On Memory
In the autumn of 2009, I had the good fortune to spend three weeks in residence at the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. During this time, I was struggling with a plethora of feelings and reactions to my mother’s gradual decline from Alzheimers Disease. Without prior preconceptions about what I would do during my residency, I found myself pouring out the repetitive laments of my mother, for which I could offer no solace.
Five years previous, I had encouraged her to move to Virginia, realizing she was showing early signs of cognitive decline. She chose to remain in the Midwest, her life long home, home to her two sisters, and many friends. She was an active woman who volunteered in her community and loved to garden and cook. While carrying several large cookbooks to review before hosting her gourmet group of four (having met monthly for nearly thirty years) she fell on stairs in her home, shattering her tibial head. A complicated repair was attempted, further complicated by post-operative infection. She was subsequently unable to walk without help, necessitating a move from her multi-level home. For the next six years, she lived in nursing home facilities.
My mother and I spoke on the phone regularly, and I tried to visit several times a year, as did my brother living on the opposite coast. Initially, her questions, always tinged with a touch of anger and bewilderment, centered around where she was and what had happened to possessions she valued. Gradually, her query’s abated, and she seemed more content, establishing some friendships. Additional falls, however, led to more supervised quarters, less interaction, and accelerated decline.
She passed away on a winter evening during the kind of snowfall she so loved - a heavy volume of large flakes swirling down and accumulating quickly, perfect for cross-country skiing, one of her favorite pursuits.
Not a day goes by that I do not think of her and miss her. She was emotionally and physically strong. She was exceptionally kind, wise, thoughtful and loving. She contributed joy, sustenance, and support to everyone she knew.
The images in this series begin with a monotype “Entering Twilight,” based on a photograph I took of my mother as she walked down a country road while visiting VA. It was the visit during which I became profoundly aware of her changing cognition.
Several Mixed media drawings from the VCCA residency follow. Shortly before her death, the encaustic work “Seven Days, 10,080 Minutes with Alzheimers” was conceived. One panel for each day, beginning with a repetitive question or request, colored with spiritual significance for the day, followed by 1440 drops of wax per panel, one for each minute of one day.