Icarus
Chonny S. painted, sculpted, and drew.
I went to high school with Chonny S. His real name was Johnny, but he had a Norwegian grandmother who called him Chonny, and it stuck. Chonny S. was different. He was an amazing artist. His notebooks, bookbag, everything he owned in fact were covered in his wild, other-wordly creations. Chonny S. was also openly, flamboyantly out of the closet in a time and place where that just didn't happen. He was tall, lanky, with crazy curly hair, and he wore 70's fashions and clothes he designed himself. I got to know him through the theater program, where he worked his artistic magic on our sets. Chonny S. was different.
He was also bipolar.
Chonny S. had a very supportive family. They loved him in spite of him being different. They helped him all they could. They got the best medical care available at the time. But Chonny S. did not like taking his meds. They dulled his world in an intolerable way. He could do without the lows, he told me, because they caused him to stay in bed and think of suicide. But the highs....he could never do without the highs. The world seemed brighter, anything was possible, and he was inspired to paint, sculpt, and draw. His highs were where his art lived, and he couldn't live without them. I worried about him. When he was manic, he was very, very up. Charming and exciting and hilarious and over the top. But when he was low....I didn't want to lose him. I wanted him to take his meds. And I told him so.
And still he painted, sculpted, and drew.
I eventually moved to Minneapolis for college, and Chonny S. moved there too, to seek his fortune. I lived in a dorm. He lived in a bug-infested room in a boarding house, and struggled. He got and lost jobs, because when he was low, he just couldn't work. We went to concerts, movies, art shows. He thrived in the bigger city atmosphere, where it was ok to be different, but never had any money and sometimes forgot to bathe, or eat, or sleep. For a while, it looked like his life was spiraling out of control.
Then he found The Icarus Project.
I don't know how he found them, but suddenly he had support that I couldn't provide. The Icarus Project asserts that from "madness" can come great art. They support members who choose to take meds, and those who don't. Their mindset is that mental illness is just a different mode of being, a worhy mode, and it's where some peoples' creativity comes from. And suddenly Chonny S. was living in a loft with several other Icarus Project members. He was reminded to eat. He was held up when he was down, and celebrated when he was up. And the painting, sculpting and drawing were amazing. I was scared by the idea of The Icarus Project at first - after all, the mentally ill should be HELPED and medicated, right? - but after meeting his roommates and getting over my fear, I began to see how beautiful this acceptance of differences was. I've supported The Icarus Project ever since.
I lost touch with Chonny S. about 10 years ago. He was striking out for greener pastures, and I'm not sure where he ended up. But I'm sure with The Icarus Project's help, hes still painting, sculpting, and drawing,
And living as close to his personal sun as he can.
I went to high school with Chonny S. His real name was Johnny, but he had a Norwegian grandmother who called him Chonny, and it stuck. Chonny S. was different. He was an amazing artist. His notebooks, bookbag, everything he owned in fact were covered in his wild, other-wordly creations. Chonny S. was also openly, flamboyantly out of the closet in a time and place where that just didn't happen. He was tall, lanky, with crazy curly hair, and he wore 70's fashions and clothes he designed himself. I got to know him through the theater program, where he worked his artistic magic on our sets. Chonny S. was different.
He was also bipolar.
Chonny S. had a very supportive family. They loved him in spite of him being different. They helped him all they could. They got the best medical care available at the time. But Chonny S. did not like taking his meds. They dulled his world in an intolerable way. He could do without the lows, he told me, because they caused him to stay in bed and think of suicide. But the highs....he could never do without the highs. The world seemed brighter, anything was possible, and he was inspired to paint, sculpt, and draw. His highs were where his art lived, and he couldn't live without them. I worried about him. When he was manic, he was very, very up. Charming and exciting and hilarious and over the top. But when he was low....I didn't want to lose him. I wanted him to take his meds. And I told him so.
And still he painted, sculpted, and drew.
I eventually moved to Minneapolis for college, and Chonny S. moved there too, to seek his fortune. I lived in a dorm. He lived in a bug-infested room in a boarding house, and struggled. He got and lost jobs, because when he was low, he just couldn't work. We went to concerts, movies, art shows. He thrived in the bigger city atmosphere, where it was ok to be different, but never had any money and sometimes forgot to bathe, or eat, or sleep. For a while, it looked like his life was spiraling out of control.
Then he found The Icarus Project.
I don't know how he found them, but suddenly he had support that I couldn't provide. The Icarus Project asserts that from "madness" can come great art. They support members who choose to take meds, and those who don't. Their mindset is that mental illness is just a different mode of being, a worhy mode, and it's where some peoples' creativity comes from. And suddenly Chonny S. was living in a loft with several other Icarus Project members. He was reminded to eat. He was held up when he was down, and celebrated when he was up. And the painting, sculpting and drawing were amazing. I was scared by the idea of The Icarus Project at first - after all, the mentally ill should be HELPED and medicated, right? - but after meeting his roommates and getting over my fear, I began to see how beautiful this acceptance of differences was. I've supported The Icarus Project ever since.
I lost touch with Chonny S. about 10 years ago. He was striking out for greener pastures, and I'm not sure where he ended up. But I'm sure with The Icarus Project's help, hes still painting, sculpting, and drawing,
And living as close to his personal sun as he can.