Unskilled Worker
© Unskilled Worker
Untitled
Unskilled Worker
“If we wait for exactly the right circumstances to begin something, we could spend a whole lifetime waiting and never attempting that thing. Finding a way to work with whatever you have in the moment is possible, and age is irrelevant if the moment feels right to begin.”
– Helen Downie
I seem to have been one of the last people to learn about the magical world of Unskilled Worker’s art; nonetheless, I quickly fell in love with it. Equal parts fantastical and honest, vulnerable and strong, I found myself wanting to visit her art again and again. One night as I read through one of Unskilled Worker’s posts, I was touched by her response to a follower who shared they were struggling to find balance and to create in this strange new world. Unskilled Worker a.k.a Helen Downie’s wisdom shone through as she wrote, “Try to keep in the moment… in the moment we can be calm.” These words have become my mantra these last few months.
When I reached out over Instagram to request an interview, I prepared myself to not hear back. However, Helen DMed within minutes saying she would love to. I am so grateful for her willingness to share. I love Helen’s take on life just as I do her unbelievable paintings. I think I have found a kindred spirit in her and her work and look forward to a day when we can meet in person.
© Unskilled Worker
Walking with the Lavender Wolves
Unskilled Worker
Elizabeth Mathis Cheatham: After decades of not creating, you picked up a pencil thinking you would try your hand at art for six weeks. Within days you were hooked. Two years before, you had already reserved the name Unskilledworker on Instagram. Do you feel like some part of you knew what lay in store… or that perhaps your art was calling you to it before you even realized?
Helen Downie: Yes, it did feel like there was something at work that I wasn’t aware of. A couple of months before I began painting, I found an old headmaster’s desk in a charity shop. I had no use for it, but I felt it was mine, and as it came through the front door, my husband asked me what I was going to do with it. I had no idea and placed it into a small room in my house. That summer I began painting in Italy. When I returned home, my little studio with its desk was already set up and I painted very happily there for the next three years.
I’ve never had a grand plan in life or set myself targets. I’ve lived quite accidentally, stumbling into most situations. I get too sidetracked to have a plan, and if I do I always wander off course. I like where that can take me.
EMC: You have shared that for most of your life you felt like you did not fit anywhere. I think that is a feeling that a lot of Highly Sensitive People and/or people who had a hard time making sense of their worlds as children can relate to… I certainly can. How does this feeling of being an outsider or on the outside looking in impact your art? As you have found your art and your path, have you found where you began to feel a bit more like you belong? Or, is the feeling of otherness one that you have made peace with?
HD: I’m sure I’ve always felt comfortable with not fitting in. From a young age I would put myself into situations where I was on the outside. I chose to go to a Catholic convent, although I was the only non-Catholic. I loved the rituals, and being surrounded by holy statues and icons. We would go to Mass every week and although I didn’t have a belief, I would see it all as a beautiful fairytale with jewel colours but an ominous emotional undercurrent. At the time I wasn’t really aware of why that was; I realise now that many of the children around me were trapped by it. I find the process of painting is good at showing me who I am and where I’ve been. It’s intuitive, meditative and forgotten memories resurface and become woven into the work.
EMC: You have mentioned that you feel like you paint for your inner seven-year-old. What does she teach you about your art and yourself?
HD: I do feel that I paint for my seven-year-old self. There is a way of seeing and feeling the world at seven—everything looks so precious. I feel we lose that as we get older. Painting for me is a way to get back there. I know I look like a grown up, and I’ve done many grown up things, but in many ways I’m still waiting to feel how grown ups looked when I was seven. Painting is the one place where I can do exactly as I please—total freedom, the same feeling as being four and making a collage of a tortoise. It’s just so exciting.
© Unskilled Worker
The Book of Ill
Unskilled Worker
“I know I look like a grown up, and I’ve done many grown up things, but in many ways I’m still waiting to feel how grown ups looked when I was seven.”
– helen downie
EMC: In March you posted an amazing painting of a woman in a coffin. The day you posted it was not only your birthday birthday but also your sobriety birthday. Your caption was so beautiful as you shared, “At the time, I felt like I was at my own funeral, I mourned it, I had no idea it was the exact opposite, I was at my rebirth.” Such true words.You set your art down when you were 14/15, but then picked it up again once you had been sober for a bit. Is there a connection between when you put down your art and when you picked up your addiction? More importantly, do you feel that putting down alcohol led you back to your art?
HD: I suppose many people pick up substances in teenage years, and many of them get bored of it by the time they’re in their twenties. I didn’t and I was always searching for something, but in all the wrong places! One day I saw with clarity that nothing would change unless my behaviour changed. What would happen if I stopped drinking and taking drugs? I saw it as an experiment: I’d lived one way, and now it was time for another.
At first it feels very odd, the calmness is alien and like meeting a stranger, but after a little while, I found being sober and living in the present very exciting. I know that painting could never have happened without sobriety, as I wouldn’t have had the discipline to stay with it. I needed energy to focus and a clear mind to allow the creative process in. My experiment really was the best idea I’ve ever had.
© Unskilled Worker
Robbie’s Card
Unskilled Worker
EMC: In a recent interview, you shared how success can sometimes ‘be rather loud and thus requires a turning inward to remind yourself what you love and why you create.’ When you find that stillness, what are the answers you are met with?
HD: Success can feel loud, intoxicating, and heavy. I didn’t want to get involved with those feelings as I’m sure it changes the intention of the work, so it was best for me to ignore it and just get on with my day.
Painting for me is insular yet outward looking; it’s light and difficult. When I find a flow, there is no ego present and it becomes pure joy. It’s that feeling that makes me want to do it over and over again.
© Unskilled Worker
An American Idle
Unskilled Worker
EMC: If you could offer any advice to someone who is doubting whether it is too late to begin creating or who fears they lack the training it requires, what would it be?
HD: If we wait for exactly the right circumstances to begin something, we could spend a whole lifetime waiting and never attempting that thing. Finding a way to work with whatever you have in the moment is possible, and age is irrelevant if the moment feels right to begin.
For me it really was a whisper that I easily could’ve ignored. I remember the fear of a white sheet of paper. I still have it today—not quite as much, but it’s still there. Fear comes in many voices. I’m sure that most people creating work will at times have those same voices, whether they are trained or not; it’s just finding a way to identify them and not listen. So much work is an expression of bravery.
EMC: What keeps you up at night and what brings you joy?
HD: How many cigarettes I’d smoked in the day would keep me awake at night, but I recently stopped again, so I get into bed feeling very grateful for another day of no smoking.
I find joy and sadness are so connected, and I feel a mixture of the two most days. I found a Japanese phrase, Mono no aware, that describes it perfectly.