Using art as therapy in some of Ireland's psychiatric units is not only proving popular but also helping to break down the stigma of mental health. Róisín Ingle sits in on a class with artist Rasher

As soon as artist Mark Kavanagh walks in to the Occupational Therapy Unit of St Brendan's Hospital in Dublin, a man in a duffle coat approaches. "Hello, my name is Joe," he says, his hand stuck firmly out in greeting. "I hope you can teach me a few things." Joe says he normally uses a pencil in art class. "Have you tried using paint?" asks Mark. "Would you like to?" Joe doesn't know if he can but says he'll try.

Mark Kavanagh, better known in the Irish and international art world as Rasher, has also come here to learn. When Lundbeck Ireland - organisers of the Art Against Stigma project - asked Mark to come and give art lessons in mental health centres around the country, he agreed immediately.

"There are people in my life who have been touched by depression, but I don't mind saying I am a bit ignorant about these things," he says.

"I'd like to understand more. For me art is all about self-expression, so I can only imagine that for these people it's the same."

And so it proves. Upstairs in the art room, heads are bowed in concentration and forms are emerging on the page. One participant, David, is painting bright red poppies against a blue sky, a subject that a few years ago was something of a trademark for Rasher. "Maybe some more white in there, David," says Mark. "Ah, yes," says David. "I see what you mean."

Peter is a big friendly Dublin man, full of talk about Bertie Ahern and payments to politicians. His paintings are usually Dublin scenes: the Spire behind; Larkin in front with his arms thrust out to either side. Today, however, he's painting a cottage in the west of Ireland with the Twelve Pins mountain range in the background. "Just a memory of old postcard, something from my head," he says, dabbing brown paint on a pile of turf leaning against the gable wall of the cottage. He wears big silver and gold rings on all of his fingers. "I used to have a problem with the gambling," he says. "Then I stopped and instead of putting bets on I'd go and put some money on a ring that I liked in a shop. That's how I got all these. They kind of accumulated. I've 15 on my fingers at this stage and there are a few more I still want to pay off."

Beside Peter is Caitriona, who spent three years in art college before becoming ill. A naturally gifted artist, she is putting the finishing touches to a portrait of a man wearing a pin-striped jacket viewed from behind, framed by a window. Mark compliments the work.

"I'll get a swelled head," she says smiling.

"More red," someone says. "White," demands another. Each request is met with quiet efficiency by Kerry man JJ O'Sullivan who studied at Dún Laoghaire art college and has worked as an art teacher in centres such as St Brendan's, Usher's Island and Weir Home in Dublin for the last 25 years. He takes Mark next door to view a gallery of group work created by people who live with schizophrenia. The paintings that line the wall are a riot of shape, movement and colour.

Mark is impressed. "These are beautiful, really vibrant and modern," he says. JJ observes that people with schizophrenia often make some of the most powerful art. "They do it without thinking, itjust seems to come to them. The people I teach don't have the same artistic barriers as the rest of us, this is all coming from the heart and the soul," he says.

After Dublin, Mark spent the week in centres in Co Kilkenny and Co Mayo. "I met some incredible characters who are doing very interesting work," he says on his return. "There was one man who had painted a portrait of a girl and he would just keep keep doing the same portrait over and over. I asked him who she was and he told me she was a girl he fell in love with when he was 20. He lost her because he got sick. The stories behind some of the pieces were amazing. And some of the artists were obviously really gifted."

Dr Patricia Noone, clinical director of Co Mayo mental health services, explains one of the main therapeutic benefits of art: "One of the big problems for those with psychiatric illness is that they dwell so much on themselves. Every day starts with self-examination; will I get through this day? Will I be able to face it? Art allows them to focus on something else and forget their own problems," she says.

From an artistic point of view, the work done by clients of the mental health services can often be fresh and full of originality. Dr Noone remembers Brian Maguire of NCAD, who judges the Lundbeck Ireland Art Against Stigma awards each year, saying that he wished some of his students in art college could be as disinhibited as those he encountered in the clinics and day centres.

"Their fantasy life is very rich," says Dr Noone. "Many who have had delusions or manic episodes experience things the rest of us never can, this is often captured and projected back into the work." There are others, she says, who are withdrawn, barely saying a word in clinical sessions.

"Then they are transformed, they come in to me with great blasts of talk and when I check their records the only thing that has changed is that they have done the art classes," she says.

Established seven years ago, Art Against Stigma aims to encourage creativity among clients of the mental health services, giving them a positive means of self-expression and promoting a better understanding of sufferers in the community. Each year the work of participants is shown in a national exhibition. Some students have even gone on to study fine art in college as a result. Monica Hughes of Lundbeck Ireland says the artists revel in the fact that their work is displayed professionally and often purchased by members of the public.

"It's so important to them, like a night at the Oscars," she smiles. "You can see the confidence boost it gives them. They become empowered."

Back at a table in the Occupational Therapy Unit in St Brendan's, John, a quiet, gentle man, is creating an abstract in orange. "I learnt to paint when I first went into hospital around 10 years ago. It was something different, something pleasing to me. It took me out of the emptiness, that's how it felt," he says.

Beside him, Joe is getting to grips with the paint, having told Mark he usually uses only pencil. He points to the sunset and the grass and the sea he is working on.

"I need something to occupy my mind because I've no mother or father," he says.

Martin is a former soldier. As he paints he recalls the time he first got sick, the night he thought the people on his TV were talking to him. Art, he says, helps him express his feelings.

He had a drink problem for years. "But I'm dry now," he says. This morning his painting is full of muddy colours, browns and blacks and when I comment on how bleak it looks he says sheepishly that he just got back from a holiday where he had a few beers.

"It was a mistake, I won't be doing it again," he says. Later, I notice that brighter colours have been added to the page. "I've cheered up a bit now," smiles Martin, as yellow streaks from his paintbrush send light into the gloom.

The annual Art Against Stigma exhibition is open to the public free of charge between November 10th and 23rd in the Office of Public Works, St Stephen's Green, Dublin. An exhibition of work by artists in the west is ongoing and runs until November 3rd in the exhibition space at Mayo General Hospital, Castlebar