Neuro Blooms in Amsterdam (part 1)

August 2021

In July I checked a lot of excess baggage onto an airplane, specifically 3 TV boxes and an extra large moving box, that contained an entire body of artwork, several years worth. Every half hour or so of this 15 hour journey to Amsterdam (with a layover in Reykjavik) , and every moment there was even a hint of turbulence, I visualized the art jostling in the cargo area. I literally dreamed about a long sword puncturing one of the boxes, or was it a ski? I was on my way to install two Neuro Blooms projects: one an exhibit of my original art at the Beautiful Distress House, and the other a window project at the Mentrum Mental Health Clinic.  The work arrived safely, despite the rolls of Homeland security inspection tape that was sloppily holding the boxes together. It was messy, but well packed. There’s so much to process about this trip, so I will start with the window project.

The window project includes large decals of Neuro Blooms designs printed and installed on 14 large windows of the Mentrum Mental Health clinic which is located on a busy street in downtown Amsterdam.

The original plan was to have an exhibit of my original art inside the hospital. But due to Covid, the clinic was closed to visitors, so we shifted to the windows and everything about the project changed. Wilco Tuinebreijer, the Director of Beautiful Distress, is a psychiatrist at Mentrum. He coordinated with the management to host my Neuro Blooms project.

As you can see from the photo, the Neuro Bloom decals are large enough to be seen from across the street. If passersby get curious and venture closer, they discover information about the Neuro Blooms project, a “key” to the different diagnoses, and a link to my art exhibit at the Beautiful Distress House art space.

Even during the installation process, the larger-than-life brains attracted a lot of attention; many pedestrians and bicyclists stopped, read the information, and asked questions. Clinic staff came out to chat about the project and take photos. The positive energy was palpable. A man named Jan, who worked the front desk of the clinic, came out from time to time to check on the installation and scold me for stepping too far away from the pile of decals and my bag of supplies. “What, do you live in the country?  This is the big city. They will steal these faster than you can blink.”  I assured him I am a city girl and wondered aloud about what someone might do with oversized brain decals. He chuckled. Jan was burly in stature with a doughy, kind face. He was sweet and playful with a mischievous sense of humor, the perfect person to work at the reception desk -- just who you want to speak with if you are not feeling well.

The next evening Mentrum hosted a reception to celebrate the opening of the project. It took place in a lovely garden behind the hospital. A peer counselor for the patients gave me a tour, pointing out trees, shrubs and flowers the patients had planted. They had also filled a wheelbarrow with flowers and painted the outside with multicolored blooms. The counselor was super proud of the garden and passionate about his work with patients. I think he was from somewhere in Southeast Asia with a thick accent I couldn’t place. Every time we saw each other during my trip, he would put his hands together in prayer, bow his head, and say “bless you” when we parted.

The reception was more formal than I expected, with a sound system,  white table clothes, appetizers and nonalcoholic champagne. I was happy to hear the event was open to all – staff, patients and the general public. Later I found out that Jan had come in on his day off to coordinate the festivities, including circulating the trays of food and drink.

After a clinic doctor and a board member of Beautiful Distress spoke, I talked about the project. I don’t remember exactly what I said. But I do know I talked about the Neuro Blooms project being personal, mentioning my struggles with depression and having a mom with Bipolar. And that I believe mental illness is painful but also has beauty to it; that people’s unique stories and points of view are what makes life so interesting and rich. I said the Neuro Blooms project is about connection. Connection between a patient’s troubled mind and loved ones who struggle to understand them. And on these windows, a connection between what happens on the street and what goes on in the building.

And since this trip I think a lot about the layers of experiences inside this building. The pain, suffering, loneliness and disorientation – and sometimes death - but also the deep care, the earnest attempts to understand, communicate, heal. A safe place for many people who feel profoundly unsafe in their own minds. They may feel broken, damaged and utterly disconnected. I remember my mom in a manic phase demanding to go to the hospital. She ran out to the car and honked until my dad came out to drive her there. While the hospital does not feel safe for everyone by any means, and some are terrible places to be, I have hope in this place that has a beautiful garden and art facilities, that has a man like Jan welcoming you at the front door, that holds events for patients and staff, and that eagerly hosts a project with humongous brightly colored brains plastering their windows. I have hope that at least some people find refuge there.

The real gift came after I was finished speaking. I had a moment of relief to be done with the super public part of the event. I picked up some fake champagne and a biterballen (a Dutch favorite appetizer whose name made me giggle) from Jan’s tray. I glanced around the group of about 30 people for the folks I knew, and caught the eye of two women sitting on folding chairs on the edge of the garden, in front of a wall of tall shrubs. They were staring at me and smiling eagerly. Happy to escape to the fringes, I made my way over to introduce myself.

N was a very thin, dark-skinned woman who clutched her small cross that hung on a gold chain around her long neck. Her name was Biblical, and she seemed to own it completely, with a face that appeared devout and earnest. The other woman sat slightly behind her and just listened, smiled sometimes, nodded her head, but didn’t speak. N told me she was originally from Ethiopia and had recently moved to Amsterdam from London. She had a break down shortly after she arrived and had been in the hospital for awhile since then (did she say months?). And she said that my talk made her feel better about her own mental health, made her feel less shame. She said that she has never thought of it as beautiful. And that I made her feel beautiful. We talked for a little while, maybe 15 minutes, until I glimpsed another women standing on my other side waiting to speak with me. I can’t remember what this other woman looked like – but I think she was dressed like a fairy, or like she was going to a Renaissance fair? N slipped past me as I started to chat with the fairy woman who told me she is an artist too, and she follows me on Instagram, and that when she leaves the hospital she wants to help people with her art. N clutched my hand as she passed and said “I have to get back on the floor, but I will never forget you.”  I told her (quite honestly) that I would never forget her either.

Later that evening at dinner Wilco told me he had also spoken to N. He said she has been in the hospital for awhile and has been having a difficult time understanding and accepting her mental health condition and treatment. He had hope that this experience would help make a shift in her healing process. He said that made the whole project worth it by itself. I wholeheartedly agree.

The Neuro Bloom decals are still in the windows. They were scheduled to come down August 31, but they will stay up for awhile. Wilco told me many patients and staff want them to be there permanently.  I am hopeful they will have an impact on those inside and outside the clinic doors.