Picasso Therapy

Picasso Therapy

I showed my portfolio to an unusual crowd the other day. It included Marge, Cecilia, Ed and Paula. None of them are curators. Probably not even art enthusiasts. What they have in common is old age and dementia.

I've been visiting residents at an assisted-living home. Given their declining states of mind and health, it's hard to know what to say or do, and it's not easy to have a conversation. Sometimes I just hold their hands, smile and get them tissues for their tears. I've played a few fiddle songs for them-- most clapped, although one resident, Vera, kept complaining she couldn't sleep with that noise. In an odd, and sometimes heartbreaking way, they can be a tough crowd.

I thought I'd try showing them things. One week I brought photographs of flowers from my yard. Everyone can relate to a flower, I thought. That's a nice, pretty thing to cheer someone up. They might say what their favorite was, or if they had flowers in their garden.

I thought about bringing photos of my paintings, but I worried that they weren't serene enough, or not as universally appealing as a flower.

But then I read a feature in the New York Times, The Pablo Picasso Alzheimer's Therapy (October 30, 2005) that talked about folks using art as a therapeutic tool for people suffering with Alzheimer's. In this case, patients were getting the opportunity for private viewings of some Picasso paintings at the NY MOMA, and to good effect.

Alzheimer's patients at the NY MOMA

One neurologist shared that he had seen "quite demented patients recognize and respond vividly to paintings and delight in painting at a time when they are scarcely responsive to words and disoriented and out of it."

They "did not wear the anxious, confused looks they had worn when they first arrived at the museum. They did not quarrel in the way that those suffering from Alzheimer's sometimes do. And when they talked about the paintings, they did not repeat themselves or lose the thread of the discussion, as they often do...."

At the NY MOMA there were moments of inspiration and clarity while typically inarticulate patients described what they saw in the paintings, whether they liked them or not, or how they felt about them.

So, I decided it couldn't hurt to give it a try.

I cannot report that I saw any dramatic epiphanies or moments of pure artistic joy. But several of the residents did interact and seem to enjoy it.

With one, I had the sense that she felt her old grandma-self, as if she was looking at the work of one of her grandkids, proud and impressed. She asked questions about where I went to school and how long some of the paintings took me.

One woman would flip through, saying she liked several of the paintings, commenting sometimes on the colors while I pointed out figures or faces, to be sure she could recognize the images. Then she distinctly said, "Ick" to one of the paintings. I found that just as interesting. It was a reaction.

During this, I could see another one of the residents looking over, trying to get a view. His eyes told me that he wanted a look. So I sat by him and showed him the portfolio. I don't think he said a word, just nodded and looked at me when he was done looking at each one and ready for me to turn the page.

It was nice sharing this with them. I figure it was at least something else for them to look at for a few minutes besides the TV. Oddly, since they don't remember much, I suppose I can bring it back in again and see who might be interested next time.

The NY Times piece also commented that originals proved more impactful than reproductions. Perhaps I'll bring in an actual painting vs. my printed portfolio. The larger-scale alone might generate more of a reaction.

On the practical side, since a painting doesn't make any noise-- bare minimum, Vera and some of the others can keep napping if they feel like it.

Link to the NY Times article: http://www.nytimes.com/2005/10/30/arts/design/30kenn.html?ex=1132635600&en=f6b121884e1a5847&ei=5070

Pine Needles & Resistors

Pine Needles & Resistors
I've had an idea in the back of my head for some time. So with the help of instruction (I'm taking a class at SF Art Insitute), I thought there's no better time to give it a try.

The problem was my idea was a bit vague, and on top of that, it's sort of awkward. I decided to go for it. I wanted to at least experiment and see what I might come up with.

I suppose the basic idea started with a tactile fascination for bits of both nature and technology.

I've had a habit of picking up interesting bits of wood, pinecones and such for sometime. (I think this is a relatively common childhood habit, but unlike most, I never fully grew out of it.) And living in Silicon Valley, I've also picked up little computer-related goodies in stores that specialize in used technical parts, some of it salvageable, some of it functionally junk.

I had some old computer resistors on hand. And my yard and deck are regularly blanketed with pine needles. I knew I wanted to combine these in some way, particuarly given the similarity of their shape (the resistors have a small cylindrical component in the center, and then wire going out in both directions) and started playing with them spread out over a canvas in different patterns.

Then, my instructor hit me with all those questions (see previous post).

Was I trying to say that nature and technology don't mix? Why the upward movement? Why not all the pine needles going in the same direction? Why white or gray or whatever color? Why canvas vs. other background? Why a square canvas, etc.

I had some answers, but not all of them.

I know at least that I am exploring an interwoven sense of nature and technology. . .

• I’m particularly intrigued by the lack of distinction between nature and technology. When does something become ‘man-made’? Ultimately, all man-made products are rooted in the materials and knowledge we find here on the earth.
• I’m also exploring the co-existence of chaos and order, both in nature and technology. We see the chaos of hurricanes, and the precision of DNA. We see the scientific, binary world of zero's and one's, and we see the damage of computer viruses and the frenetic nature of the world wide web.
• I see an incidental or accidental beauty in technical components, which make them interesting to me from both an aesthetic and conceptual sense.
• Lastly, I am also interested in how the latest-greatest technology eventually, and sometimes quickly, becomes discarded junk -- a cycle also similar in nature.

Given that I had never done a mixed media piece, I was also eager to get hands-on and finetune the answers later. The photo above is a detail portion of my first finished piece in this theme.

First, let's just say that I'm pleased that I was able to actually make these pine needles and resistors stick. That was a good learning step and accomplishment.

Second, even in this detail photo, you can see a bit of the chaos, movement and texture of the piece. Given the first concept I mention above, about the lack of distinction between technology and nature, it's interesting to see that the pine needles and resistors blend together on the canvas, almost blending back into simple texture, and that gray is the background.

Well, there are more questions to consider and pine needles to paint! I've got bits and pieces of goodies in my studio. Okay, it looks like random junk to the 'untrained eye,' but I have a few ideas to explore, and hope to turn it into something else entirely.

Hmm... that idea of repurposing these pieces into art is right in line with that cycle-of-technology-and-nature concept. Maybe I'm just adding art to the cycle.

Why?-- Art School and Toddlers

Why? -- Art School and Toddlers

I've discovered that going to art school is a bit like hanging out with a two-year-old. The commonality? Regularly being asked, "Why?"

And in my case at the moment, regularly not having the answer.

I have painted in a from-the-gut way for the last several years. I sketch things that come to me. Then, I paint them. Sometimes, I'll have a feeling or experience I'm trying to convey. Just as often, it's simply instinctual or images from my subconscious.

Apparently, this is not the way of serious art. Or at least the way of art school. I'm not quite sure what to make of it yet. But, in an art school environment, one is expected to have an objective with his or her artwork. And then to make choices -- every detailed choice-- in support of that objective.

Why this color? Why these lines? Why lines in this direction? Why all this texture? Why this size canvas? Why canvas at all?

Looking at my art in this way is a brave new world. It's a world of questions, and hopefully, eventually, answers. I have a lot to think about. This one simple word, "why." It feels a little frustrating, and frankly, a bit paralyzing. It's hard to know which foot to put forward. Or which tube of paint to reach for, or which type of brushstroke to make.

But it also feels like it could be an adventure.

Part of me would like to stick with the whatever-comes-to-me approach. But now, I suspect that what comes to me is bound to be different. Simply because a door's been opened, and I've been asked to think about it.

For now, I'm pondering the question. I'm curious to see what answers I'll come up with, and if I find an increasing sense of a "why."