Gemma is fifty years old, married for twenty, and has a sixteen-year-old daughter — an extraordinarily close family. Her illness, a breast carcinoma with widespread metastases, has marked a painful and aggressive course that has left her bedridden, swollen, and suffering. Despite everything, her blue eyes still shine with a vivid light, and her smile is ever present.
The entire team grows deeply attached to Gemma. She is a remarkable woman who, while facing her fate, never loses her kindness. The impending separation from her family, who adores her, is heart-wrenching — and yet she manages to maintain a dignity that strikes everyone.
The encounter with art therapy
When I suggest drawing, Gemma welcomes the idea with enthusiasm. She tells me she had always wanted to take a drawing course but had never found the time or the right opportunity. I offer her different weights of paper and various materials, but her choice falls on colored pencils that can be blended.
For Gemma, art therapy is not merely a distraction from physical pain, but an opportunity to rediscover herself, to reclaim an autonomy that illness had undermined. I place a small table across her legs and arrange the materials around her so she can draw independently. Despite the illness and the medical equipment surrounding her, she is still perfectly capable of expressing herself.
The first flower
The first drawing she creates is a simple flower, but for Gemma it is far more than an image: it is the tangible sign of a rediscovered self-efficacy. “I’m actually good at this!” she exclaims happily, a smile illuminating her weary face. This small act of creation restores a sense of power, a reconnection with that part of herself the illness had sought to extinguish.
Shortly after, with minimal guidance from me, she creates a splendid butterfly in vivid colors. Upon it she writes a moving dedication, expressing an eternal love and the promise of a future reunion. The butterfly becomes a symbol of transformation — the desire to shed the chrysalis, the pain, and be reborn, freed from the physical and emotional burden. There are no tears in this moment: only pride.
The desire for autonomy
During the work, Gemma never asks me to do something for her. She prefers that I explain how to proceed. She does not want me to intervene in her drawing — she wants to be its author. This attitude reflects a profound need to maintain control over one aspect of her life that illness has tried to take from her. On my part, there is complete discretion and respect.
She then devotes herself to creating a cyclamen plant for her beloved daughter. She will not manage to complete it, but entrusts the task to her husband to finish. Here too, a poignant farewell dedication is woven into the work — a final act of love and care. The composition is delicate and rich: an explosion of soft, gentle colors. The flower has a vase, roots, green leaves, buds — a symbol of life that, despite everything, continues to grow. Gemma’s life, however brief, is like the cyclamen: fragile yet radiant.
A month of sharing
Gemma’s therapeutic journey lasts one month. The relationship with her family is very strong, particularly with her husband, who shares in her suffering and exhaustion. With their daughter, the bond is more distant: the young girl tries to shield her pain, hiding it within herself.
Her husband confides in me that art gave her a sense of serenity and happiness in her final days. Gemma had discovered a hidden talent, a passion for drawing she had never had the time to explore. What she created during her journey held inestimable value for her and for those who loved her.
Art therapy allowed Gemma to face her illness with dignity and creativity, transforming pain into a language of beauty and hope. Drawing not only offered her a space to express herself, but gave her family a legacy that will accompany them forever.