About Mary Milliken
Mary Milliken (they/them) is a non-binary artist, illustrator, and educator known for bold, textured work that celebrates queerness, body diversity, and satirical takes on mental health. With 15+ years of experience, they create custom portraits, zines about queer and self-love, humorous stickers, and hand-painted upcycled apparel. Based in Los Angeles and originally from Elmira, NY, Mary pops up at events, markets, and weddings offering live watercolor portraits of guests and pets.
Learn more on Instagram or https://www.marymilliken.com/.
Can you share a bit about your personal journey with mental health and how that intersects with your identity and art?
I noticed a dramatic shift in how I saw myself around age 10 when puberty began. From then on, I struggled with eating disorders, self-harm, and depression. At age 19, I began having panic attacks that I could no longer ignore and I started therapy on my doctor’s recommendation.
Over the years, I received various diagnoses, but the deeper issue was growing up in an environment where I couldn’t be my authentic self. I was also dealing with a family history of bipolar disorder, ADHD, anorexia, addiction, and personality disorders. I thought about suicide constantly. Later, I heartbreakingly learned that many trans kids experience these same feelings, but at the time I felt completely alone.
Mental health wasn’t something we talked about in my family. When it did come up, it was surrounded by stigma. I was raised devoutly Catholic and taught to strive for perfection within rigid ideas about gender, relationships, and identity, especially as someone perceived as female. I internalized a lot of guilt and shame and learned to hide my struggles. It took years of unlearning before I could open myself up to healing and creative expression.
When did you first realize that art could be a tool for emotional release or self-expression? Was there a specific moment or piece that opened that door for you?
As a kid, drawing felt as natural as breathing. But as I got older, I became obsessed with doing it the “right” way. That pressure turned something soothing into something stressful. Even creative outlets triggered anxiety, and my inner critic often stopped me before I could begin.
Through therapy, persistence, and learning that I deserved better, I slowly reclaimed art as a way to release emotions. It didn’t happen overnight, but eventually, I found healing in creativity. Now I help others find that connection, too.
You’re clearly passionate about mental health and the LGBTQIA+ community. How do those themes show up in your creative work?
My work centers around representing bodies and identities that are often erased or overlooked. I make a point to include those who aren’t cis, straight, thin, or white.
Studying art history taught me how queer narratives have been deliberately erased to support white supremacist and patriarchal systems. In a way, every queer artist becomes a historian.
I feel a deep responsibility to reflect queerness as I experience it. My art will live on, and I want future generations, especially those facing mental health or identity struggles, to see themselves in what I’ve made. I want them to know they are not alone and that others have come before them and survived.
How do you hope your art makes others feel, especially those who may be navigating their own mental health journeys?
I want people to feel seen. I want them to know their struggles are real and they are not alone. Healing can’t happen in isolation. When we share our pain, we make room for something better for us and better for those around us.
I often use humor and satire to talk about serious topics like anxiety, eating disorders, fatphobia, grief, queerness, and transness. Laughter can be a bridge. Being laughed at may have been a source of pain, but laughing with someone who gets it can be incredibly healing. It’s helped me build community.
There’s no correct way to make art, just like there’s no correct way to be in your body or in the world. That idea of doing things the “right” way contributed to my anorexia and delayed my ability to live fully as a queer person and as an artist. It hurts that art is often undervalued in our culture because it’s one of the oldest and most natural ways we process our feelings. I truly believe more people could benefit from making art, especially those looking for healthy ways to cope.
What role does community play in your healing process, and how does your art help build or strengthen that sense of connection?
Community is central to everything I do. I even wrote my master’s thesis on how art can help build or rebuild communities, especially in rural areas. I’m proud that I didn’t give up or water myself down. My art has helped others feel seen, accepted, and less alone.
When you’re able to be fully yourself around others, things that once felt impossible start to feel achievable. Collaborating and being open to other voices has been one of the most important parts of my growth as an artist.
Moving to LA in 2022 was intimidating and I suddenly felt like a tiny fish in a massive pond, but the shift sparked new inspiration. I was energized by street art, graffiti, and the work of queer indie artists and performers. That cultural shift gave me space to grieve, evolve, and fully explore my queer identity through my art.
Sharing that work led to honest conversations about therapy, treatment, and mental health. I connected with people who saw themselves in what I created. That’s inspired more art, deeper relationships, and a stronger belief in myself. It’s made me a more confident and empathetic person and artist.
