Using Interactive Art as a Therapeutic Tool

Chapter 1
Where Did That Come From?

A year and a half after being widowed, I was about to commit my life—and the lives of my two young sons—to a second marriage. I was blessed but more than a little nervous. Even though my second husband was a wonderful man, I was certainly filled with my share of trepidation and concern regarding the relationship. I was unsettled mainly because I could not see into the future. I was not 100 percent sure that my marriage would not have a negative effect on my sons. I never saw or felt any dangerous warning signs before our wedding; it was the future that I was uncertain about. Nonetheless, I moved forward, banking on the marriage affecting my sons in a positive way. I was trusting God.

I am thrilled to say that was forty-four years ago. For those forty-four years, my husband has thought of those boys as his, and our sons truly know him as Dad in their hearts. Obviously, they know he is not their biological father, but he certainly is their dad.

Shortly after my second husband and I were married, one of my dear friends said, “Oh, I just hate you, Karen Erdman!”.

This took me by surprise, in that she was one of my closest friends. I replied, “Ooookaaaay,” but I thought, Where did that come from? I then asked her, “May I ask the reason why?”

My buddy said, “You have been married to two of the most wonderful men on the face of this earth, and I haven’t found one yet!”

I couldn’t help but smile and reply, “OK, yep, you can hate me for that reason.”

She turned to me and said, “All kidding aside, can I ask you a serious question? You loved two men. How do you keep them separated in your head? How do you love them both without mixing them up or comparing them?”

I had to think for a minute. How could I explain what I felt and had experienced? Then I saw in my mind a picture of a heart filled with many, many “rooms,” or spaces. I told her, “It is like having two children, two parents, or several friends for whom you have deep feelings.” I pointed out to her that she would not mix up her love for her two brothers. She had different memories that she shared with each sibling, and each had his own personality. Their personalities, coupled with the memories she shared with each brother, made them each a unique individual. She could love them equally yet differently for who they were.

I told her, “My feelings for my two husbands were like that. I could appreciate each one for being an individual with his own personality. Their personalities and all the memories I shared with each spouse made them distinct. I loved them both but for different reasons.”

I explained to her that it was as if we create a separate “room” in our hearts for each person we know. Memories and feelings are kept in the specific room that each person “occupies.” Both positive and painful memories are housed there. No one else can enter, alter, or add to the memories or change our feelings that are stored there except us—and, of course, the “occupant” of each room.

“I get it!” she said. She understood that the owner of the heart could spend time with each occupant of a room, adding to the memories and feelings that were held there.

If the occupant of a room is removed from our lives due to certain circumstances, such as death, as my first husband was, then the door of that room is shut. No new memories can be added to the room. But the owner of the heart can still enter the room, spend time in the memories, and feel the love he or she has for that person. The memories, love, and emotions remain.

That was the genesis of my artwork Rooms in My Heart (RIMH). (The reader should understand that the Rooms in My Heart print has much more meaning, which I will explain in later chapters.)

Sometimes, however, the memories we hold are not good ones. Some of the memories that are locked inside us are painful, harmful, and beyond unpleasant. Sometimes those memories are detrimental or destructive to the person whose heart holds them. Those memories can cause a person to be eaten alive from the inside out, as if they are a cancer in the person’s life.

And so, there is more to be shared.