Amanda Riff Paints a Path Back to the Self

By Alisha Proffitt Photos By Kathryn Harrington 

When Amanda Riff was a child, she gave two answers to the perennial question, what do you want to be when you grow up? “I always said, ‘Maybe a therapist, maybe an artist,’” she recalls. “I didn’t know back then that there was a career where I could be both.” The answer holds the kind of clarity that only hindsight allows, a child who, in some way, already knew. 

“The path wasn’t always straightforward,” she admits, “but after years in the service industry, making art on the side, and navigating my own mental health journey, becoming an art therapist felt like the only step that truly made sense.” 

Riff’s work today provides her clients with presence, patience, and the permission to create without judgment. Her clients begin where they are, with the materials that feel most approachable. “In the early stages of therapy, the priority is building rapport and establishing a strong therapeutic relationship,” she explains. “I allow the client to take the lead, starting with whichever materials they feel most comfortable using.” 

Sometimes that means collage, which is less intimidating and more instinctive. Other times, it begins with a pencil and the comfort of the erasable. “A client with rigid thought patterns or perfectionistic tendencies may initially prefer graphite pencil and eraser,” she says. “After a few sessions, I might introduce colored pencils to invite emotional expression through color, or a black marker to foster fluidity and acceptance of mistakes, since marker work cannot be erased.” The materials themselves become metaphors for psychological movement, from control to release. 

The way Riff speaks about her clients’ work, there is a refusal to turn their art into evidence. “Friends often joke that they don’t want me to see their artwork for fear I’ll ‘psychoanalyze’ them,” she says, laughing. “Many people assume their art becomes evidence when shared with an art therapist, but in reality, artwork is deeply subjective.” Meaning, she reminds us, is not assigned by the therapist and is the artist’s own story. “While I may be more attuned than most to emotional and symbolic content in art, the artist’s own statement and personal history are essential to understanding its meaning. Even then, I approach interpretation with curiosity rather than assumption.” 

That curiosity without intrusion is part of her therapeutic approach. “It’s essential to create an environment that supports empowerment, autonomy, self-efficacy, and nonjudgmental awareness,” she says. “I intervene very little in the creative process.” Her role, instead, unfolds in reflection. “My primary guidance comes during the processing of the artwork, where I ask intentional, reflective questions designed to help clients deepen their understanding of both their art and themselves.” 

“Once, I sat quietly while a client painted for nearly their entire session. They were deeply self-directed in their process, so as we wrapped up, I asked a few processing questions. I asked what they would title their painting andwhat they took away from the experience.” The client called it Life. “They said, ‘It’s like when I’m painting, all my thoughts about what I need to do and my anxiety are still there, but they don’t seem so overwhelming. Painting calms me down enough to decide what my next move in life needs to be.’”

The exchange isn’t dramatic, but it is revealing. “I don’t know if this moment felt like an ‘aha’ for the client, but it certainly resonated with me,” Riff says. “That’s the beauty of creating something, or simply slowing down to do anything mindfully. Coming back into your body and into the present moment has a remarkable way of putting life into perspective.”

If talk therapy is an excavation of words, art therapy is another kind of language. “I think we’ve all experienced emotions that are hard to put into words,” Riff says. “Sometimes a feeling or thought is better captured by a specific shade of blue or a jagged line scribbled in oil pastel.” Where conversation leaves only notes, art leaves evidence of experience. “Talking about emotions can bring relief, but a conversation leaves nothing physical behind. Art doesn’t always need to reveal something profound; sometimes the act of creating itself is the therapy.”

She admits, with a light heart, that not everyone is eager to participate. “I have a few go-to phrases for moments like this,” she says. “Such as, ‘It’s about the process, not the finished product,’ or, ‘What would happen if you just made something without calling it good or bad?’” But she never forces art upon the unwilling. “If making art feels stressful or unpleasant for someone, I never force it. I’m fully capable of working with clients through traditional talk therapy, and that’s perfectly okay. Still, I have to admit, it’s always more fun when clients are open to engaging in art therapy.” 

Over time, she watches creativity begin to pour into the rest of her clients’ lives. “I love seeing clients apply a creative mindset to areas of their lives beyond artmaking,” she says. “The most rewarding moments are when it clicks for someone that their life is a canvas, and their thoughts, feelings, and behaviors are the paints and tools they use to shape it.” 

Her own relationship to art has shifted, too. “Art school was incredibly educational and enlightening, but it also made me overly self-critical of my work,” she reflects. “Art therapy school became a journey of unlearning that mindset and realizing my art doesn’t have to be spectacular or appeal to a wide audience to have value.” Now, she creates for the sake of release—for the moment itself. 

“I see art as something that brings people back to themselves and to each other,” she says when asked how art can heal communities. “When we create, we let our guard down a little, and that’s where connection starts. Art helps people and communities heal because it gives us a way to express what words can’t always reach. It reminds us that everyone has something meaningful to create and something worth being witnessed.” 

Amanda Riff’s work is less about diagnosing or decoding and more about witnessing and holding space. Inviting people back to the present moment. “When we make together,” she says, “we start to remember that healing doesn’t have to happen in isolation. It can happen in color, in texture, in the retelling of a story, and in shared moments of creativity and vulnerability.”