magazine Brief, Interview and Article

 

The Brief:

My written article:

"I would like to invite you to imagine.

Imagine that you have the biggest dreams of becoming a children's book illustrator. Imagine that you have met your hero, Paddington Bear's author, Michael Bond CBE, at his home in London after writing to each other for some time and gifting your illustrations to him. He inspired you to work hard and to pursue your passion. Imagine that your first year of university, undertaking an illustration degree, has gone tremendously well. You have worked tirelessly to make the beginnings of your qualification a success. Imagine that you have been given the incredible opportunity to be part of Davina McCall's 'This Time Next Year' to make the dream of creating your first children's book become a reality. Imagine that you have received the interest of Walker Books in London, who have published some of your childhood favourites, and you can't believe that you are in their headquarters talking about the book you will publish with them. Imagine your heart being so full it could literally burst!

Imagine your universe crashing down around you as your mum, your absolute best friend and your entire support network, has a severe stroke in front of you and you are helpless to stop it. Imagine your world shrinking smaller in total devastation. Imagine giving up everything that you worked so hard for to be a carer for your stroke survivor parent, who is now very dependent and very disabled. Imagine your world slowly going black as the retina in your one working eye detaches in a matter of days leaving you with complications, high ocular pressures and blindness.

I'm Kimberley Burrows and this is the story of how art saved my life.

I was born as a premature baby in Salford, Greater Manchester, in November 1988 with Congenital Cataracts that were overlooked until I was 4 years old. My childhood was spent travelling between Manchester and London to have many appointments and operations at Great Ormond Street Children's Hospital and Moorfields Eye Hospital. All I ever really knew was the strange game of waking up in the early hours of the morning, getting washed and dressed, travelling a long distance in the car for hours, and then being in a hospital where I'd be in various states of panic without knowing the reason I was there and what was going to happen to me. I didn't know that my blurry world, out of only one working eye, was not how everyone else experienced living. I didn't know that people didn't have accidents the way I did because I had missed the footing of the stairs or where the door was.

Art was comforting during my extended hospital stays recovering from various eye surgeries. I always reached for the crayons and paper and scribbled away without thinking of creating anything in particular. This was very much the beginnings of my art journey. Looking back, I now realise this was my way of dealing with multiple, complex feelings happening all at once. A need for escape. It was an instinctive response to feeling emotionally overwhelmed and far away from home, and was the birth of what would later become a practice dedicated to reactionary, abstract, intuitive art.

I was an exceptional student despite my sight loss from an early age, with limited help back then, but art was where I truly flourished the most. It was my favourite subject throughout my school years before I went on to take it at GCSE level receiving an A* grade. After high school, my sight unfortunately started to deteriorate further so going to college became difficult. I began to reach out to sight loss charities such as Henshaws Society for Blind People, Guide Dogs, and the RNIB during this time to support myself as a young severely sight-impaired adult and to help build my confidence, social skills, Braille skills and mobility skills with my Guide Dog, Tami. As my confidence increased so did my interest in creating art again and I entered a competition to become the Royal National Institute of Blind People's 'Young Illustrator of the Year' in 2014. After winning, and creating regular work for their Insight Magazine throughout the year, I decided it was time to go back to art college and do everything necessary in order to receive my degree in illustration.

Leeds College of Art seemed the most suitable. It wasn't too far away from home and had a specialist course aimed at mature students wanting to get back into education and receive the qualifications needed to start a BA (Hons) degree. Travelling on the train twice a week with my Guide Dog, I was starting to live an independent life and truly enjoying the higher education that was denied to me when I was younger. I went on to become a Student Representative and Student Ambassador and received distinctions in all of my modules. My first year of university as an illustration student was equally as prosperous. I was the Student Governor, had won the Student of the Year Award 2016 at The Specialist Institution Awards and had even won the Guide Dogs Partnership Award for 2017, with my Guide Dog, Tami, at the Annual Guide Dogs Awards. I received distinctions in all of my modules again and spent the summer volunteering at an underprivileged school in Kasambira, Uganda, helping to build and paint a playground for the children as well as being involved with art and play sessions. I had the most amazing month while out there with absolutely nothing but my backpack and the love of the children and the team I was working with. 

When I came home from my amazing volunteering experience, I was contacted by ITV to ask if I'd be interested in being part of Davina McCall's 'This Time Next Year,' where I could make my dream of being a children's book illustrator a reality! I absolutely jumped at the opportunity and would record weekly video diaries of the work I was planning, the progress I was making and the publishers I was contacting. I met with Walker Books in London and recorded segments with them that would be used for the show, discussing the direction of the book I'd be writing and illustrating.

However, during this time, having started my second year at university and third year back in education, I was starting to fall into a deep depression. I missed the sense of purpose, community and belonging that I felt in Uganda that I didn't currently feel while being a mature student living away from home in Leeds. I was feeling isolated and began to negatively focus on myself and my weight. Anorexia quickly developed through heavy restriction of calories and misuse of painkillers but I finally felt in control of everything again, even though I was very far from it. I was sleeping all day from exhaustion, depression and malnutrition, but it didn't matter as long as I could wake up and hear my talking scales declaring I'd lost another pound. That was the ultimate success to me. It was beginning to turn into a serious problem when I'd lost 4 stone and had a dependency to Codeine. I had to withdraw from university to go home and get better, but the worst was yet to come.

At the beginning of February 2018, my mum had a severe stroke while we were out enjoying a Sunday afternoon at The Trafford Centre. One moment she was guiding me and the next she was walking into me and mumbling nonsense before collapsing onto the concrete floor of a clothing store. Everything felt like it was spinning and I could feel the blood pounding in my ears as the events unfolded before me. Staff members came rushing with oxygen tanks and first aid kits, people were crowding around and trying to find out what was going on, my mum lay crumpled on the floor. I couldn't strop crying and could barely see or remember the ambulance journey or hospital waiting room through the constant waterfall of tears.

My life had changed now and my mum needed me. Every day for the next few months I would go on the bus with my Guide Dog to visit my mum at the hospital while she was recovering and take care of the animals and the house in the evening, whilst still neglecting my own nutrition, to maintain that sense of control and power over a situation I was drowning in. I was very much alone. When my mum was well enough to come home, it was still extremely difficult for me to accept everything that had happened. She looked different, talked different and acted very childlike. I missed the person I knew and loved. How can you grieve for someone who is still technically alive? I would spend a lot of my time doing the best I could with gardening, housework, cooking and caring, but it was all too much for one person to cope with who had personal problems of their own that still needed addressing. My eating disorder was ever persistent and I was the lowest weight I'd ever been.

I could no longer set aside the time to record video diaries for 'This Time Next Year' and ITV quickly dropped me from the project. I was so, so heartbroken as I had worked incredibly hard up until this point. I was open and honest and had told them everything that was happening in my life with my eating disorder and my mum's stroke but they had tight deadlines to work towards and I was never invited back to the show.

In early September, I noticed something strange happening with my vision. It was like I was looking through a lens of tv static. I assumed I wasn't feeling well and went to sleep to try and rest my eyes but it was still there when I woke up later in the day. The morning after, I had dark floating objects across my vision. I was used to small floaters but this was something else; like an underwater scene of shadowed octopus legs swimming above me. I could barely see a thing and was horrified. In previous circumstances I would have rushed to my mum who would have driven me to the hospital, but what could she do now? Through tears I had to take myself back to the place I had been avoiding where my mum had had her stroke, The Trafford Centre, and go to the opticians for some assistance as it was the only thing I could think of doing. They sent me to Manchester Eye Hospital in a taxi where I was told that the retina in my one working eye was detaching and that it was a very serious issue. I was to have an emergency surgery after the weekend, but not before my vision changed again and a black curtain was pulling across everything I knew.

The next morning, everything was black. 

I can't even begin to describe this time of my life. A blurring of days and months. Emergency surgery after emergency surgery; needles in my eyes while I was awake under local anaesthetic to relieve the build up of pressure, my own screaming ringing through my head and the operating theatre. Lying face down in a leather pillow attached to the end of my hospital bed to constantly posture my eye correctly for healing. I wasn't allowed up unless it was for the basics of eating or self care. My other retina followed suit and detached 3 months later in December and this time a silicone buckle was inserted into my right eye to keep it in place, as it had detached from a different angle. I could barely keep either of my eyes open from them constantly weeping with all of the hourly eyedrops I was having, the swelling and the heat from my burning face where the buckle was trying to reject.

The only thing keeping me going was the alcohol during the Christmas period where I'd drink myself silly to forget how much agony and discomfort I was in, with the painful realisation lurking in the background that I still could not see after months of hospital visits. I had tried to restart my second year of university and, quite frankly, it just wasn't working out. I had started a month late because of my first retina detaching, and the current brief I was trying to work on during the second detachment comprised of making an animation over the festive holidays. I would have regular panic attacks in the workshops having to sit through visual instructions with a room full of sighted peers, knowing full well that I could not make something on my own animation-wise without wanting to throw the computer out of the window. I could barely write my own name.

My final operation was in February 2019 when a thick membrane was found to have grown over my left eye where the retina had detached first. I woke up from this surgery with stitches in my eye, rather than a gas bubble as before, which proved to have been a misjudgement of kindness by my surgeon as the stitches presented me with more problems. Two stitches became deeply embedded causing me a delayed recovery, shooting pains in my eye and my face, and constant headaches. I had to withdraw from university again as too much time was taken out for recovery and I had not really made any work since my eating disorder started a year and a half before. I had so much emotional baggage at this point that I was constantly carrying around with me from the PTSD of my surgeries and witnessing what had happened to my mum. It was a black fog that was suffocating me. I was experiencing my first intrusive thoughts of suicide.

Even though I was trying to start my life anew as a blind person and finding new ways to cook, clean and provide self care safely and efficiently, the biggest obstacle to my degree had become myself and my mental health. I simply didn't want to create anymore. How could I? What could I even do as a blind person? What the hell did I have to say that was of worth? My previous practice was digital, professional and imbued feelings of nostalgia using Adobe software and a Wacom tablet to create charming characters and settings. I absolutely could not do that now with no useful sight. Why was I even trying to be in university with the younger people, the next generation of talent? I was already past my youth and my adulthood was a complete disaster. My eating disorder was my normality now, and my dark thoughts and deep depression were my roommates. I no longer knew happiness.

My third and final attempt at my second year of university was finally going okay. I had created easy strategies of making work by cutting basic shapes with paper and using basic mark making. Though my heart wasn't really in it, at least I wasn't a carer back at home and I was working towards something. Until the global pandemic of COVID-19 and the country going into lockdown.

Any remaining independence I had was now gone and the aforementioned baggage was crushing me like a boulder. I found it difficult to get help with toiletries and groceries as elderly people were seen as the priority online, not blind people. Basic items were becoming hard to get ahold of that fully abled and sighted people easily had access to, and I did not. My Guide Dog, Tami, unfortunately had a large lump on her rib cage, which was found to be a benign tumour, where her harness could no longer close around the mass. She could no longer work and provide me with assistance. She was taken to a boarder to settle in, have regular free runs, undergo surgery, and recover from her operation. This process took a very long 16 weeks. I was completely on my own, with no family or friends, and a lot of other students in my accommodation had decided to go back home. This was not an option for me as I needed to finish my second year at university and I needed to keep fighting to look after myself every day.

By August 29th, 2020, the dark thoughts broke to the surface and I wanted to take my own life. I was so exhausted of being alive, feeling miserable, and being in total isolation. I had planned what I was going to do, where I was going to do it and had typed a goodbye message in my notes app that I would send to my mum and my best friend. My eyes were stinging and aching from hours of crying and I could not have been more desperate for something to cling onto. Anything. What was my purpose in life? Was it to suffer so much pain, be so completely alone without even my Guide Dog for so long? What did I ever do to deserve any of this? Do I not deserve a chance to see, to love, or to belong? The only way out of this was to end it but before I did, a small voice in the back of my mind told me to dare to paint for one last time. If this was truly the night I left the Earth then why not try what I had been avoiding for so long. If nothing happens and I can't bring myself to do it, as I was so sure I couldn't, then I would allow myself to find the bridge and end it. But let's dare to try first.

That night things changed for me and I finally found some peace. Maybe even a glint of genuine happiness. It wasn't immediate but a spark started to ignite. I began to feel tranquil, like I was in some kind of meditative state. I had found the thing I needed to cling onto. Hope. Since then, I have never stopped making and I have never stopped being fearless. I have created around 60 artworks and enjoyed a growing following on my instagram page at @gleamedart where I have shared my journey. I know that my artwork will never be what it once was when I could see, but so what? So what? What does it matter? Letting go of that self hatred for myself and what happened to me, and finally embracing myself as I am now, was truly a transformative moment. I now paint and use oil pastels while I listen to music and while I go through the spectrum of human emotions. Sight isn't needed for either of those processes. The colour of my tools are chosen at random by what 'feels' right and the marks made vary from being aggressive, gentle and caressing to illustrate my mood.

Creating reactionary and intuitive, abstract art through my own unique, blind lens has helped me to deal with a lot of my pain, my dark thoughts, my PTSD, and my loneliness and turn those negatives into something positive and beautiful. My problems are my no means solved but I have a more level-headed approach to dealing with what is manageable and what is not. The act of being creative makes me physically feel better and like I have a reason to be here in the world; to share my story and to share my art. My own personal journey and experiences with creativity informing, and positively impacting, my mental health has lead me to build my dissertation around the subject to learn more about the history and psychology of the positive effects of art therapy. I hope to continue being inspired by this work for a long time in my practice, while undertaking a Masters degree,  becoming a strong representation of a blind contemporary artist in the UK. 

Through all of the heartache, the pain, and the loneliness, I have always found my way back to that familiarity of creating. Just like the little girl I was at Great Ormond Street trying to understand what was going on in my life, I'm still very much doing the same now in my adulthood; yearning, questioning, unpicking, exploring. My output may be different to what I had originally intented to do as a children's book illustrator and this isn't the journey I thought I was supposed to be on but maybe, in the end, this is where I'm supposed to be. I will always keep fighting to be at peace with myself and my past. I've experienced some of the worst things a person can go through and, remarkably, I am still here through the power of art. 

I could never have imagined that."

The Article in Context

Reflection

This was a big piece of writing in the end, and it has encouraged me with my dissertation which I am nervous to start with. I am capable of writing and structuring work and need to remember this for writing my dissertation - it is not an impossible task, I'm just making it to be. To be the main feature in Balance Magazine, with a follow-up article, gives me a lot of confidence that there is interest in my life, my story, and the work I am doing. I feel valued. Maintaining a working relationship with Roberta Fraggle, the personal behind the magazine, is important to me as with the students at The Gryphon. This can start to build up a professional list of contacts.

[LAUIL602] Interview with Leeds University's The Gryphon Website

 Available at: https://www.thegryphon.co.uk/2020/11/28/meet-the-artist-kimberley-burrows/

Photo provided by Leeds University's The Gryphon and shared on my art instagram

Meet the Artist: Kimberley Burrows

Posted on 28th November 2020 by Phoebe Walker

"Phoebe Walker caught up with Kimberley Burrows, the artist behind the beautiful covers for the Disability Awareness Month-themed issue of In the Middle. They discussed Kimberley’s life as a blind artist, her creative process and producing work in the time of lockdown."

TW: mention of suicide etc.

You are currently studying at Leeds Arts University- what made you decide that Leeds and the University were right for you?

Before going back into higher education, I was a regular volunteer at a sight loss charity called Henshaws Society for Blind People, in my home city of Greater Manchester. I helped to teach Braille, collected money at a variety of events, gave speeches sharing my story of sight loss at charity dinners, and volunteered in the office one day a week to help with their social media accounts and networking. As I’d just made Christmas cards for Henshaws and they had been delivered to the office, one of the ladies mentioned how she went to art college in Leeds and it started to turn the cogs in my head. I didn’t get to enjoy a college experience when I was younger because my sight was deteriorating after high school and I was becoming more socially anxious. After feeling so empowered by Henshaws and the skills I’d learned, I looked into Leeds College of Art (as it was called at the time) and found they had a course for mature students wanting to get back into education and get the qualifications they needed to start a Bachelor’s Degree. This was perfect! I was 26 at this time. I booked the open day and the train journey and straight away I fell in love with everythingn that the man who would become my tutor was describing. He especially wanted to get the best from me as his daughter was blind, too. I fell in love with Leeds and how friendly everyone is to my Guide Dog and I. When I completed the course and it was time to select my university, I knew I wanted to carry on at Leeds Arts University on the Illustration course. It was a city I was starting to call home.

That’s really lovely and I’m glad you have a place to call home.

Thank you so much! I love that Leeds is still very much the North and has all of its charms, just on a much smaller scale to Manchester. This makes it much easier for my Guide Dog and I to navigate and to remember all of our routes. Everything is pretty much within walking distance here and we rarely use public transport.

You mentioned that you started to lose your vision in high school- what was that experience like for you?

I was born as a premature baby with my condition (congenital cataracts) overlooked until I was 4 years old, and I was having a lot of accidents. A great part of my childhood was spent travelling from Manchester to London’s Great Ormond Street Children’s Hospital, where I’d have many appointments and operations to have cataract removal surgery on both eyes, before having interocular lenses. School was difficult for me right from the beginning, especially in the early ’90s when there wasn’t a lot of understanding of visual impairment or a lot of help available. Nowadays, there are specialist assistants for the classroom and low vision aids that children can use. I didn’t have that. I could never see the whiteboard or the blackboard as everything was so blurry, and friends were given permission to read aloud what was written so I could write it down. I could never see regular print in textbooks so had to have it scanned and enlarged. I could never see the ball to play sports and had to struggle and do my best. It really embedded this feeling of being different and being ‘other’ from a young age. After high school is when more of my sight deteriorated and I cut myself off from the world for a few years while I tried to process it.

Do you feel that your blindness has affected your time as a student and as an artist?

Absolutely. Being older than everyone else has had an effect too. Even though everyone is lovely, there has still always been that looming sense of being different clouding me. I’m the one who stands out at my university with a Guide Dog. I can’t really go into any corridor or workshop without a chorus of “aww!” at every turn and it makes me incredibly self-conscious and not want to show up. No one really sits with me and it eats away at me inside. I promise I’m nice! But I get it. Young people stick with their housemates and flatmates and I shouldn’t take it too personally. The only time this was never a problem was during the college course I mentioned for mature students. It was an Access to HE (Level 3) course and had people from all walks of life. It was the best time I’ve ever had in an educational setting. I absolutely loved being there and I felt so included and so valued. We had everyone from a doctor to a 60 year old computer tech to a seamstress who were all interested in art and wanted to take that first step to getting their art degree. It was so empowering for me. University has unfortunately been a different experience to that, but I will always value the Access to HE course.

I noticed that you do a lot of work involving charities and fundraising- did your experiences growing up shape that interest?

Absolutely. Going to Great Ormond Street Children’s Hospital was probably my first connection to charity and fundraising. At the entrance, there is a memorial plaque for Princess Diana to show that she did a lot of work with the hospital and my mum would always point it out to me as we entered. It gave me hope knowing that she was there. I used to collect magazines and newspaper clippings with her in and saw all of the charity work she was doing. The same with Michael Jackson. They were both giving back to people less fortunate and I really admired that. I’ve always wanted to help others as I know how difficult it is to live with blindness. Anything, even just giving someone your time, is so valuable.

Last issue, you created such a beautiful piece for the In The Middle Section. I was curious about the process behind producing a new piece?

It’s my pleasure! Thank you for having my work as the cover, I wasn’t expecting that. My approach to making work is very open and I don’t give myself any constraints because my biggest constraint is my blindness and my mental health. The fact that I am making something, anything, is the most important thing as not even a few months ago I wasn’t making anything, and I was my own biggest barrier. It doesn’t matter about the materials; I use what I feel like using that day. If I’m in the mood to throw some watercolours around, I’ll randomly choose a few blocks out of my palette. It’s the same with my oil pastels. I’m not picky about what the colours are as I have no colour perception. I always listen to music and translate my feelings and experiences into the piece through movement. If I’m having a particularly tough day, I’ll be aggressive with my mark making and hope that it comes through to the sighted audience. At the end, I feel fulfilled that I’ve worked through some of the thoughts in my mind. I then scan it in and post it to Instagram and move onto the next piece. It’s very much a therapy session for me.

I’m glad you enjoyed making it as much as we enjoyed looking at it. I have noticed that on Instagram you often put lyrics or song titles as the captions to pieces of art – is music is an important factor in the creation of your art?

Music is an important factor in the making, and it’s an important part of my life in general. I’m always listening to music, but especially so when I’m making my paintings. I play albums and songs that are an extension of how I’m feeling. My emotions made into sound. I will then choose the lyrics that either describe my mood or thought processes at that time or that are from the song that helped inspire the piece I made. Music, lyrics and the range of emotions get me thinking of movements and gestures and I want to marry all of these things together.

You also said that colours and materials are not a driving force in deciding how your art is going to look- how do you decide what colours and materials are right for the feelings you are trying to evoke?

That’s a very good question! Some of this is prior knowledge I had before my retinas detached in 2018 and I went blind. I know that ink will look a certain way to sighted people because I saw it myself once. I know that watercolours look a certain way. If I’m feeling very, very down, I go straight for ink or my charcoal sticks. The output of both is going to be layers of black that have connotations of being in a dark place. Combined with mark making gestures, I can hopefully convey how I’m feeling. If I’m feeling like I’m having a better day or the song I’m listening to is rich and layered, I’ll go for oil pastels where the outcome will be creamy and textural. Sometimes I do want specific colours to be used, and I can’t select them myself, so I use the ‘Be My Eyes’ app on my phone that connects me to a sighted volunteer who can see through my phone camera to my materials or I’ll ring a friend if they’re available to video chat and we can go through what I’m doing.

What made you want to pursue art and illustrations particularly?

When I was having all of my operations and recovering at Great Ormond Street, I’d always ask for the art materials rather than the toys. I didn’t really realise why but I think, in hindsight, I needed an escape and I needed to work through a lot of complex things that were happening to me. I was away from home, school, friends and family and I didn’t understand why I had to wake up with bandages on my eyes and needles in my eyes. I didn’t know what cataracts or lenses were and I didn’t know that what I could see wasn’t what everyone else could see. That continued all throughout school. I didn’t need textbooks for art. No struggling with whiteboards. This was something I could do on my own and I did very well. I took Art as my GCSE and received an A*. After I lost some sight after high school, my confidence in drawing dwindled until I became interested in Paddington Bear. He brought me comfort and I started to collect merchandise and illustrate him. I shared some of my drawings with the Paddington Bear Facebook page that had just been set up at the time, and the page emailed

me to say it was run by none other than the author’s daughter. She gave me her father’s address and I started to write to him. I also attached my drawings so that he could display them in his office. I received a signed photograph and we wrote to each other for some time. He really encouraged me to keep pursuing what I enjoy doing despite what makes it hard. He even invited me to his home in London and I got to sit in his garden with him and his guinea pigs. I’ll never forget his support and encouragement and it is because of him that I entered the RNIB’s Young Illustrator of the Year competition in 2014, and illustrated for their

Insight Magazine for the year, before going ahead and going to art college and university. When my retinas detached in 2018 and I became blind, I found it very difficult to event carry on with my degree. I couldn’t see to do anything and was really struggling. What could I even do? I couldn’t make the work I was making anymore, and I had my heart set on being a children’s book illustrator. I had a big mental breakdown and couldn’t create for a long, long time because I’d become too scared to do so.

What helped to overcome that barrier of feeling unable to create anything?

It was the worst time of my life and I wouldn’t wish it on anybody. I felt so entirely alone throughout it too as I was away from my family who were going through their own things. My dad had cancer that he was having treatment for and my mum had had a stroke earlier in the year. My Guide Dog saved me through it all. Unfortunately, I had to reach a very bad point in order to start creating. On August 29th I was going to take my life. I knew what I was going to do and had typed up a goodbye letter in my notes app to send to my mum on Messenger and my best friend on Discord. I had had enough of struggling and suffering. I hate what happened to me with my retinas detaching and all of the pain and PTSD I went through from the surgeries and recovery process. I missed being able to see, even just a little bit. I’d been without my Guide Dog for a week at this point while she went up to Otley to start a very long process of having her benign tumours removed from her hips and rib cage (I’m still waiting for her to come home now and I’m at day 94 without her). I couldn’t stop crying for hours and

my eyes were absolutely killing me. That one small part of me that wanted to survive dared myself to paint for one last time if this was truly my last night. If I felt nothing, no connection to it whatsoever, then I could proceed to end it. I didn’t feel anything at first. I actually felt really self-conscious as a blind person just sitting there with paints at 3am, but slowly I started to calm down and enter a meditative state. I just listened to the music and expressed how I felt through gestures. Things changed for me that night and I set up my Instagram with my very honest first post (that’s still there) that details what happened. I’ve been creating every day since.

What does your art mean to you?

For me, my art is very personal and autobiographical. As I’m making every day, while I experience life’s highs and lows, it’s become like a diary and most definitely a therapy tool while I continue to work through my complex feelings and emotions connected to blindness, suicidal thoughts, severe depression, abandonment, pain, isolation, PTSD and living with an eating disorder. More than anything it has become a symbol of my strength and determination to overcome all of my obstacles. I am still here, still fighting and still creating despite everything life has thrown at me and will continue to do so for as long as I can as I am experiencing genuine enjoyment for the first time in a long time. Sharing it along has helped me to connect with a lot of people and hopefully sharing my story and my art will inspire others.

I have to say I have really enjoyed following you and seeing the art you create- it is really beautiful.

That means a lot to me, thank you very much!

Has lockdown has helped or hindered your artistic approach?

Lockdown has actually helped my artistic approach and the final year of my degree. With everything going online, and being efficient at using accessible software for my phone and computer, I haven’t struggled with university content. Knowing that many of my peers are in the same boat and having to problem solve with many of the facilities being unavailable, has helped me to continue to embrace my completely analogue approach to making and not make me feel anxious that I’m missing out on workshops or skills that my sighted peers are using. The only thing I’m missing is my independence but a lot of that comes from my Guide Dog, Tami, not being here and recovering from tumour removal surgery.

What’s in the works for you in the future?

In the near future I’ll have my website online and a shop available. I’ve had a lot of interest in prints, original canvases and other little handmade gifts I can offer with my patterns on them. I just need to finish my dissertation first and then get some sighted help with the technical side of things! I’ll keep making and sharing every day and would love to exhibit outside of my final degree show.

I’ve asked what your art means to you, but I was just wondering what you hope your art brings to other people?

I hope it is a source of encouragement and inspiration for other people. I hope it brings hope. We’re all on different paths and fighting different battles, so you may never understand blindness, but I would never want anyone to feel the way I did on August 29th. When things are at their worst and we are at our lowest points, we absolutely have the power to turn things around even if we feel like we don’t, and when we feel like we’re drowning. Power lies within us. No matter our abilities, we can all overcome our obstacles and achieve our dreams.

All featured images via the artist. You can follow and discover more of Kimberley’s art here.

Reflection: This interview was incredibly cathartic and important for me and at a pivotal time in my mental health where, without Tami - my Guide Dog - for 4 months now, I'm starting to struggle again. It felt like a much needed therapy session. It is also important to highlight disability and mental health to the wider student body - reaching even wider as this is at Leeds University. Platforming disability, especially blindness, is incredibly important to me as blind people are often forgotten by society. We have important stories and experience to share and have skills to offer. The range of questions were interesting to engage with and din't undermine me or my disability, in fact, quite the opposite. I hope that my story can reach someone and inspire them to find themselves through creativity and play. Having the beautiful photograph of my artwork in a context and setting really inspires me for when it comes to building my brand and my website!