The Personal Touch


Last year, Mom’s art began to deteriorate.  Very agitated with loss of brush control, lots of scratchy lines and seemingly less interest overall.  That’s when I began to spend time with her before the art class.  The change was immediate.  Warm saturated colors, animal images and a degree of wit replaced the uncertain, groping quality of the previous weeks.

Since then I haven’t missed a class—experimenting with ways to stimulate her imagination—addressing  her state of isolation—surrounding her with expressions of love and caring.   You can see the difference it makes.


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