Color
We are all artists!
UNTIL
we turn six, or seven or eight. Someone makes a remark. Someone laughs at our picture. Someone tells us we have to draw straight lines and/or perfect circles.
Our lines are crooked and circles more like triangles. Doubt sets in until finally we believe that lines have to be straight, and circles have to look like we used a compass in order to be art.
We ARE all artists!
Let me tell you how I know. “Sister said…”
I suspect many of you, like me, who went to a parochial school would use “sister” as our proof for many things. We say something at the dinner table and our siblings or parents would look at us, wondering where we got such a tale. “Sister says” often cleared the air. If sister says, it must be true.
During my 17 years of experience with persons who have some form of neurodivergence whether it be from birth, brain injury, Alzheimer’s and/or other related disease like Aphasia, most of those diseases bring heartache, fear, sadness to persons afflicted and their caregivers. Persons are said to be intellectually disabled as they begin to lose their ability to use words effectively. Words which were a delight now become enemies. Let me repeat that:
“WORDS BECOME ENEMIES.”
In the beginning, when a person realizes what is going on, he/she becomes silent for fear of saying the wrong thing.
However, in all this grief, a miracle is just waiting to emerge. Remember the six-year-old who had no inhibitions with color and paint and drawing? Many of those labeled with intellectual disability, if given the chance, are released from adult fear of being able to create art. Words are replaced and communication happens through all the arts except poetry where words are the force.
Trying out a hunch, I asked the question, “What happens to those in religious life who have used words all their lives for prayer and experience difficulty with language as they grow older?”
Given the chance to work with some women religious experiencing early signs of cognitive difficulty, there was almost an immediate explosion of uninhibited creativity. Women who wouldn’t say anything to me responded with color and shape and smiles which turned into giggles when I asked them, “What color is God for you today?” One of the sisters said, without any cue from me, “Look at my prayer!”
I didn’t give these women any direction. When I brought new materials, I just sat in the middle of everyone and started to make something myself as a model for those who might be a little shy picking up fleece or soft metal. I let them discover what might happen on their own. Timid at first as the materials were not typical, it didn’t take long and there was a flurry of activity. This happened day after day and the miracle had been unlocked.
As I got ready to head back to Tennessee, Sister Phyllis Plantenberg put her latest prayer in my hands, “This is yours. Come back soon so we can pray.”
Stunned, I could not keep back my tears. I realized that for some, words had betrayed them. Words hurt them. Words angered them. Words silenced them. Even poetry was a threat to their stability. But these women discovered they were not disabled. How do I know?
“Sister said…”
They were just DIFFERENTLY ABLE.
Pat Pickett, OblSB
Photo: Colorful artwork by a sister. Taken by Pat Pickett.
