Surrealism and Its Modern Influence: A Deep Dive into My Artistic Process

Surrealism has always fascinated me. There's something deeply intriguing about art that doesn’t follow the rules of reality, art that invites you to step into a dream, or sometimes, a nightmare. It’s not just about strange imagery or bizarre juxtapositions—it’s about capturing the subconscious, the hidden, and the unexpected. For me, surrealism is more than just a style; it’s a way of expressing how I see and feel the world, and being bipolar adds another layer to that experience.

The Roots of Surrealism

Surrealism began as a revolutionary movement in the early 20th century, pushing back against the rigid constraints of traditional art and logical thought. Born from the ideas of the Dadaists, it was a rebellion, a refusal to adhere to the norms that dictated what art should be. Surrealists like Salvador Dalí, René Magritte, and Max Ernst explored the unconscious mind, dream imagery, and free association, rejecting the idea that art had to make sense in a literal way.

They were inspired by Sigmund Freud’s theories of the unconscious, tapping into hidden desires, fears, and memories that bubbled beneath the surface of everyday life. They didn’t see dreams as meaningless—quite the opposite. They believed dreams were windows into the deeper self, revealing truths that couldn’t be accessed through rational thought.

This idea resonates with me on a personal level. Surrealism isn’t about trying to make sense of the world; it’s about accepting that sometimes things don’t make sense at all, and that’s okay. That’s where the beauty lies—in the in-between, the strange, the things you can’t quite explain. It’s why I’ve always felt connected to the surrealist approach in my own art.

How I Incorporate Surrealism into My Art

When I create a surrealist piece, I’m not aiming for perfection or realism. In fact, I try to get as far away from those things as possible. I want my art to feel like stepping into a dream—familiar but also disjointed, unsettling, and maybe even a little humorous at times. Often, I start with a vague idea, maybe an image that popped into my head while I was half-asleep or something that struck me while I was out walking. From there, I let the piece grow on its own, without too much conscious thought.

Shapes and forms begin to appear, sometimes merging, sometimes clashing in ways that don’t make sense logically but feel right on an emotional level. A figure might dissolve into a pool of color, or a landscape might morph into something unrecognizable. That’s the beauty of surrealism—it doesn’t have to explain itself. It’s a direct line from the subconscious to the canvas, bypassing reason entirely.

The Influence of Bipolar on My Art

Being bipolar has a profound impact on how I create. It’s not something that defines me, but it does shape how I experience the world, and that naturally comes out in my art. I often feel like my moods exist on two extremes—mania on one side and depression on the other. Each of these states brings a different energy to my creative process, and surrealism feels like the perfect outlet for expressing both.

During manic episodes, everything feels heightened. Colors seem brighter, ideas come faster, and the urge to create is almost overwhelming. My mind races with images and thoughts, and surrealism gives me the freedom to throw all of that onto the canvas without worrying about whether it makes sense. I don’t have to explain why a tree is growing out of a human hand or why the sky is filled with clocks. It just is, and that’s enough.

On the flip side, when I’m in a depressive state, the world feels muted, slower, and more reflective. The surrealist style lets me capture that feeling too—through darker, more melancholic images, or through empty spaces that reflect a sense of isolation or disconnection. Both states of mind find their way into my work, and the result is often a piece that feels layered, complex, and a little mysterious—just like the emotions behind it.

The Power of the Subconscious

One of the most important aspects of surrealism is its connection to the subconscious mind. For me, this means trusting the process and letting my art develop organically, without trying to control it too much. When I’m working on a piece, I often find myself entering a sort of meditative state, where I’m not actively thinking about what I’m doing. Instead, I’m just responding to what’s happening on the canvas. Colors, shapes, and forms seem to appear without much effort, and I let them lead the way.

This is where being bipolar comes into play again. My mind is constantly shifting, jumping between highs and lows, ideas and emotions, sometimes without warning. Surrealism allows me to channel that energy into something tangible. It’s a way of processing the world around me and the world inside me. I don’t have to make sense of it; I just have to let it out.

Surrealism in Modern Times

Although surrealism began nearly a century ago, I believe it’s more relevant now than ever. In a world that often feels chaotic and uncertain, surrealism offers an escape—but not in the sense of running away from reality. Instead, it gives us a way to explore that chaos, to see it from a different angle, and maybe find some beauty in it. It’s a reminder that not everything has to be clear or logical for it to have meaning.

For me, that’s why surrealism continues to resonate so strongly. It allows me to express things I can’t put into words, to capture feelings that don’t fit neatly into a box. And because I create only one copy of each piece, there’s a certain intimacy to the process. When someone buys one of my surrealist works, they’re not just getting an image—they’re getting a glimpse into my mind at a specific moment in time, a moment that will never be repeated.

Surrealism isn’t just a style—it’s a way of seeing the world, a way of embracing the strange, the chaotic, and the unknown. For me, it’s the perfect outlet for expressing how I experience life, especially as someone who’s bipolar. Whether I’m riding the high of mania or sinking into the depths of depression, surrealism gives me the freedom to let those emotions out, to capture the beauty in the madness, and to share that with others.

In the end, surrealism is about more than just creating art that looks unusual—it’s about creating art that feels true to the complex, messy, and often absurd reality we all live in. And that’s what makes it so powerful.