Gemma was here for three days, staying at my house at night. There was a lot of intense talking - about using persona to engage people and whether a 'quiet' persona was possible. Talking about quietness, I realised that I often do small 'performances' every time I enter a room to 'engage' people. I think loudness and humour create a sort of trust - that you will lead and take on the responsibility for whatever happens, however daft! One of the things I love about drawing when I am on my own is the space it provides me to be introverted and to 'withdraw' from the world, but I rarely get a chance to draw with other people in a quiet way. I think I shy away from the intensity required, and the intimacy. We talked about how it can be hard to inhabit, work with and accept quietness and decided to work together on Gemma's final day, using poetry and drawing and make space for introspection and silence in the noisy environment of the dining room.
Gemma had given Mary a rose and was reading 'My Love Is Like A Red Red Rose' by Rabbie Burns to her.
My love is like a red red rose
That's newly sprung in June:
My love is like the melody
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
Mary, sitting in her chair, can seem quite detached and struggles with mobility. As I have spent time with Mary, I could tell she was listening but that Gemma might not realise... so I brought some paper over and, as Gemma read, I began to make marks with charcoal, following the rhythm of Gemma's voice. I invited Mary to join me by holding up and offering a piece of charcoal. She took it and she drew after me, following my line like a dance.
As the lines grew Mary seemed to come into the room more and began to recite the poetry along with Gemma. The first verse was written on paper, but Mary knew all the words beyond the first verse. She was also, ever so quietly, putting on a Scottish accent.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I:
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.
So deep in love am I:
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
And I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
And I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only love,
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my love,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my love,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.
Mary got tired and I offered the back of my hand for her to hold onto and we drew together.
'I feel like a lark' she said.
We drew a rose
The room noise and sound of the incessant alarm bell faded into the background. Later in the day, Gemma and I talked about the way poetry connects to very early memories that people with Dementia have of poems they learned at school. I want to learn more poetry by rote, as well as songs - I know the first two lines to an awful lot of songs, then it is humming after that. I want to have more ways of speaking other than in conversation. We talked about feeling invigorated by the idea of working so closely as three people, with someone always being able to 'witness' - to see and experience the small things. Poetry had given us a private space within a busy room and drawing had given us a silent way to communicate.