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.