blessing counting

Earlier this week I spent nearly 2 hours with a lovely woman who was essentially a stranger to me. I regret not having known her earlier but, even if we had known eachother previously, I suspect she would have still regarded me as a stranger. Yet she knows and loves my artwork. This woman, once a gifted artist herself, has early onset Alzheimer's disease and her gentle essence and personality seem to be literally disappearing moment by moment. Her adoring husband asked me to consider working with her on a one to one basis in the hope that my own affinity for color as an independent language might strike a positive and pleasurable chord in his wife. It was an offer I felt morally obligated to accept and fully commit to. Good decision on my part in so many unexpected ways.

While he suggested I use oil pastels because she had used them in the past, I opted for watercolor crayons instead. I brought my big 84 color set only to find they already had the exact same set along with a collection of brushes any artist would envy. Having done so much work with young people who need highly structured lessons based as much on following directions as anything else I decided try and assess her skill level by giving her a series of directives beginning with " draw a circle". In retrospect I think she might have been able to copy a circle or even trace over a circle if I had shown her a circle. But I watched her thinking about what a circle is and then she tentatively drew the beginnings of a spiral and looked at me questioningly for approval. It's a very humbling awareness to watch someone's true confusion over what we consider such an elementary concept. My own dawning recognition of what she has already lost just tore into my heart. I ached for this woman I was already too late to know.

Everything we did from that point forward was geared toward what she could do, some things easier than others but none producing frustration. But my reason for selecting watercolor crayons was twofold: #1  I learned from working with seniors that the act of coloring itself triggers very old muscle memories from childhood and is itself a pleasurable physical activity with virtually no learning curve; #2  the dramatic change when a paintbrush with water touches an area she has already colored is worth its weight in gold on the surprise and pleasure scale. That delightful drama happens in an instant as
the colors literally jump off the page when liquefied.

I always tell my students that art is a verb, it's the process NOT the product that matters. In the final analysis I make colored marks on paper. Sometimes they are pleasing to look at; sometimes they are a source of frustration. But at no time are the marks themselves more important than the act of making them. So for someone who seems to have no capacity to anticipate, this surprise element was a source of genuine delight for her. We tried various brushes and got various affects. At one point she dipped the crayons into the water and drew some lines but was dissatisfied with their lesser degree of drama. Our entire time working together was spent helping her decide where to put a mark or where to spread color with me trying to explain that when you don't have a specific picture in mind there are no such things as "mistakes", only surprises on the paper that simply require some looking into.

But each time she did something that pleased her she smiled and her lovely face was animated with enthusiasm. She of course had no idea what a gift those smiles were for me. So that is my goal for our next session...... simply to devise art experiences that will make her smile. Next time I think we will share a picture and alternate adding marks or shapes and see whether the collaborative process can reach deeper into her own creativity. The completed picture, by the way, was elegant and purposeful and very lovely  -  as they say, definitely suitable for framing  OR working on again next time.

Driving home I had the top open and the radio off. I needed silence and the crisp autumn afternoon sunlight. It felt like I had come from some sort of spiritual event that lingered past its natural time. I used to say that having degenerative osteo arthritis was a life altering challenge not a life threatening one. I was absolutely convinced I would find a way to navigate through that particular challenge. And I was quick to count my blessings when thinking of those whose medical challenges were greater and more profound than my own. I'm one of the very lucky ones to have overcome my shoulder problems and have the chance to rebuild my life. This woman will not have my good fortune. She is fading away. I consider meeting her and working with her as one of my new blessings and view each of her smiles as trophies. I only hope what I have to give brings her enough momentary pleasure for her to want to continue our art play together for quite a while.