By Light and By Darkness Vol. 1

State

Acknowledgements

By Light & By Darkness:

Cougs for Recovery Art Exhibition

was organized by the Cougs for Recovery Program. This program is a division of Student Affairs within the Health Promotion department providing supports to students in recovery to enhance academic success and wellbeing. Special thanks for supporting the development and sustainability of the Cougs for Recovery Community to Vice Chancellor of Student Affairs, Assistant Vice Chancellor and Dean of Students, as well as the Director of Health Promotion.

The Cougs for Recovery community supports and services are funded by the State of Washington Health Care Authority (HCA) (Contract number 1365-70126). We appreciate the support and resources the HCA provides to the WSU Collegiate Recovery Support Initiative team with special thanks to Amy Dura, HCA Contract manager.

Thanks to the Health Promotion Recovery Coach team for their assistance in the development and implementation of the art show.

Thank you to the Washington State University Departments, staff, and faculty for working with the Cougs for Recovery community in granting studio access for work time, the art show catalog development and putting on this art show:

English Department, Editing and Publishing Program

Fine Arts Department, MFA program

Digital Technology and Culture program

Cougar Union Building and Student Entertainment Board

Student Affairs Marketing and Communication

State of Washington Collegiate Recovery Support Initiative, Health Promotion Department

Washington State University is located on the homelands of the Niimíipuu and the traditional homeland of the Pelúuc Band of Indigenous People. We acknowledge their presence here since time immemorial and recognize their continuing connection to the land, to the water, and to their ancestors.

Letter from the Curator

Artistic expression has become such an integral part of my life that I don’t even know where it begins or where it ends; it is in everything. That is why I love helping others to find their own creative outlets through the Cougs for Recovery Art Night and by teaching art classes at WSU. When we learn to express ourselves in healthy ways, we can be the best versions of ourselves.

This publication and the art show in the CUB Gallery are evidence of people coming together to heal and to grow through themes of recovery, identity, perseverance, transcendence, and connection. The collaborative processes that it took to make this event and book happen shows people learning to work together and connect with the world around them. There are examples of art in many different visual mediums as well as written pieces, as the artists all seek to find their own unique voices.

I hope you enjoy the evidence of our hard work!

Shanda L. Stinebaugh

Letter from the Editor

I’m grateful to the Cougs for Recovery community for their collaboration and participation in our first art exhibition. The Cougs for Recovery program has provided community and support in my life that I have benefitted from tremendously. I am privileged to create this catalogue and support artists by highlighting their work. This showcase is a testament to growth and healing, I look forward to this work being completed by the viewer as they connect with the art presented. Thank you for your support.

Austin Wetzel

Cover Art

Life’s Journey

DSLR Photography

Stuart

;

Emmett Bryz-Gornia

Wetzel

Hulett

;

Oskooie

Stuart

Stinebaugh

Stinebaugh

Stinebaugh

Stinebaugh

Nazarov

Contributors

Brenda Hulett

I constantly battle with thoughts inside my head. I like to think the bright, positive thoughts outshine the negative ones. At the end of the day though, they all collectively make me who I am. I just have to keep improving and moving forward.

As this painting is in entering the 3rd dimension (impasto). Emotions are my 4th. As my pain overflows like liquid mercury in a cup. My tears help wash away some of the pain, but won’t ever completely vanquish it. It’s the “light at the end of the tunnel” that keeps me going through. Helping me transcend the other emotions that weigh me down. Striving to recover.

My work for this project was influenced by my thoughts as a nurse, experiencing my own health, and the people I interact with.

My inspiration for these works comes out of my passion for the recovery movement. I found my voice in the written word. Through projects like this, I get to share the joy I have found along my recovery journey. I want my readers to walk away with feelings of connection and of hope. My words evolve as I explore and unpack what it really means to be human.

Jennifer Madison

Emmett Bryz-Gornia

El Nazarov

Getting There is a celebration of perseverance and the strength of the human spirit. Despite the punishing nature of the environment around them and the heaviness of their packs, the figures continue pushing forward into the light. I hope this work stands as a reminder that while struggle is part of the universal human experience, we can all find strength within ourselves to keep pushing forward. One more step is all it takes.

Skye Oskooie

In this work, I am reflecting on how much of my environment and myself I can predict and control. The ebb and flow of these concepts amounts to the expression on the face; empty, exhausted, acceptive. I have empathy for myself when I look at the portrait, an empathy hard won. Our environments affect us, and we affect our environments. You are my environment, and I am yours. As information transference in our world quickens, I would like to pause and look at each other with compassion for our unique and similar dispositions. We did not choose our togetherness. We can embrace it.

I chose this piece as it demonstrates a very dark side to addictions and recovery from mental health disorders. I wrote this piece during a time of self-reflection and a time in my life where I was personally struggling with self-harming behaviors as well as suicidal ideations and attempts at suicide. My main message to convey to the reader is to speak up about mental health and raise awareness to suicide prevention, since it hits on a very personal level.

Alex Stuart

Shanda L. Stinebaugh is a graduate student in the Fine Arts Department at WSU. She is also an active member of Cougs for Recovery and believes that art is valuable tool for personal growth, expression, and healing. Her work is centered around themes of transformation, storytelling, and evidence. She has lived in the Palouse region with her family for the past 15 years.

My work for this project was directly influenced by nature and the surrounding world around me. I really enjoyed looking into natural phenomenon as well as the surrounding scenery and using that as a method of capturing human experiences, struggles, and emotions. My vision for this collection is to really allow people to sit in the scenery that I experienced and allow them to ponder the relationship that their life might have with the visual piece before them. My work is predominantly photography and my preferred form is landscape photography due to the time and effort it takes to pursue the landscape and imagery I would like to capture. Many times I sit in the landscape long before I get the image I would like. The peace and tranquility that comes with being present in the landscape is what I enjoy the most.

Shanda Stinebaugh

My works for this project were prompted by my desire to grow in love and compassion. My visual art is a practice in reading and relating to mediums and materials around me. My vision grows as I look, breathe, and interact with the piece I am working with. I may have a broad idea of the repeated images and patterns beforehand, but the way these are expressed comes from an immediate feeling based off what I see on the canvas and what emotions I am working through.

I created this work from a desire to share my experiences with others that are currently experiencing or have experienced substance use disorders. I also want to convey a message of hope, that there are solutions, and that we do recover.

Austin Wetzel

Nicole Williams

The First Step

By Jennifer Madison

there is inspiration in this walking this pathway stumbling on words well-written worn sandals on a wandering road, I was a stranger once. a transient left lost and laundered like a seperated sock stranded static and alone. I remembered where I came from tattered memories fragmented photos forgotten pieces the broken pavement of my past the potholes like a dirt road stubbed my toe as I tumbled into the flickering light that echoed off the smiles from welcoming embraces of unfamiliar faces, soldiers in the same war and family to me. I wandered into the room of awakening: powerless their stories guided me home

Found

By Nicole Williams

I had lost all connection to me, who I was, without titles: Mom, Wife, Daughter, Sister, Stockbroker, Cook, Cleaner.

Who am I? What do I like? What value do I have?

This disconnection with self, had caused me so much anxiety and pain. I put myself away for so long, to become what I thought I “should” be;be. Who I thought would be accepted;accepted. Who I thought would be loved. It left this empty shell.

Pain.

It left pain which I treated carefully with prescriptions, drugs, and alcohol. Pain which I treated with people pleasing, men, and food.

Anything that acted as a salve for the open wound that was me. Just a little did the trick… until it didn’t, it got away from me.

The alcohol and drugs soon became who I was; What I existed for; What made me happy; What made me funny; What made me pretty.

It was all a mirage. The cost of that mirage, that dream, was my family, my friends, and my self-respect.

Once I became aware of the cost, and that I was killing myself, I quit the drugs and alcohol and reached out for help.

But through the quitting, I also found what was really killing me, and that was that I had let go of who I was so long ago.

I had let go of the girl inside me.

Beyond the History

DSLR Photography

Stuart 2022

Found continued

In the healing, I started to ask myself, what do I like… to eat, to watch on tv, to do for fun? More importantly, what do I dislike?

What hurts me? How do I say no?

Finding the child inside me again is allowing me to slowly embrace the truth about who I am and all that I bring to this life.

I am funny.

I am smart.

I am loyal.

I like vegetables and documentaries.

I love puppies and babies’ laughs.

I love comfortable clothes and I like to be with my friends, but I also need time to be home and rest.

All of this is important and valuable and valid and right and beautiful… AND ME!!! :)

Hands on the clock move with you in the world

Your breath gives a knock for the universe to unfurl.

Time is on your left. Observe and relax while the problems subside drift and slip through the cracks.

With yourself take care think and speak kind words. Anger can be a snare like stepping into turds.

By Austin Wetzel

My Rainbow

By Anonymous

When I think of the world around me and the space in which I stand, colors come to mind; the colors of the skies and the colors in the eyes of people when I talk about recovery.

There is this light that flickers from behind my eyes; a light of understanding and hope.

The light wasn’t always so brightly burning; it lacked oxygen in my addiction.

I see the light in your eyes understands me. They say blue is cool as an ocean or hotter than the sun.

I perceive the space in between is my rainbow.

My Gratitude List

By Anonymous

Life – my new life – reconciling my old life – forgiveness – friendships that have lasted in my lifetime – each lifetime – my strength to endure the hardships and self-destructive behaviors – my family – my extended family – my familiars –my therapist – my big heart – my Lord God, Christ Almighty, Higher Power – my education – WSU – the knowledge I have gained – the wisdom to understand – the drive to create change – the pennies in my hand – the work I have yet to do – my computer for sticking with it – Cougs for Recovery for helping me to get through it – the ink in my printer and pen –the time to reflect, for reflection – the coffee in my cup – my Internet connection – a peaceful morning – a quiet afternoon – and you, for being a part of my recovery.

By Brenda Hulett

What does it mean to be healthy, tell me…

Is it to be alive?

Is it to thrive?

Can we have fun?

Do we have to run?

What does it mean to be healthy, tell me…

Is healthy a goal To be achieved?

Can we find health Though outside means?

Can we find health All by ourselves?

So many questions But what is the answer?

Healthy is a state-of-mind. Healthy is a feeling… Feeling capable, Feeling able.

Healthy is more than illness. Healthy is all aspects of life.

Don’t Speak Up

By Skye Oskooie

Don’t speak up; what does this message entail? Because countless of lives are lost to suicide every 11 minutes. Don’t speak up because it’s only a burden to others, yet thousands of people live in agonizing pain and suffer in secrecy. Don’t speak up because mental health is something that is privatized, don’t speak up because the stigmatization of suicide and depression have riddled society for the longest time, with little help being offered to those who can’t afford it. Don’t speak up about the pains of the past and the nightmares that continue on in the mind, so don’t speak up is the message that is pushed. Don’t speak up in schools because kids are too young to understand the issues behind mental health, don’t speak up because kids must be protected and kept pure and sacred.

Don’t speak up because lives are not all the same in society as seen by constant news articles of police brutality towards black indigenous and people of color. Don’t speak up because things like Stone Wall are a figment of imagination. Don’t speak up because celebrities live in the spotlight and should be perfect in every way as if they’re some flawless sentient being. Don’t speak up, because lives of LGBTQIA+ don’t matter and is purely a choice and to be fixed with religious prejudice and bigoted pseudo medical practices like conversion therapy.

Don’t speak up… this message echoed in society is the most detrimental and stigmatizing one to those who are struggling.

Suicide is the leading cause of death in the United States. In 2020 the CDC reported about 46k people took their own lives because that was the only option left when no one would listen. This is about one death every 11 minutes.

Don’t speak up because neurodivergancy is a crime, don’t speak up because to be neurodivergent means you are less than. Don’t speak up because you life, OUR lives don’t matter…. Don’t speak up….

Suicide is a last resort when all cries for help went unanswered. When no one would listen.

Don’t Speak Up continued

Mental health is a serious issue and one that can easily be helped with providing proper medical care. So why do we push it away from the spotlight? What are we really telling those that are struggling? That society doesn’t care about them, doesn’t value them as an individual because of their biology. This is not the solution to a global problem. So don’t tell others to remain silent and shun

them/demonize them for being brave and speaking up about what they are going through. Praise them, and LISTEN to them. Provide that even if you can’t provide the care they need. Be the advocate and speak up about mental health, not just for those who took their own lives because no body would listen, but for the future generations to come. Speak up for your own health. So don’t say “Don’t speak up”.

Ghosts

By Jennifer Madison

Cardboard is not so easy to find when writing a sign with integrity. There is something to be said about stepping from rock bottom to the curb. Out of the traffic lined streets they collect the aluminum cans that have been discarded by those who have lost interest in caring. They were holding onto the hope that pennies add up and what has happened to them might make sense one day.

“Be careful who your friends are.” My grandfather once said. When I asked why, he would answer “You become who they are.”

Looking back now, I can see how right he was. Everything is always in retrospect.

By the time I could recognize with clarity the calamity of my existence, I was sitting on the curb. No one had told me it was illegal to sit on a curb in a relatively underused lot just south of the downtown shopping area. Sitting is a sign of homelessness and the city doesn’t want to be bothered by it. “Do you have identification?” The officer said. He ran my name through the system in his unmarked SUV. “No” I said. “Well, you are free to go, but don’t sit around here or we’ll arrest you next time.” He said. The SUV pulled away and I knew I had hit rock bottom.

Every day I walked until my feet wore the soles in my shoes. I wasn’t alone. Around me everyone was struggling. The disease of addictions and homelessness seemed an epidemic from where I stood. I was exhausted and stubborn to my reality. I had become one of the discarded wanderers on the outskirts of what was considered normal. I leaned against the wall of continued

continued

the Starbucks. I didn’t like to go inside without a dollar or two, unless I had to use the bathroom. One minute too long and I would hear a knock on the door telling me that my time was up. An abrupt reminder that my life was far from “normal”. I made my way down the city streets with a backpack full of the day’s necessities. I had lost all the elements of home a couple years ago. I didn’t miss a lot of it. Stripped down to the minimum requirements of survival, I still wouldn’t give in to a lack of caring.

“A person isn’t meant to have so much baggage” my street mom would say. She was in her sixties living in a new little governmental subsidized building. It was constructed to reduce the homeless population. I would admit I agreed with her.

Most days I didn’t think about much. I was focused on where I was going to get my next meal.

We were a family of strangers. Street bound gutter punks, widows, war heroes and grifters. Some people were survivors. Some people had just plain given up on life. Huddled together under the bridge there was a familiarity in the faces. Humans brought down to their basic needs. Broken spirits. Ghosts. “Homelessness is a choice.” I heard the man say over the counter at the local grocery store.

It was one of those places that popped up in the newly gentrified city, just north of the riverfront. It smelled of freshly baked artisan bread and organic produce. For a moment it made me feel normal. If there is such a thing. I hadn’t felt normal for nearly two years while I wandered the city streets.

“Beggars CAN be choosers”, I thought to myself. I would never resort to begging. That was my choice. In a way, he was right. I walked out of the store grabbing a cart on the way. I would return it to its location after I was done collecting cans and cardboard for the evening.

“Why do you bother to take the cart back when you are done?”

My street brother asked me. We continued down the alley. “The shelters don’t allow carts and I am not a thief,” I said.

I really didn’t mind pushing a cart. It was a useful tool. I used it for carrying the assortment of blankets and backpacks for my little army of twenty-somethings without a home. A street mom is someone who can be trusted when no one can be trusted. They trusted me. I wasn’t inclined to be a specter.

“Let me help you” he said and guided the front end of the shopping cart. I pushed it from the back. We were a good team. He was a good kid.

There were about 13 in our group ranging from 16 to 24 in age, and me. I would enlist the help of the boys and girls to pack up the tent in the morning. In the evening we all would eventually huddle up in it to stay warm. Daylight would turn to darkness. I would tend to the cart while they would roam to find resources and enjoy life as much as life would allow it. I didn’t mind the task. I was resourceful in my own right. I didn’t need much but they needed me and that was enough.

We fought with the sidewalk, bumping through potholes and ruts that were the war-torn streets of legislation and bureaucracy. The city had forgotten some streets it seemed in budget cuts and spending hikes. The city had forgotten a lot of things.

“If only they invested in people instead of politics”, I thought to myself. We worked our way up the hillside.

“White collar fucktards” he said. I giggled. He wasn’t a ghost either.

He was a relatively bright kid. Smart enough to help me in his sneakers and matching ballcap. He had thrown his skateboard in the cart. It was rattling around.

Ghosts continued continued

At about the age of 14 he ran away from home. It was a story I had heard many times. His parents were alcoholics. He couldn’t

stand it when they would fight. He left home figuring he would do better by himself than in the toxic place he grew up in. A part of me thought he was right. It was hard to admit. A lot of these kids were better off with their street family than with their own blood. I could relate. Sometimes I felt like this was a kind of social experiment. My mind would wander as I pushed and he pulled. We worked our way over to one of the local recycling bins at the backside of a warehouse. There we sifted through the damp boxes to find the best cardboard for the evening. We gathered up as much as we could fit in the cart to take back to the others. Ghosts are grateful for the generosity. Corrugated brown paper is a treasure which is commonly valued among ghosts.

“Here’s a thick one!” He said excitedly. He made me smile. I valued that.

The cart seemed to weigh a ton as we made our way back to the tunnel. The cardboard rose above us like a pillar. We made our way down the hill and over the bridge. The wind was gusty. I had gotten pretty good at understanding the weather. Winter was well on its way. It was going to be a crisp evening. The ghosts eyes brightened when we came into view. The cart was feeling rusty. Holding the handle, I wouldn’t wave. I knew what they needed. I needed it too. A warm place to lay. A place to drop anchor and dream. At least I could give them something to dream on. We would lay down the cardboard one square at a time. Then I would insist my street brother help me set up the tent.

“Go give out the rest,” I would tell him motioning to the cardboard. He would do it too. Whatever I asked they would do. They were good kids and we were family. There was a woman and her dog who sat next to the tent. He handed her a few boxes and she smiled. I think the dog smiled

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too. I think he knew he wasn’t going to sleep on cold ground this evening.

The tent wasn’t large. It was only meant for two people, but it would hold six. I filled it with the collection of sleeping bags and backpacks and sat in the doorway waiting. I don’t now what I was waiting for. Maybe I was waiting for time to change. Maybe I was waiting for my street family to grow up. Maybe I was waiting for the moment I would muster up the courage to walk alone. For a moment I knew what it was like to be a ghost.

I looked over at the woman. She was writing on a piece of cardboard the words: “HOMELESS – ANYTHING HELPS – GOD BLESS”.

“We are all homeless without the Lord.” She said. She was willing to work. Standing on the corner to ask for help was the best she knew she could do.

“God helps those who help themselves”, I thought. She was a kindred spirit lost on the side of the road on the highway to heaven. I am glad she has cardboard.

“I am no angel.” I said to her.

“I am no ghost.” She said to me.

The rest of the tribe huddle up until the morning. A little family surviving together. We would return the cart before breakfast at the shelter. I could have had a bed. There are many nights I could have had a bed.

A year later I did.

Recovery Resources

WSU Counseling and Psychological Services cougarhealth.wsu.edu/mental-health

WSU Student Care Network studentcare.wsu.edu

WSU Dean of Students, Heath Promotion, Cougs for Recovery deanofstudents.wsu.edu/health-promotion/cougs-for-recovery

Narcotics Anonymous Group; na.org Alcoholics Anonymous Group; aa.org

Refuge Recovery Group; refugerecovery.org

White Bison Group; whitebison.org

Celebrate Recovery Group; celebraterecovery.com

SMART Recovery Group; smartrecovery.org

ThePhoenix Fitness Classes & Activities; thephoenix.org

Faces & Voices of Recovery facesandvoicesofrecovery.org

CCAR Education; ccar.us

Cougs for Recovery

Emmett Bryz-Gornia

Brenda Hulett

Jennifer Madison Alex Michael El Nararov

Skye Oskooie Shanda Stinebaugh Alex Stuart Austin Wetzel Nicole Williams Anonymous