PLEASE NOTE: This story includes discussion about depression and mental illness.

Thank you for reading about the personal journey which has inspired the creation of my Remember When Art cards. This is not an easy story for me to share. I’ve chosen to put my discomfort aside because I genuinely believe the bigger purpose for my art cards acting as a vehicle to support connection outweighs my uncomfortable feelings.

A few years ago, a dear loved one was very unwell with clinical depression and anxiety. I won’t go into specific details, however at one point, things got very, very bad and my world turned on its axis. I felt absolutely powerless to help and it was literally breaking my heart. That feeling and experience changed me fundamentally as a person and will never, ever be forgotten.

One day, my loved one was experiencing a very low period. My genuine fear for them reached a level I hope I never have to experience again. I was desperate for them to understand how much I cared. How much they mattered. How much I needed them to hang in there and not give up. To believe – even just a tiny bit – that things would get better.

But sometimes, when a person is that low, they can’t hear your words, or they hear them and can’t really believe them. At least that was my very sad experience.

On this particular day, I knew my loved one was out attending an appointment. I was worried. Trying to talk had failed, yet again. I was genuinely desperate to try and support them so decided, on a whim,

to try something different. I got scraps of paper (just A4 white printer paper, nothing fancy) and cut them into uneven squares. I didn’t have a ruler…

I then grabbed a pen and proceeded to write one message on each square, ending up with at least thirty things I loved about this person – from affirmations like “You are so special and so loved” and “Things WILL get better”, to “Your laugh makes me laugh!” and “Your eyes are the twinkliest of the twinkliest”. I wrote about big things and small things. It felt like the paper was being infused with my love.

I had a key, so I then visited this person’s house while they were still out and went to their bedroom. I then proceeded to sticky-tape these random notes all over this person’s bed head. I didn’t know if these notes would make a difference. But I had to try. Because while they may have felt like giving up, I couldn’t.

I didn’t see the person’s reaction that day when they got home, went to their room and saw what I’d done. They didn’t say anything. I didn’t ask.

All I know is that every time I’d visit that person for the next month or two, those little scraps of roughly cut paper were there, slightly crumpled over time, still stuck to the bed head.

A few months after this, my loved one said to me one day, “Kirstie, you have no idea what those notes meant to me at my lowest point…” I admit to crying a few tears into my pillow that night.

Later in the year I was enjoying some “me time” painting. At this stage art and painting was still a hobby that I loved. As I dabbed my brush on the paper, I suddenly had a thought:

“What if I could use my artworks to help other people? What if they could write their own messages of support on the back of my artworks to remind themselves (or people they love and care about) that they are loved?” What if they could be used to help them feel less alone?

That is the moment I decided to become Kirstie Page artist. It’s why I created these single sided art cards.

I shared this incredibly personal story with you because I want you to know I truly believe in everything I create. I have no agenda other than a heartfelt desire and mission to make you, your family and friends smile, feel less alone and importantly, be reminded that you are all precious and irreplaceable.

Your words and memories and stories and experiences. Your silly jokes and favourite quotes… They all matter. Because what I know for certain is simply, at the end of the day, connection is not only a gift. Connection matters.