Alain de Botton..A Therapeutic Journey.

Over the years, I’ve seen how art becomes a bridge between feeling and language—especially when words fall short. Whether I’m supporting autistic individuals, working with elders, or walking through my own creative process in VR, one truth returns again and again: art helps to heal. Quietly, patiently, and without demand.

Alain de Botton’s A Therapeutic Journey captures this beautifully. He doesn’t just admire art for its skill—he honours how it helps us live. For him, and for me, art is not decoration. It’s therapy in another language.

Here are a few works from the book that I find especially resonant:

Anselm Kiefer’s Alkahest

A dense, sorrowful painting of charred books and lead. It doesn’t try to cheer us up—it honours sadness as valid and human. This is the kind of truth I often see art holding: the kind that doesn’t flinch.

Pieter Saenredam’s Church Interior

Still, white, spacious. Like stepping into a painting that breathes. It’s a reminder of how much we need quiet spaces—for our eyes, our minds, our nervous systems.

Muqi’s Six Persimmons

Just ink and emptiness—and yet, it feels full. Perfectly placed fruit become a meditation in paint. It reminds me how art teaches us to notice, to slow down.

Monet’s Poppies

A field in bloom, shimmering with joy. Not naive, but hopeful. It’s a gentle nudge toward beauty, even when things are hard. I try to hold this spirit in my VR work: moments of immersive light.

De Hooch’s Linen Closet

A woman folding sheets. That’s it—and yet, it’s quietly profound. A reminder that care, repetition, and ordinary life have their own grace.

These aren’t just paintings. They’re emotional tools. They offer space to breathe, feel, and reflect. Like de Botton, I believe art doesn’t need to be explained to be useful—it simply needs to be felt.

In my own practice, I often say: art doesn’t fix everything. But it helps us stay with what is. And sometimes, that’s enough to begin the healing.