In my introductory post, I declared Mondays for art and Fridays for Parkinson's but of course, the two weave in and out of one another, the warp and weft of my life. So I guess I can only promise that one post a week will lean more heavily towards a discussion of art and the other post will lean into the daily experience of living with PD. I cannot truly separate the two any more than I can separate my brain from my body.
Initially, I thought that worsening fine motor abilities would spell the biggest trouble for my artistic pursuits when in fact, time has revealed cognitive decline as the greatest enemy. Although PD is still classified as a movement disorder, it has tremendous effect on a person's ability to think, plan, reason, remember, organize, focus, interact, and express. In my particular case, I'd say cognitive dysfunction has proven significantly more difficult to navigate than any issues with my ability or quality of movement.
Before all this, I was already a "dip & sip" artist. I like to keep things interesting and experiment constantly. I get in a particular groove for a while and then my attention drifts off to more sparkly pursuits. However, PD has driven me to distraction, at a 1000mph...in a race car...with a fierce tailwind at my back. Once I start a project I either have to be content with drifting in and out of productivity or I have to lock my studio doors and keep my butt in the chair until the project is complete. I employ the lockdown technique for "work art" but for my everyday, "just messin' around" art play, I have let distraction have full rein until I stumble into something I feel is worth exploring with a more intense focus.
The result is a studio overflowing with UFOs (unfinished objects,) otherwise known as "Projects I Must Have Thought Were a Great Idea at One Time But Now I Can't Remember Where I Was Going With Them." There are also projects laying around that fall into the "I Only Have So Many Functional Hours in a Day So This is Going to Take Forever" category. On the easel, there's a heavy, 3-foot by 3-foot gallery-wrapped canvas that was a giant mountain lion but that is currently under construction as an intricate patchwork landscape. I am fairly certain where this piece is headed but I might have to live to 80 to see it complete. The guiding inspiration? A quote I stumbled onto - author unknown - that spoke to my heart: In the end, we are all walking each other home.
I realized early in life as an artist with Parkinson's that I needed ways to be that artist whether I had PD under my foot or it had me by the throat. When my fine motor and focus is compromised, I work large & abstract. When I've got brain chemistry and luck on my side, I work more intimately. In those moments, I tend to do a lot of journaling and illustration. This is a wee journal-in-progress that fits in my hand -- The Museum of Ordinary Magic,-- and it is a place to gather random bits of inspiration and self-love.
I need a lot of that these days, more than the average bear. And I wasn't all the great at that in the first place. Any kind of chronic illness can be very isolating. You self-isolate out of fear of being a burden (often justified & just as often, unjustified.) You isolate out of reflex and embarrassment if a day was particularly ungraceful. You isolate to bolster your strength with quiet. You isolate in the face of overwhelm. Art is, for me, the bridge through and back. It is something that I can hold up and say "Yeah..okay...I fell on my face yesterday...and today...and I will probably fall again tomorrow but in between I found some footing and made a thing." Proof positive that I can pick myself up, over and over again. Proof for others but more importantly, proof for myself. Art, in whatever form it takes for you -- writing, painting, doodling, sky diving, roller derby, dancing, magic tricks, knitting, glassblowing, and on and on -- can carry you over some incredibly rough patches. It doesn't have to be award-winning or even seen by others; you just have to do it. Take yourself through the process from conception to creation and give birth to something that is always bigger than the enemy whether its 3 feet square or 3 inches square...depression, Parkinson's, cancer, and on and on, art is a powerful weapon of survival because it means you stood in the face of something awful, defied its power, and manifested something beautiful instead.
To close, I'm including a link to a new short documentary just released called Shake With Me, a lovely little film about artist Debra Magid and her attitude & approach to living as an artist with Parkinson's as seen through the eyes of her director son, Zack Grant.
Initially, I thought that worsening fine motor abilities would spell the biggest trouble for my artistic pursuits when in fact, time has revealed cognitive decline as the greatest enemy. Although PD is still classified as a movement disorder, it has tremendous effect on a person's ability to think, plan, reason, remember, organize, focus, interact, and express. In my particular case, I'd say cognitive dysfunction has proven significantly more difficult to navigate than any issues with my ability or quality of movement.
The result is a studio overflowing with UFOs (unfinished objects,) otherwise known as "Projects I Must Have Thought Were a Great Idea at One Time But Now I Can't Remember Where I Was Going With Them." There are also projects laying around that fall into the "I Only Have So Many Functional Hours in a Day So This is Going to Take Forever" category. On the easel, there's a heavy, 3-foot by 3-foot gallery-wrapped canvas that was a giant mountain lion but that is currently under construction as an intricate patchwork landscape. I am fairly certain where this piece is headed but I might have to live to 80 to see it complete. The guiding inspiration? A quote I stumbled onto - author unknown - that spoke to my heart: In the end, we are all walking each other home.
I need a lot of that these days, more than the average bear. And I wasn't all the great at that in the first place. Any kind of chronic illness can be very isolating. You self-isolate out of fear of being a burden (often justified & just as often, unjustified.) You isolate out of reflex and embarrassment if a day was particularly ungraceful. You isolate to bolster your strength with quiet. You isolate in the face of overwhelm. Art is, for me, the bridge through and back. It is something that I can hold up and say "Yeah..okay...I fell on my face yesterday...and today...and I will probably fall again tomorrow but in between I found some footing and made a thing." Proof positive that I can pick myself up, over and over again. Proof for others but more importantly, proof for myself. Art, in whatever form it takes for you -- writing, painting, doodling, sky diving, roller derby, dancing, magic tricks, knitting, glassblowing, and on and on -- can carry you over some incredibly rough patches. It doesn't have to be award-winning or even seen by others; you just have to do it. Take yourself through the process from conception to creation and give birth to something that is always bigger than the enemy whether its 3 feet square or 3 inches square...depression, Parkinson's, cancer, and on and on, art is a powerful weapon of survival because it means you stood in the face of something awful, defied its power, and manifested something beautiful instead.To close, I'm including a link to a new short documentary just released called Shake With Me, a lovely little film about artist Debra Magid and her attitude & approach to living as an artist with Parkinson's as seen through the eyes of her director son, Zack Grant.
❤ thank you Michelle
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