12d • Tools That Help
Embracing the Arts: Finding Meaning in Creativity
“In my craft or sullen art / Exercised in the still night / When only the moon rages…”
— Dylan Thomas
Overcoming the Cringe of Pretentiousness
Let’s start here: art gets a bad rep. I remember being a kid and laughing at the boys in school that were doing drama or were all “Jazz handsy” as I would put it. To like that shit would affect my masculinity, I would have to do a manly laugh with my hands on my hips like superheroes at the end of cartoons in the eighties to join in the bullying of the arty types.
For a lot of people, the arts come with this awkward stigma - one that whispers, “This is for posh people,” or “You’re trying too hard.” As if reading poetry or watching an arthouse film somehow makes you pretentious. As if feeling something deeply makes you is somehow embarrassing. That’s the lie.
The truth is simpler:
Art isn’t about looking clever.
It’s about feeling something.
Strip away the social baggage, and you realise something freeing - art belongs to everyone.
Shakespeare wasn’t writing for professors in turtlenecks. He was writing for loud, drunken crowds who heckled and cheered. Music isn’t for critics - it’s for the person alone in a car, crying quietly as a song says the thing they couldn’t.
You don’t have to “get it.”
You just must let it in.
Why Art is Vital to Society
My grandfather was no-nonsense union man in the steelworks where he also worked as fireman. He fought in the second world war and boxed for the army. Every year he was the pantomime dame in the steelwork panto. He was always in shows and productions. Steelworkers and miner in the local institutes and clubs would put on productions and people loved them it was a part of the community.
Picture a world with no books. No music. No paintings, films, theatre, comedy, or stories.
It would be hollow. Mechanical. Loveless.
The arts aren’t indulgent. They’re essential.
Civilisations are remembered not just for their wars or inventions - but for their culture.
Their myths. Their architecture. Their songs.
Art is the mirror. The question. The rebellion.
It helps us make sense of pain.
It reminds us of we’re not alone.
Governments will often cut funding to the arts in times of crisis, as if they’re non-essential.
But when everything collapses, when hope is in short supply, it is art people turn to.
How People Used Netflix to Survive Lockdown
When the world locked down, when streets fell silent and fear spread like static, what saved people?
It wasn’t spreadsheets or slogans. It was stories.
Netflix. Spotify. Books. Online plays.
Though lockdown was terrible time for many, me and my best friend watching Gordan Ramsay’s Kitchen nightmares and belly laughing were some of my favourite memories. When I was down and on my own watching films, I’d seen loads of time before like Star Wars or the Marvel Films was meditation like a comforting hand-held journey with an old friend.
People clung to these like lifelines.
Not because they were distractions, but because they helped them feel.
When you couldn’t hug your friends, a TV character could still make you laugh.
When you felt isolated, a song could whisper: “You’re not alone.”
This wasn’t trivial. It was survival.
How Art Speaks to You Like Nothing Else Can
Sometimes, a single lyric, scene, or sentence hits you like a punch to the gut.
Not because it tells you something new - but because it names what you already knew.
That moment when the "Do It for Her" scene in "And Maggie Makes Three" would hit me especially hard because it mirrors my own sacrifices. My daughter was born in 2001, a time when, despite my university qualifications, I couldn't find a job in my field. With a mortgage and a baby on the way, I had to take regular work at a dirty factory called Yuasa Batteries. Seeing Homer, who so often seems oblivious, meticulously arrange Maggie's photos to hide the soul-crushing "Don't Forget: You're Here Forever" plaque, would bring back the visceral feeling of being trapped in that place. I'd recognize the quiet desperation in his act, knowing that every moment of discomfort, every inhaled chemical, and every ounce of my own well-being was traded for the chance to give my daughter a better life. The profound, unspoken love in Homer's simple act would resonate deeply with my own memories, turning the cartoon moment into a powerful reminder of the endless, selfless love a parent holds for their child, even when it means enduring the unbearable.
When The Bell Jar echoes the fog inside your mind.
When a song becomes the only thing keeping you afloat at 2am.
Art won’t fix you.
But it will see you.
And that? That can be enough to keep going.
How Dramas and Stories Change Minds
Some of the most powerful artistic works don’t just reflect emotion - they shape how we think, feel, and connect.
Take Mr Bates vs The Post Office.
A complex, overlooked injustice suddenly gripped the nation - not through statistics, but through story.
Because it was told in a way that made people feel it.
Facts might tell you what happened.
Stories make sure you remember it.
And it’s not just heavy dramas.
Look at something like This Is England or Derry Girls - shows that cut through class, culture, and silence to speak to something deeper:
What it means to grow up. To feel different. To be working class, lost, hopeful, or heartbroken.
They show people navigating grief, shame, love, and identity in a way that’s raw and real.
They remind us of moments we thought no one else had felt.
Because the best stories don’t just entertain.
They make us feel seen. Let Art Be Part of Your Survival Kit
You don’t need to be cultured. You don’t need to “understand” it.
Just let it reach you.
Watch a film that wrecks you.
Read a poem that confuses you.
Draw something terrible and love it anyway.
This isn’t about being artistic.
This is about surviving.
Let art into your life - not as decoration, but as nourishment.
Let it remind you that beauty exists, even when everything else feels dark.
Let it remind you that you’re still here.
How Creativity Can Be Learned – John Cleese’s Wisdom
Think you’re not creative?
Think again.
John Cleese, in his short and brilliant book Creativity, makes it clear:
Creativity isn’t talent. It’s a habit. A mindset. A way of giving your brain space to explore.
Some of his advice:
Create “open mode” time - give yourself permission to think playfully.
Don’t rush for solutions - sit with the unknown.
Use limitations as fuel - sometimes the best ideas come under pressure.
Let your unconscious mind work - some answers arrive when you least expect them.
You don’t need to be a painter or a poet.
You just need to stop dismissing your imagination.
Dylan Thomas and Creating for Yourself
In In My Craft or Sullen Art, Dylan Thomas writes about creating in the dead of night.
Not for applause. Not for fame.
But for the sheer act of doing it.
That’s a radical thought in a world obsessed with followers and monetisation.
You don’t need to post it.
You don’t need to sell it.
You don’t need to be brilliant at it.
Just create.
Paint badly. Write nonsense. Sing off-key.
But do it for you. For joy. For clarity. For life.
Reading – The only artistic medium where you are the director.
There’s something quietly heroic about reading. It asks for your attention but gives you something infinitely greater in return: a moment of peace, perspective, and sometimes even a sliver of hope.
When you’re depressed, your mind becomes a trap—spiralling thoughts, numbness, a constant hum of dread. But reading can break that cycle. It can offer a way out—or at least a window through which to see the possibility of a different life. Reading pulls you into a flow state, and whether you’re aware of it or not, it gives your mind a break. Not a numb distraction like scrolling through social media or binge-watching TV, but a deep, immersive kind of rest.
There’s never been a film better than the book. Ever.
Because when you read, you’re not just seeing the story—you’re directing it. You imagine the characters, the setting, the rhythm of the voices. You become the architect of someone else’s world, and for a little while, that world becomes yours. You escape without running. You heal without even realising it.
Some books helped me directly with my depression. Others just helped me stay afloat. Here are the ones that made a real difference.
Books That Helped Me with Depression
Lost Connections – Johann Hari
This book changed how I thought about depression. Hari challenges the chemical imbalance narrative and instead explores how societal disconnection—loneliness, lack of meaning, absence of community—is often at the root. He shares personal stories and global research, but it never feels preachy. Just real. It’s a hopeful, human book that says: you’re not broken, the world is.
Why Has Nobody Told Me This Before? – Dr. Julie Smith
Written like a best friend who happens to be a clinical psychologist, this is full of practical tips to help with anxiety, low mood, and emotional overwhelm. It’s CBT-based, but not dry or clinical. You can pick it up, read a few pages, and take away something useful. It helped me build small daily habits when bigger goals felt impossible.
The Chimp Paradox – Dr. Steve Peters
This book explains why you sometimes feel out of control—and how to change that. Peters introduces a model of the mind involving your “chimp” brain (impulsive, emotional) and your logical self. Understanding this helped me stop blaming myself for everything and start working with my brain rather than against it. It’s used in elite sports, but its advice is relevant to anyone struggling to manage their thoughts and behaviours.
The Catcher in the Rye – J.D. Salinger
This novel is teenage angst in book form—but I read it as an adult and found it heartbreakingly correct. Holden Caulfield’s inner world of grief, confusion, and quiet rebellion mirrored parts of myself I hadn’t looked at in years. It reminded me that alienation isn’t new—and that feeling lost doesn’t make you alone.
The Old Man and the Sea – Ernest Hemingway
A story about a fisherman, a fish, and the vast, unforgiving sea. But really, it’s about resilience. About showing up, again, even when you have nothing left. Hemingway writes in a sparse, almost brutal way, but that simplicity made it feel more profound. It became a kind of metaphor for my own endurance—quiet, tired, but still going.
Books That Changed My Perspective
Not every book that helps must be about mental health. Sometimes, a novel about war, a graphic novel about flawed superheroes, or a historical saga about coal miners can change your life. It’s not about self-help—it’s about self-understanding. About shifting your lens, finding a new way to interpret the world, and discovering stories that reflect parts of your own.
These books did that for me:
1984 – George Orwell
A stark reminder of what happens when truth becomes malleable and freedom an illusion. A masterclass in understanding power, control, and propaganda. When the world feels insane, this book makes you realise you’re not imagining it.
Watchmen – Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons
A graphic novel, yes—but don’t underestimate it. It tears apart the superhero myth and replaces it with something dark, philosophical, and oddly human. It asks what justice, morality, and power really mean. And the artwork is unforgettable.
Stolen Focus – Johann Hari
This one opened my eyes to how our attention is being stolen—by devices, capitalism, and systems that profit from our distraction. If you’ve ever felt broken because you can’t focus, this book will reassure you: it’s not you. But it also empowers you to take some of that focus back.
For Whom the Bell Tolls – Ernest Hemingway
Set during the Spanish Civil War, this is a book about love, death, ideals, and the brutality of reality. It’s romantic in the old sense of the word—tragic, brave, and incredibly human. There’s wisdom here about sacrifice and the weight of doing what you believe is right.
To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee
A novel about justice, empathy, and the moral compass we sometimes lose in adulthood. Told through the eyes of a child, which makes its truths hit even harder. It reminded me to be kind, and that morality doesn’t need to be complicated to be powerful.
Rape of the Fair Country – Alexander Cordell
This historical novel is set in 19th-century Wales and follows the lives of ironworkers facing brutal exploitation. It’s angry and moving and reminds you that working-class history is full of resilience. It gave me a sense of connection—to class, to history, to the strength of ordinary people.
Politics on the Edge – Rory Stewart
An unflinching look at British politics from someone who tried to make a difference. Stewart’s honesty, frustration, and humanity shine through. If you’ve ever felt let down by politics (who hasn’t?), this book gives you clarity and even a sliver of cautious hope.
How They Broke Britain – James O’Brien
A furious, forensic account of how incompetence, ideology, and self-interest eroded modern Britain. It confirmed the anger I didn’t know I had—and made me feel a little less gaslit.
Ultra-Processed People – Chris van Tulleken
This isn’t just a book about food. It’s about capitalism, health, and how we ended up fuelling our bodies with things that barely qualify as nourishment. It made me question what I eat—but more than that, it made me realise how subtly systems shape our daily lives.
Read to Survive, Read to Heal
Each of these books gave me something: a shift in perspective, a bit of knowledge, a reason to keep going. Some offered practical advice, others gave me a break from my mind. A few made me feel understood when I thought no one could.
If you’re struggling, pick up a book. Not necessarily one about depression—just a story you’ve always meant to read. Let it pull you into a different world. Let it show you that change is possible. That things can be different.
Books won’t fix everything. But sometimes, they’re enough to keep your moving. And in a world like this, that’s no small thing.
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Embracing the Arts: Finding Meaning in Creativity
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