hiv art and poetry

8/19/2019 HIV Art and Poetry

1/12

University of Illinois Press is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Journal of Aesthetic

Education.

http://www.jstor.org

HIV, Art, and a Journey toward Healing: One Man's StoryAuthor(s): Julia KellmanSource: Journal of Aesthetic Education, Vol. 39, No. 3 (Autumn, 2005), pp. 33-43Published by: University of Illinois PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/3527430Accessed: 10-08-2015 07:40 UTC

Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at http://www.jstor.org/page/ info/about/policies/terms.jsp

JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of contentin a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship.For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

This content downloaded from 202.92.128.135 on Mon, 10 Aug 2015 07:40:04 UTCAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

http://www.jstor.org/http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=illinoishttp://www.jstor.org/stable/3527430http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsphttp://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsphttp://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsphttp://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsphttp://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsphttp://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsphttp://www.jstor.org/stable/3527430http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=illinoishttp://www.jstor.org/


2/12

HIV,

Art,

and a

Journey

toward

Healing:

One

Man's

Story

JULIA

KELLMAN

Some of the territory is wilder and reports do not tally. The guides are

good

for

only

so

much.

In

these

wild

places

I

become

part

of

the

map,

part

of the

story, adding

my

versions there.

This Talmudic

layering

of

story

on

story,

map

on

map, multiplies possibilities,

but

also

warns

me of

the

weight

of accumulation.

I

live

in

one

world-material,

seemingly

solid-and the

weight

of

that

is

quite enough.1

I

have

just

reread

anthropologist

Ruth

Behar's2

essay, Anthropology

That

Breaks

Your Heart. It started me

thinking

about several

things-the

outer

limits of psychic pain, for example, or the relationship of the researcher and

the

researched,

of

bearing

witness

and

giving testimony,

and

of

the ethno-

graphic experience

of

talking, listening, transcribing, translating,

and

inter-

preting

that

forms the

core

of

enquiry

about

people

and their lives.3 What

can

I

say,

I

wonder,

to touch readers

in

such

a

way

that

they

see

the

indis-

pensable

truth

in

the individual stories that

develop

from

such

enquiries?

How

can

my

role

as

interpreter

and

witness

lead to the

understanding

that

the

buffeting

winds

of

lived

experience

(those

of the

researcher

and of

those

who are researched) are not inconveniences but an essential

quality

of hu-

manistic

research?

How can

I

use the accretion of stories that make

up my

research

and

my

life

(as

if

there

were

a

difference),

I

muse,

as

I

sit

at

my

computer

screen

reading

a text as it in

its

turn

reads

me,

as

the

writer

Jeanette

Winterson4

describes this

experience.

For over

the

years,

I,

too,

not

only

have come

to feel this

pulse

of

the

systole

and

diastole

of

telling

and

being

told,

but I

have also used this

alternating

relationship

to

develop

in-

sight

into the nature

of the

connection

of

researcher and

researched,

teacher

and

taught.

There

are

two main

narratives

that

form the

core of this

particular

un-

dertaking-one personal

and the other the result of

informal

conversations,

Julia

Kellman s

AssociateProfessorof

both

Art

Educationand

Psychiatry

at

the Uni-

versity

of Illinois.

She

is

a

recent contributor to

Journal

of

Cultural

Research

n

Art Edu-

cation,

Journal

f

Visual

Arts

Research,

nd CultureWorks.

he also

has

a book

manu-

script

in

progress,

Shades

f

Difference:

rt,

HIV/AIDS

nd

the

Journey

oward

Healing.

JournalofAestheticEducation,Vol. 39, No. 3, Fall 2005

?2005

Board

of

Trustees

of

the

University

of Illinois


http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsphttp://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp


3/12

34 Julia Kellman

formal

interviews,

casual

interactions,

social

events,

and

interchanges

dur-

ing

the art class for

people

with

HIV/AIDS

that

I

teach

weekly

at a

local

hospital.

The

stories

both

probe

the

mystery

of

disease,

expression,

and

the

search for

coherence,

and,

in

my

case,

the role of the wild

places

on the

map 5

where the

researcher/writer

adds her witness

and

testimony

to

the

narrative

to

become

part

of the

story.

Individual

Experience

Before we

begin

this

discussion

of

individual

experience,

art,

and

illness,

it

is

important

to

point

out that there are

only

two

general types

of

humani-

ties

enquiry:

One

enumerates,

compares

and

contrasts,

creates

and

tests

hy-

potheses,

reads

literature,

and/or

examines the minutiae

of

materials

or

systems

of

one sort or another.

The

other is

engaged

in

exploring

the indi-

vidual,

the

idiosyncratic,

and the

unique.

Its

subject

is

that

which is

particu-

lar.

My

research consists

of the

second

type, qualitative

to its

core,

and

deeply

sunk

in

the

narrative,

personal

world

of

lived

experience.

The

privacy

of individual

situations,

our utter

singularity,

is

one

of

the

factors that most marks our lives as creatures. We can share our stories, de-

scribe

our

impressions,

explain

our

sensations,

but

unless

we

participate

in

an actual

experience

in

which our boundaries

momentarily

disappear,

the

most

we

can

hope

for is

the simultaneous

partaking

of

similar

feelings

with

a

sensitive,

empathetic

companion

in

what

philosopher-sociologist

Alfred

Schutz6

describes as

a

We-relationship,

an

intersubjective experience

that

leads to

sharing

time,

mutuality,

and

growing

old

together.

Thus the tick-

lish

nature of

achieving

actual

interpersonal

congruence

makes

enquiries

into the specifics of actual lived experience difficult. If one is to learn any-

thing

useful from

such

considerations,

one

must focus on

the individual

and

the

story

of

his/her

particular

life

journey

in an

intimate,

extended,

multifaceted manner

and content

one's self

with

the fact

that

all

one

will

ever be

able to

report

about in

such

an

undertaking

are

discrete events and

single people,

never

grand

numerical

accumulations or

demographically

significant

quantities.

Researcher's

Disclaimer

For

a

reader

to orient

herself

in

relationship

to what

comes

next

in

these

narratives,

to

understand

my perspective

and

biases as a means

of

appro-

priately

weighing

what

I

have

to

say,

it

is also

essential

to have

insight

into

one

or two

of

the

personal

paths

I

have

taken to

arrive

at

this

moment

in

the

midst of this

enquiry.

What

follows,

therefore,

is meant

to

clarify my

place

and

my

proclivities

in

this

ongoing story

of the

intersection of

HIV/AIDS,

art

making,

and

people's

lives.




4/12

A

Journey

toward

Healing

35

The author William

Styron7

has written of his

struggle

with

depression,

describing

his

developing

private

nightmare

and his arduous

struggle

to

re-

turn

from the

edge

of

disaster

in

DarknessVisible.

Others, too,

for

example,

Sylvia

Plath8 and

Anne

Sexton,9

have written

poetry wrung

from

their

deepest feelings, describing

the

terror, horror,

rage,

and

powerlessness

that

later

swept

them

like

an

undertow out

into

the

sea

of

self-destruction.

Fur-

ther,

as

the

psychiatrist Kay

Redfield

Jamisonl?

points

out,

the

list of

artists

of all

sorts

(musicians,

visual

artists, writers,

and

others)

with

depression

or

manic

depression

is extensive. Such

depression

and

its

frequent

result,

sui-

cide,

are not

just

the

purview

of artists

and

other

exceptionally

creative

people, however. It is a disorder that also stalks the rest of the population

with the

same terrible results.

My

own

experience

is such

an

example.

It has

been

ten

years

since

my two-year

bout

with

a

profound, disabling

depression,

a

condition

that,

in

slightly

milder

manifestations,

has

dogged

me

throughout my

life.

However,

though

several

years

have

passed,

sev-

eral

moments from

that

difficult

time remain

clear to me as individual

events-travel

highlights,

as

it

were,

from

a

brochure

describing

a

holiday

in

hell. A

single

event is

all

that is

necessary

here as emblematic of all

the

other experiences of exquisite and stupefying pain. Perhaps the one I have

chosen

will

seem

banal,

but I

can

assure

you

that,

as

an

example

of

pure

misery,

it

contains the heart

of what

I

am

after-insight

into the

ferocity

of

psychic

agony

and a

grasp

of

my

research

perspective

and the

personal

na-

ture of

my enquiries,

grounded

as

they

are

in

feminist

anthropology

and

phenomenology.

These two

characteristics-my

research

interests and

my

philosophical

underpinnings-provide

the rationale for

engaged,

intimate,

and

profoundly

personal

relationships

with

the

individuals with

whom I

do

my

research

as well as

my

engagement

with their

social,

psychological,

and

physical

worlds.

Here is

my

tale.

It

was

one

of

those

grey,

sticky

airless

days

in

North Carolina in

which

the

honey-thick

humid air

smelled

of

approaching

rain

and

growing

things

gone

unchecked and

wild.

As

usual,

I

was

at

my

desk

in

my tiny,

white,

boxlike

study,

with

its

useless

slitlike windows

through

which

no

breeze

ever found

its

way,

struggling

to

write

an

article.

Depression

was

my

con-

stant

companion that summer, a condition that not only robbed me of sleep

most

nights

but

that

accompanied

me

everywhere-a

thick

choking

cloud

compounded

of

confusion and

unbelievable

pain.

It

wrapped

me

like

a

blanket

that

morning,

too-stifling,

colorless,

killing.

Suddenly

the

man

next

door started his

power

mower

directly

under

my

study

windows. The

noise of his

engine

instantly

swamped

my

few at-

tempts

at

thought,

and what

remained

of

my

mind

disintegrated

under

the

onslaught

of

noise and

gas

fumes.

The

longer my

neighbor

mowed,

the

more my agitation grew. Miraculously, however, within a few minutes, the




5/12

36 Julia

Kellman

storm

that

had

been

gathering

throughout

the

morning

broke. The

rain,

an

opaque,

thunderous

wall

of

water,

drove

my neighbor

indoors.

My

mind

is

blank

on

what

happened

next.

I

don't remember

anything

about what

impelled

me, but what I next recall is

sitting

flat on the cement

sidewalk

in

front

of

my

house,

legs

akimbo,

howling

like

a

moonstruck

wolf,

water and tears

streaming

down

my upturned

face, sodden, obliterated,

unmade.

My

personal

acquaintance

with

disintegration

is

what

matters

here,

for it

ties

my

story

directly

to the

story

of

Joe,

a

member of a

hospital

HIV/AIDS

expressive

art

group.

He,

too,

has been unmade

(though

in a manner

far

more

complex

than

my

psychological

collapse)

and

then

remade,

and the

story

of his

journey

to a

place

of balance and

healing

must

begin

at

the be-

ginning,

with

the terrible chaos of

a

personal

world

gone

mad.

Though

our

emotional distress

had

different

initial

causes

(depression

in

my

case and

the

diagnosis

of

AIDS

in

his),

the nature of

profound despair

offers

an

as-

surance that

my

insight

into at

least

a

portion

of

Joe's

misery

is

as accurate

as

possible

for another

person

to

entertain,

grounded

as

it

is

in

actual

expe-

rience.

Therefore,

though

I

may

seem to

flirt

with

a

rationale for

a

surrender

of

boundaries or, God forbid, a type of reverse transference, what I am try-

ing

to

say

here is that

I

feel

Joe's

story

in

the

marrow

of

my

bones

and

that

my

telling

of it

is

undergirded by

substantial firsthand

insight

into the

experience

of

being

undone.

What

follows

then,

told

in

the best

way

I

can

muster,

is

Joe's

story-his

struggle

with

dissolution,

then

transition,

and

finally

transformation-and

the

role

that

art

played

in the

new,

ever

developing

map

of his

life.

Joe's

Story

Dissolution

As

Joe

tells the

story

of his

eight-year-long

life with

HIV/AIDS

(now

con-

trolled

by

the HAART

regimen-highly

active

antiretroviral

treatment,

now

routinely

used for

HIV/AIDS

treatmentll),

he

begins

at

the

beginning

of his

long

and

difficult

journey-the

emergency

room

of

a

county hospital

in

a

large

metropolitan

area,

the

narthex to hell

as he

describes

it,

or,

per-

haps,

as

Joe

suggests,

one of hell's

outer circles.

Coughing,

feverish, weak,

fainting,

and

increasingly

miserable,

he

sat in

the

crowded

waiting

room,

with

its

carnival

atmosphere

and

not

in

a

good

sense,

a

Diane Arbus12

photograph

come to

life of

poor,

helpless,

and

often

deeply idiosyncratic

souls whose

only

access to

medical

care

was

to be found in

the

emergency

room:

I

waited

forever and

finally got

back

into the

triage

area and still

had

to wait. Then two nurses came in, and one of them says they need to




6/12

A

Journey

toward

Healing

37

get

blood drawn

(to

test blood

gases),

and like

I

said

earlier,

I

have

a

history

...

I

can't

have blood

drawn

unless

I'm

lying

down.

So,

I'm

lying

down

and I

go,

so, ok,

here's

an arm.

Oh, no,

that's not how we

do

this.

She

explains

to me how its done

and that

they

take it from

your

wrist. This is

going

to

hurt. I'm

already

in

a

lot

of

pain

here

anyway,

so

I

don't know

if

I

will

be able to feel much

more.

They

both

did it

at the same time out of each

wrist,

like

they

had been

practicing

it. It

really

hurt.

If I

hadn't been so

weak,

I would

have

jumped up

and

yelled.

After

they

had

figured

out

that

there was

about

50%

of the

nor-

mal

amount of

oxygen

that

a

person

usually

has

in

their

blood,

they

put

me

in

isolation. The doctor came

in and talked with me

and

told

me

they

would be

admitting

me. She

mentioned

they

were also

going

to do an HIV test. That was when it first

really

popped

into

my

head.

Up

to that

point,

aside

from

having

my appendix

out,

I had

been

healthy

as

a

horse.

Anyway,

a

couple

of

days

later

the

doctor came

back and

confirmed

it

(a

positive

HIV

test).

She

also told me that

once

I

was

released,

I

would be

going

to

a

clinic for

treatment,

but

I

was

in

such

a

state of

mind that I

didn't understand what

she said. Even

though

she

explained

it

perfectly

well,

I

couldn't understand

it. I

took

it

to mean

that I

was

going

to the clinic to

stay.

Basically

[it

was

going

to

be]

a

nursing home/hospice

situation,

that

I

was that bad.

I

re-

member later that night being in such a frantic frame of mind that I

started

looking

for

scraps

of

paper

to

write out

my

will and

then

giving

up

because

I

didn't

have

enough

room to write

things.

Joe's

description

of his

emotional state when

learning

of his

HIV-posi-

tive blood

test,

nearly

nonexistent

T-cell

count,

and

opportunistic

pneumo-

cystis

carinii

pneumonia

infection

(all

the

necessary

markers for

a

diagnosis

of

full-blown

AIDS),

his lack

of

comprehension,

his

terror, confusion,

and

pain,

as well as the

frantic

fruitless search for

paper

to leave a final

word,

a

last trace of

himself,

certainly

characterize

what I

have

previously

described

as

a

sense of

personal

dissolution,

of

being

unmade.

It

is at

such

a

point,

however,

that

one

either

succumbs or

struggles

forward.

Joe

continues,

The

bright

side of

all

that

is,

and

this is

hard

for

a lot of

people

to

under-

stand,

that

when

you

face that

situation,

and

you

have no

choice

but

to face

it,

you

realize

you

have faced

the

worst,

and

everything

after that is a

lot

easier.

So ...

He

pauses

here for

a

moment,

then

continues,

I

got

better.

The

Way

Forward

One

may

wonder

at

this

point

where

art

making

fits

into

Joe's

story

and

why

so

much

attention is

being

paid

to

HIV

and

despair.

The

reason is this:

If

the true

importance

of

art

making

for

people

who

are

ill

is to be

under-

stood,

art

must be

seen

in

the

context

of the

disease/disorder

itself.

Without

such

insight,

the

truly

astonishing

value

of

art

for such

people

scarcely

can

be

imagined,

and

the

sense

of scale of

various

responses

cannot

be

grasped.

(By scale, I mean the magnitude of an experience. For example, small mur-

murs of

pleasure

from

a

person

who is

miserable

seem,

to me at

least,

to




7/12

38

Julia

Kellman

generally

count for

more that the self-same soft exhalations from one

who

is

happy

and

well,

since

the

healthy person

has no

pain-induced

resistance to

overcome and has

far more attention to

give

to the whole of

experience-

their world not being shrunken and constrained by the effects of enduring

illness.)

At

the same

time,

however,

the

roots

of creation can often be

found

pushed deep

into the soil of such

misery

itself.

Joe's

story again

provides

an

example.

After

his release from the

hospital

and

while

reading

through

a

mound

of

books

and

pamphlets

on

HIV/AIDS,

Joe,

normally

a

restrained

man,

suddenly

became

energized

by

fury

at his situation.

He hurled

the

hopeless

texts and

depressing

compilations

across the room with as much force as he

could muster. Even as he threw the

offending

material,

four

words-truth,

faith,

dream,

and

desire-swam fishlike

into his otherwise

roiling

mind;

words that

were

to

serve

Joe

as

a

talisman

of sorts and that were to

accom-

pany

and

sustain

him

as he

navigated

the

choppy

seas of medical

complex-

ity.

These

words

were also later to form

the content

and structure of a deli-

cate

graphite drawing,

which itself was to serve

Joe

as

a

significant

marker

in

his

experience

and his art.

Returning

Home: Transition

Eventually

Joe

returned to the

Midwest

to

be

nearer

to his

family.

Life

did

not

immediately improve

on

familiar

territory,

however, for,

as

Joe

points

out,

I

really

think I had a

case

of

depression.

And I had

no idea. It

was

just

constant. You

get

used

to it. It

started about

a

year

and

a

half

ago,

in

Janu-

ary.

He

pauses

here for

a

moment.

God.

Time

flies.

Eventually,

how-

ever, Igot so sick of myself that I started volunteering at the coffee shop [a

church-sponsored

coffeehouse].

It

got

me out of

my apartment

and

around

other

people.

He also

began attending

other

community

events

too,

in-

cluding

the

annual

fall

HIV/AIDS

conference

at

the local

hospital

where we

met for

the first time.

Encouraged by

my presentation

on the

role of art

in

health

care,

Joe,

a

graduate

of a

well-known

art

school,

decided to

join

the

hospital

art

class,

too.

Articulate,

insightful,

reflective,

and

possessing sophisticated

art

skills,

Joe immediately became a valuable member of the class. His superb art-

making

abilities and his

sensitivity

to the

needs of others

also

made

him

an

especially

valuable

model

and

mentor

for the other

students. As the

weeks

passed, Roger,

another

class

member,

was able to coax

Joe

into

taking

part

in

other

activities-movies,

meals

out,

and a

variety

of social

events.

The

rest of the

class

played

a

role,

too,

nudging

Joe

to take

part.

Carried on the

winds of the art

class's

support

and

Roger's

charm,

Joe

flourished. He be-

gan

to

relax and

chat.

His

art

also

seemed to become more

daring,

mirror-

ing

and

reinforcing

his life's new direction.

Additionally,

he

began

to make

art at

home.13




8/12

A

Journey

toward

Healing

39

It

is

important

to

point

out

that

although

joining

the class

may

have

been

the result

of an

ongoing

process

of

change

in

Joe's

life

and

not

its

cause,

it

is

reasonable to

suppose

that the

positive aspects

of the class-its

warm,

sup-

portive

nature and the

opportunity

it

provided

to see

himself,

at least

part

of the

time,

as

an

artist,

not

patient,

as

a

creator,

not

passive

sufferer-also

played

a

role

in the

changes

he

experienced.

These

personal

alterations

were

not

simply my imagination,

either,

for

they

were affirmed

late

one

winter afternoon

in

class.

In the

silence

broken

only by

the rustle

of

papers

and

scratching

of

pencils,

Joe

suddenly spoke

in a voice full of

wonder,

I'm

back.

I'm

back,

he

said

again

to

himself,

as

much as

to

us.

Welcome

home,

Joe,

I

replied.l4

Transformation

Art

educator

Marilyn

Zurmuehlen,15

in

her small but

important

book on

the

value

of

art

making

for students Studio

Art:

Praxis,

Symbol,

Presence,

ex-

plains

that art

class

is a

place

where

energy

can be

realized

in

action.

It

is

also

a

place

where students can become

originators by combining

critical

reflection and action into the practice of art. She further elaborates the value

of

art

making

for the individual.

They

can be transformers as

well,

symboli-

cally

transfiguring

the

idiosyncratic meanings

of their life

experiences

into

the

presentational symbols

of art.

They

can be reclaimers of

phenomenal

presence, attending

to

what

usually

is taken for

granted,

and in

validating

their

subjective

perceptions,

they

can understand

that

seeing

is

an

aesthetic

determination. We make

it

happen.16

When

we

recognize

ourselves,

she

continues,

as

originators,

transform-

ers, and reclaimers, we participate in the sense of once ... now ... then ...

that

shapes

our

individual and

collective

life

stories, 17

and

it

is that

recog-

nition

that

ties

our

experience

into

meaningful

narratives.

In

Joe's

story,

we

can

see this

same

pattern

of

origination,

transformation,

and

reclamation

taking

place;

and

we can

see

the final

outcome as a

story

in

terms of which

Joe's

life

makes

sense,

a

necessary

outcome

for

creating

personal

meaning

from the

diverse events of

his

experience.

Art

Exemplars:Guideposts

on a

Journey

Three notable

creations mark

Joe's

return

from

a

depressed

state to

his

reengagement

with

the world.

These

creations also

indicate the

transforma-

tion

of his life

experiences

into the

satisfyingly expressive symbols

of

art

that

allow

for, first,

reflection

and

then

creation of

personal

meaning

and

sense.

The

first such

exemplar,

a

shrine,

was

constructed

in

a

shallow

cardboard

box. It

depicts Joe's early

and

complex relationship

with a

wealthy young

man

from

Mexico. The

shrine

contains

maps

that chart

their

relationship's




9/12

40 JuliaKellman

shifting

and

intertwined

geographies,

copies

of

photographs

of his

compan-

ion

and

the

world the two

men

shared,

images

from ancient Mexican

cul-

tures,

and

small,

personally

meaningful

objects-a holy

medal,

beads-all

remnants

of the

many

months

the men

spent living together.

A text in

Span-

ish

winds

threadlike over the shrine's

surface,

tying

the

images

and

objects

together

into a

multilayered symbol

of the

two

men's

relationship.

The

shrine

not

only

marks

Joe's

first weeks

in

the

art

class and describes

an

early

important experience,

but it

also memorializes the

beginning

of

his

life as

a

young gay

man in a

large city.

At

the same

time, however,

Joe's

shrine can be understood to have less

literal

meanings,

too,

for

it

is a

physi-

cal manifestation

of

his

reflection

on,

and

memory of,

an

earlier

period

in

his life

(a

visual recollection

of

things

past)

and his

transfiguration

of the

ashes of love into

a

concrete marker of

his

reconsideration

and

reclamation

of

an

important aspect

of

his

life

story.

Joe's

second

creation,

also

a

marker

of

significant

alterations

in

his

life,

is

a

pencil

drawing

undertaken several months

later.

The

drawing

contains

four

images,

each

in

its own

square.

The

squares

in

turn

are

arranged

in

stacked

pairs.

The

top right square depicts

an

image

of an

open

hand ex-

tended in the Indian mudra, or hand position, meaning come. The word

faith

is

placed

above

the

image.

The

left

top drawing

is

of a

wide-open

eye

labeled truth. The bottom

left

square

shows

a

raised hand

in

the

mudra

indicating

there

is

nothing

to

fear.

The

word

dream

lies

directly

below the

image.

Desire,

the

final

square

on the

bottom

right, portrays

the

lower

part

of a man's

face-lips,

chin,

and

the

tip

of a nose.

Through

the

center

of the

complete drawing,

between the

top

and

bottom

pairs

of

boxes,

are

the words

The

Healing

Power of

Art.

This

phrase

acts not

only

as a

description

of the content of the

drawing

but as a

compositional

devise that

pulls

the

four

drawings

together

into an

integrated

whole.

There

are

further

structural

elaborations,

too.

The

two

drawings

of hands

contain the

image

of

a

portion

of

a

slender,

banded

snake

winding

behind

them.

The

gently

S-curved

snake,

his

head

at

the

top

right

of

the

composi-

tion,

his tail

curved to

the lower

left,

reinforces the

relationship

of the two

images

of

hands,

for his sinuous

body

pulls

the viewer's

eye

on a

diagonal

from

top

right

to bottom

left. Both

have

heavy

black

graphite

backgrounds.

The

drawings

of the elements

of the human

face-the

eye

and the

full,

sensual

lips

and

nose-are

lighter

in

value

(value

indicates

darkness or

lightness)

than

the

images

of hands.

They,

too,

introduce

a

diagonal

based

on

content

(facial

features)

and

dark/light,

a

diagonal

that

in

this

case runs

from

top

left

to bottom

right.

This

description

allows

us see what

we

might

not have

noticed other-

wise-that the

image

is an

emphatic

construction of

organic

elements held

tightly

within

an

overall

framework

elaborated

with

repetitions

of solid

girderlike

lines.

Additionally,

the

drawing

can

be

seen as

a

type

of

mandala,

a




10/12

A

Journey

toward

Healing

41

form within a

form,

similar

to a meditative Tibetan

Buddhist

image.

Like

a

mandala,

it

contains the richness of

multiple images

and

shapes

that

func-

tion

both as

content

and

compositional

elements

depicted

within

a

stable

pattern.

Most

importantly,

however,

the

composition

can

be

understood as a

link

between

Joe's

past

and his

present

at

the same time that it

illustrates

an

as-

pect

of

Joe's

current life.

It

portrays

in its

solid form the words he

encoun-

tered

years ago

in a

moment

of

anger

and

despair,

words that

continue

to

shape

and

order

his

experience

with

their

life-enhancing implications.

The

drawing

can

perhaps

be understood as a

type

of

visual

prayer,

an

emphatic

image of personal transformation, balance, and healing.

Joe's

third and

most recent

guidepost

or

exemplar,

a

star-shaped

book

with six

double-layer,

stagelike

pages

bordered

with

black and elaborated

with

gold

Sanskrit

lettering, vegetative

motifs,

and

repeated

triangles,

in-

cludes the

whole of

Joe's

life

in

a

progression

of

images

from childhood to

the

present.

Most

significantly

though,

it

suggests

a

future as

well,

not

as

a

literal,

specific

place,

but

as a world

inhabited

by

the

great

coiling

snake

of

healing,

the

elaborate

glowing

red-gold-faced

Barong

Ket18-the

Balinese

male personification of the sun, of balance, harmony, and restoration-and

his

always

necessary opposite,

Rangda,19

she of the

long flying

black hair-

the female

personification

of

darkness, chaos,

and

destruction.

(Think

of

Shiva20 and Kali21

here,

or,

perhaps,

a

figural

yin

and

yang.)

Integrating

past

and

present

in

his

elegantly collaged

and drawn

pages,

Joe

dreams

of

a

future, too,

a

place

inhabited

by powerful

archetypal

images

of

balance and

healing.

Joe's

star

book,

his

finally

completed

personal

narrative,

at

last ties

the

disparate

elements of

his life

together-childhood, youth,

significant

re-

lationships,

HIV/AIDS,

and

his

hopes

and

beliefs

in a

future

of

harmony

restored.

Taken

either

as

a

whole or as

individual

pieces,

Joe's

art

relates his tale

of

once, now,

then

suggested

by

Zurmuehlen22

to be the

essential

charac-

teristic

of both art

making

and

the

creation of

narrative

meaning.

Addition-

ally,

his

telling

in

images

of the

story

within

which his life's

journey

makes

sense is

to

be

understood

as

a

critical

undertaking

for

one

who lives with

a

disease,

for

as

medical

anthropologist Gay

Becker23 points

out, narratives

are

performative

and

thus

empowering.

Stories

give

voice to

bodily

experi-

ence. And

they

can enable

the

narrator to

develop

creative

ways

of

inter-

preting

disruption

and

to draw

together

disparate

aspects

of the

disruption

into a

coherent

whole. 24

Most

importantly though,

it

is

through

stories

people

organize,

display,

and

work

through

their

experiences. 25

If

narratives are a

means

to

create

coherence,

empowerment,

and

meaning,

as

Becker26

suggests,

and

art

is a

narrative

undertaking,

as

Zurmuehlen27

makes clear, then it is the narrative quality of art that lies at the heart of its

special

value for

Joe

and for

others who

live with

disease or

disorder.




11/12

42

Julia

Kellman

However,

there

are other

important

qualities

in the

art-making

experience,

too.

A final

story

will

help

us

here,

for

it

not

only

fills

out the rest of what

is

significant for Joe in art, it brings us back to where we began, to the diffi-

culty

of

examining

someone

else's

experience,

of

the

place

of the

researcher

in

telling

another's

tale,

and

of

the

multilayered,

interwoven nature of

life

itself.

It

also

brings

us to those wilder

places

on the

map

where all

bets are

off-the

researcher-writer-teacher

becomes

part

of the

story,

and

there

are

no

guides

available that are worth

hiring.

Last

summer,

Joe

and

I

were

having

coffee

in a

local caf6. As

we

sipped

gingerly

at

our

two

hot

cups,

Joe

remarked,

I was

telling

my

case

manager

things

had

gotten

much better

in

the last

few

months,

and she wanted to

know

what I attribute it

to,

and

so

I

told her

about

the

coffeehouse,

and the

other

thing

is

you,

Julia.

Aside from

friendships,

the other

part

of

me

that

was

missing-it really

wasn't

missing,

it was

neglected-was

art,

and its all

because

of

you

and this

[art]

class. You

are a

bridge,

Joe

says softly,

his

voice

filled with

emotion.

Lest I seem

self-absorbed

and

narcissistic

for

repeating

this intimate con-

versation,

let me

explain.

It

seems

to me that it

is

my

role as

teacher

and

guide,

the

class

itself,

and

the

art

making

that

have formed this

powerful

bridge

for

Joe

and led

him

out

of himself into a world

made

new and wel-

coming.

It

is

this

combination-the

meaning-making

narrative

quality

of

art;

the

synergy

of

a

group

of

people

in an

art

class

engaged

in

exploring

the

wordless,

most

profound aspects

of themselves

in

images;

the

close

rela-

tionships

that

grow

from

such

intimacy

(who

can

explore

her/his

inner most

self

with a

group

of

people every

week for months on end without

develop-

ing complex, sustaining social bonds with one another?); and the transfor-

mation and

redefinition of

class members as art

makers,

their

empower-

ment

as

artists

in

fact-that leads to a sense of

confidence,

competence,

balance,

and control.

Final

Thoughts

What

is most

important

to

remember

is

that

we

have

heard and

seen

Joe's

story in his own words and images and recognize the extraordinary signifi-

cance

of art

making

in

his

life. It is

his rich visual

narrative that

is the heart

of

this

matter and

the

main

reason

for

this

undertaking

in

the

first

place.

For

Joe

both tells and

shows what it

means to deal with

unspeakable

disaster,

to

use

art

to

explore

and

order

a

world,

and

to

create

images

to

find

and mark

a

path

into

the future

across

a

rough

and

demanding landscape.

Do not

forget

this last

small

part

either,

for this is where

the

enquirer-

teacher

slips

back

into the

picture-for

Joe

has

added his

map

to

the

stack of

maps growing

on

my

desk. Our stories

overlap

now and

intermingle

with




12/12

hiv art and poetry

Documents