A Journey of Resilience, Reflection, and Creative Expression
John Gerrard shares his lived experience with neurodivergence, blending memoir and art to inspire empathy, understanding, and personal growth in readers across disciplines.
John Gerrard brings a distinctive and deeply personal voice to the intersection of art, writing, and mental health advocacy. Based in Calgary, Canada, his creative practice is both introspective and outward-looking, rooted in his own lived experience with neurodivergence and a clear desire to connect with others. His latest work, Reconstruction Quest: A Neurodivergent Journey, is a powerful continuation of his commitment to honest storytelling, offering readers a moving exploration of what it means not only to survive but to thrive. From immersive installations to emotionally resonant memoirs, Gerrard’s work challenges traditional narratives around mental illness, inviting us into a world shaped by imagination, vulnerability, and hope. Through Reconstruction Quest, he extends the conversation begun in his earlier book, We Make Clocks, Not Time, delving even deeper into questions of identity, resilience, and creative self-expression. This interview offers a compelling look into his journey, his philosophy, and the art of transforming struggle into story.
A thoughtful and compelling voice, Gerrard brings clarity and compassion to the complexities of mental health and creative identity.
How did your experience as a peer support worker with the Canadian Mental Health Association influence the themes and perspectives in your book We Make Clocks, Not Time?
My training as a peer support worker made me realize how connected I am to others because of my lived experience with mental health issues. This sense of belonging gave me the confidence to start exploring my own ideas regarding mental health. We Make Clocks, Not Time, among other things, was influenced by the media I was taking in at the time, as well as by connections I made before and throughout my time training with CMHA.
My time at CMHA showed me that many people had faced similar struggles but had each found their own way forward. Knowing I wasn’t alone was empowering. In a way, that’s why I write about what I write about—to extend my story out there and hopefully kindle the same sort of empowerment I felt during training.
In Reconstruction Quest: A Neurodivergent Journey, you share your personal story of thriving with neurodivergence. What challenges did you face during the writing process?
My hyperfocus with certain tasks is well employed when I’m in a writing zone. The initial writing process was a fun flurry of a couple of weeks, where I got the bulk of it finished in one stretch of writing. I did the same with my first book, but both required substantial editing once this initial phase was completed. I found it challenging to edit or cut stories—not because they were uninteresting, but because they didn’t speak well enough to the themes of the book.
Your visual art explores identity and mental health. How do you integrate these themes into your writing, and do you see them as interconnected?
I’ve made visual work that uses text in a non-traditional way. Words that relate to philosophy and mental health are scattered and then made symmetrical digitally. In a broader sense, I use art to understand the world around me. Each approach is its own lens, and I’d like to think there’s overlap. I do believe that to a certain extent, though, talking about visual art is difficult as there are, at the end of the day, “apples and oranges.”
Participating in the TD Incubator series at Arts Commons, Calgary, led to an immersive soundwalk installation based on your book. How did this experience enhance your storytelling?
It was fun to revisit skills I learned as a musician when I was younger. I designed the soundwalk to feel whimsical—warm and enveloping, like a soft blanket of sound. I layered strings, synths, and vocals. When I finished, I was happy with how the music complemented the reading of the book. It added another dimension to the storytelling, which was from a section of Clocks called Whimsical Inner Dialogue—writing with a very dreamlike and wondrous quality.
Your first book, We Make Clocks, Not Time, delves into psychosis and creativity. How do you balance personal vulnerability with artistic expression in your writing?
We all set our own boundaries, and mine allow me to maintain an honest artistic voice while keeping some things private. I’m public about topics many people choose to keep private—not because I think everyone should be so candid, but because sharing our stories can help move the mental health conversation forward. It’s an important piece of the puzzle, if we’re going to approach the mental illness problem holistically.
As an artist who merges mental health advocacy with your practice, how do you ensure authenticity and sensitivity when portraying mental health experiences in your works?
When I speak about mental health, I speak from my lived experience. I recognize that’s where my expertise lies. I am not a doctor, so I can’t give you that view. Mine is the view of the patient, and as a patient, I share experiences with other patients. I don’t give advice because I can only speak from my own experiences, my own view. And who’s to say where the overlaps are? So, I give my testimony without any prescription.
What advice would you offer to fellow authors aiming to incorporate personal experiences with mental health into their writing while maintaining artistic integrity?
When we make art, we can prioritize the content of the message over its presentation. Alternatively, we can prioritize a certain presentation over maintaining the fidelity of our content. In my mind, both leanings are appropriate at times, as we both distort and reveal through our art-making.
This balance is especially important when incorporating personal experiences with mental health into writing. The best memoirs don’t just tell good stories—they are complemented by lessons learned. And whatever roots there are to the theme, they are relatable. It’s the artist’s job to present these ideas, to make them tangible while being selective about what’s shown and what’s ignored.
