ART THERAPY
At 88, David Hockney has a brand-new exhibition, cheekily titled “Some Very, Very, Very New Paintings Not Yet Shown in Paris.” I haven’t seen this latest body of work yet, so I won’t pretend to offer any grand insights - but I did make a pilgrimage to Paris over the summer to see his monumental retrospective, and I was blown away. It wasn’t just the sheer volume of work he’s created over a lifetime that impressed me; it was the unmistakable current of optimism radiating from the canvases.
That’s why I admire Hockney. Yes, his paintings are beautiful. Yes, he keeps reinventing himself. But what I love most is the joyfulness of his creative world. It feels effortless - not because it is effortless, but because he’s unapologetically himself.
For so long, the art world has been tangled up in the mythology of the suffering artist. Van Gogh and his severed ear, Toulouse-Lautrec drinking himself toward oblivion. We’ve come to think of great art as something mined from the darkest corners of the soul. And yes, there is a deep, human beauty in shared vulnerability - art can make us feel less alone in our hardest moments.
But what if creativity isn’t just a response to suffering. What if it’s also a powerful source of wellbeing?
A 2019 study by Fancourt et al. found that people who engage with the arts every few months have a 31% lower mortality rate, and even twice-a-year engagement brings a 14% reduction. A 2024 UK government report echoed those findings, highlighting strong evidence that consuming art supports both mental and physical health. And just last month, researchers at King’s College London discovered that when young adults viewed paintings in person, their stress hormones dropped by 22%.
Which makes you think: maybe art isn’t a luxury. Maybe it’s a survival strategy.
Observing beauty, dancing, drawing, wandering through an exhibition, walking in nature - these aren’t fun additions to life. They’re fundamental. They regulate our stress, lift our mood, and promote positive emotions.
Yet, for many people, the arts feel like a gated community. A world of hushed galleries and insider language. I often hear people say they’re “not creative,” only to tell me later about the magical meal they cooked for friends or the knitting project they’re quietly perfecting. Creativity isn’t a special club; it’s a human instinct. Like a muscle, it grows with use - but everyone has it.
That’s why I love projects that bring art out of institutions and directly into everyday life. This year, artists have been invited to paint on a series of life-sized lion sculptures which will appear across Sheffield in 2026 as part of the Pride of Sheffield Lion Trail.
If engaging with art can genuinely support our wellbeing, then creating opportunities to encounter it casually and joyfully becomes even more important. That’s why I think the art trails that exist across cities have such an impact.
Like murals on walls, this isn’t high art; it’s for everyone. And I like that it feels accessible. You don’t need a ticket, an art degree, or even an intention to engage. You simply stumble upon a lion while doing your errands, on your lunch break, or while out with your kids - and for a moment, you’re part of a citywide shared experience.
The project is a fundraiser for Sheffield Children’s Hospital, which supports thousands of children and their families every year. By scattering these painted lions across the city, the trail invites people to wander, to notice, to slow down, and - almost without realising it - to take part in something creative themselves.
If Fancourt’s research suggests that the arts help us live longer, perhaps projects like this help us live better too. They remind us that creativity isn’t a luxury or an elite pursuit; it’s a human one. You don’t have to be David Hockney and dedicate a lifetime to making work in order to lead a creative life. Art belongs in our streets as much as in galleries, in our everyday conversations as much as in studios. And when the whole city gets involved - just by walking around, noticing things, chatting about what they’ve seen - it changes the feel of the place. It reminds us that art isn’t complicated; it’s just another way of paying attention to the world.