The Wait

This piece is from my two-person Tangled Memories exhibit.  The exhibit explored my experiences with my Dad's Early-Onset Alzheimer's. (He was diagnosed in his early 50's, when I was still a teenager, and died in 2000 at the age of 65).


The Wait

Waiting. Sitting alone at McDonald’s waiting for my Dad.

I used to meet my Dad at McDonald's for breakfast. I had moved out of the house and I looked forward to these times to connect and catch up. As time went by, he increasingly forgot to meet me. His forgetting at that time did not yet have a label, an explanation. All I knew, as I sat there waiting, was that he had forgotten me, again. I was alone.

Recently I sat alone again with my breakfast in a local McDonald's to take photos for this piece. The empty seat still served as an icon of Alzheimer's.

Size: (h x w) 48" x 36"

Media: Mixed media on maple

AVAILABLE

Tangled Memories

This piece is from my two-person Tangled Memories exhibit.  The exhibit explored my experiences with my Dad's Early-Onset Alzheimer's. (He was diagnosed in his early 50's, when I was still a teenager, and died in 2000 at the age of 65).


Tangled Memories Sculpture & Detail Photograph

This piece contains images of family photos that have been printed on sheer fabric. I cut them in strips, leaving none of the images intact. These tangles of memories have been placed into a vessel, atrophied and opaque. It is symbolic of Alzheimer's-- a snarl of dead ends and detours within a shrinking vessel of obscurity.

Sculpture

Size: (h x w x d) 6" x 10" x 10"

Media: Fibers

AVAILABLE

Framed detail photo

Size: (h x w) 14" x 14"

Media: Digital photograph

AVAILABLE

Lost

This piece is from my two-person Tangled Memories exhibit.  The exhibit explored my experiences with my Dad's Early-Onset Alzheimer's. (He was diagnosed in his early 50's, when I was still a teenager, and died in 2000 at the age of 65).


Lost

As my Dad lost his memories, he lost some of mine too. After my Mom died it was up to my Dad to help keep our collective family memories alive. But eventually my Dad could no longer access those stories that gave us context and a sense of belonging.

Size: (h x w) 18" x 18"

Media: Digital photograph

AVAILABLE

Almost

This piece is from my two-person Tangled Memories exhibit.  The exhibit explored my experiences with my Dad's Early-Onset Alzheimer's. (He was diagnosed in his early 50's, when I was still a teenager, and died in 2000 at the age of 65).


Almost

As my Dad was building a birdhouse and he asked me to hand him "that thing you use to pound nails in." My Dad, who had taught me how to use a hammer, could simply not find its name. Yet he had learned how to take the long way of getting there, taking alternate routes through his brain.

This piece is how I envision that experience, those times of knowing what something is but not quite being able to access it. It is like squinting through a haze or taking a long drive through the country. The scenic route.

Size: (h x w) 17" x 21"

Media: Digital photograph

AVAILABLE

Archives

This piece is from my two-person Tangled Memories exhibit.  The exhibit explored my experiences with my Dad's Early-Onset Alzheimer's. (He was diagnosed in his early 50's, when I was still a teenager, and died in 2000 at the age of 65).


Archives

In Alzheimer's slowly memories can no longer be accessed. It is like there is a padlock on the brain as the memories within begin to deteriorate and the synapses break down like bombed out bridges.

Size: (h x w) 21" x 17"

Media: Digital photography

AVAILABLE

Infinite Loop

This piece is from my two-person Tangled Memories exhibit.  The exhibit explored my experiences with my Dad's Early-Onset Alzheimer's. (He was diagnosed in his early 50's, when I was still a teenager, and died in 2000 at the age of 65).


Infinite Loop

My Dad used Post-It notes as a coping mechanism when he was still trying to function at work. He would use them to try to remember just about anything, including to check another Post-it note. Conscious of his need for reminders, he wallpapered his office wall and covered his desk and floor with Post-its. He was desperately trying to keep things together, to compensate, to order the confusion. Toward the end of his attempt to maintain his job his writing on the notes did not form coherent words anymore as they morphed into scribbles.

Size: (h x w) 20" x 20"

Media: Digital composition on canvas

SOLD

Purpose

This piece is from my two-person Tangled Memories exhibit.  The exhibit explored my experiences with my Dad's Early-Onset Alzheimer's. (He was diagnosed in his early 50's, when I was still a teenager, and died in 2000 at the age of 65).


Purpose

After my Dad could no longer work, he still had a desire to be productive, to have a purpose. My sister was creative in coming up with things for him to do. Each day he came over to her house she would fling mulch onto the driveway. He would arrive, show disgust at how such a thing could have happened, and get right to cleaning it up.

She would mix nails and screws together and have him sort them out. He folded clothes again and again and cut pictures from magazines. It did not matter that he repeated these tasks over and over. He did not remember. What mattered was that he took pride in each accomplishment and had a sense of purpose, even if only for a moment. 

When asking my Dad what he had been doing, his standard response was "Oh, thises and thats."

Size: (h x w) 14" x 24"

Media: Digital photograph triptych

SOLD

The Fading

This piece is from my two-person Tangled Memories exhibit.  The exhibit explored my experiences with my Dad's Early-Onset Alzheimer's. (He was diagnosed in his early 50's, when I was still a teenager, and died in 2000 at the age of 65).


The Fading

When exactly did the twinkle in his eyes disappear? When did eye contact become non existent? When did he vacate leaving only an empty stare? It is impossible to explain what it feels like to have a loved one not recognize you, to no longer know you. You look closely and wonder if something is still there, was that a flash of recognition? Did he understand? You visit and you carry on one-sided conversations just in case. It is a gesture of love, like visiting a grave.

Size: (h x w) 20" x 16"

Media: Digital photograph

AVAILABLE

Earnest

This piece is from my two-person Tangled Memories exhibit.  The exhibit explored my experiences with my Dad's Early-Onset Alzheimer's. (He was diagnosed in his early 50's, when I was still a teenager, and died in 2000 at the age of 65).


Earnest

When I was nine I rode my bike down to the cemetery and I picked flowers from other graves to put on my Mom's headstone. It was an act of love.

But somewhere along the way we learn not to pick the pretty flowers.

When my Dad was in his mid-fifties he hitch-hiked and walked to my sister's house. No one knew where he was. Eventually he walked up my sister's driveway with a proud smile on his face and a bouquet of flowers that he had picked from people's yards along the way.

In his mid-fifties he had forgotten not to pick the pretty flowers.

Each experience was fresh and new for my Dad, as if it was the first time he had seen such a sunny day or beautiful flower.

Size: (h x w) 16" x 20"

Media: Digital photograph

SOLD

Refuge

This piece is from my two-person Tangled Memories exhibit.  The exhibit explored my experiences with my Dad's Early-Onset Alzheimer's. (He was diagnosed in his early 50's, when I was still a teenager, and died in 2000 at the age of 65).


Refuge

When my Dad was dying, I sat by his side and read Psalms aloud to him. Over and over again I read about the reassurance that God is a refuge.

I read aloud but could he understand? Was he still there? Who comforted whom? Did it matter?

Those words were a refuge in those last hours.

Size: (h x w) 14" x 11"

Media: Digital composition on Arches paper

SOLD

Cross-section of Irony

This piece is from my two-person Tangled Memories exhibit.  The exhibit explored my experiences with my Dad's Early-Onset Alzheimer's. (He was diagnosed in his early 50's, when I was still a teenager, and died in 2000 at the age of 65).


Cross-section of Irony

After my Dad was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s, he used to repeatedly pull each of us aside to tell us that he had a memory problem. It was clearly important to him that we knew. This intimate moment was repeated again and again and again.

Size: (h x w) 10" x 8"

Media: Fibers

AVAILABLE

Tribute

This piece is from my two-person Tangled Memories exhibit.  The exhibit explored my experiences with my Dad's Early-Onset Alzheimer's. (He was diagnosed in his early 50's, when I was still a teenager, and died in 2000 at the age of 65).


Tribute

My Dad was generous, kind, goofy, sensitive, and strong. He was a devoted Christian and a loving father. He was not perfect, but he was genuine.

In his life, in his descent into Alzheimer’s, and in his death he taught me more than I can ever begin to express. I am still learning from him.  

This piece contains several vantage points of where I grew up, where the best memories of my Dad were formed.

Size: (h x w) 14" x 14"

Media: Digital composition

AVAILABLE

Departure

This piece is from my two-person Tangled Memories exhibit.  The exhibit explored my experiences with my Dad's Early-Onset Alzheimer's. (He was diagnosed in his early 50's, when I was still a teenager, and died in 2000 at the age of 65).


Departure

They call Alzheimer's the funeral that never ends. It is true. As the disease progresses more of the person you love disappears. You continue to grieve as the person you know and love vacates. The familiarity and presence of his physical body betrays you, he is no longer there. He is an empty shell. And then death arrives, and he is free.

Size: (h x w)

Media: Digital composition on maple

AVAILABLE

Heredity

This piece is from my two-person Tangled Memories exhibit.  The exhibit explored my experiences with my Dad's Early-Onset Alzheimer's. (He was diagnosed in his early 50's, when I was still a teenager, and died in 2000 at the age of 65).


Heredity

I inherited a higher probability of getting Alzheimer's from my Dad. His mother had it and out of the four kids in his family, two got Alzheimer's. There are four kids in my family too-- it is impossible not to wonder which of us will get it. I think it will be me.

It is hard not to feel a bit like a time-bomb, with the dread of getting Alzheimer's (or the cancer that took my mother's life at 38). Yet you can't live in fear or you fear to really live.

In this piece there are two staircases to climb. I don't know which one I'm on. One plateaus and one continues on. Regardless of which staircase you or I are on, shouldn't we all be inspired to try to live each day in a meaningful way? Life is a gift.

Size: (h x w) 30" x 20"

Media: Digital composition on canvas

SOLD

Ingenuity

This piece is from my two-person Tangled Memories exhibit.  The exhibit explored my experiences with my Dad's Early-Onset Alzheimer's. (He was diagnosed in his early 50's, when I was still a teenager, and died in 2000 at the age of 65).


Ingenuity

Sometimes with Alzheimer's you just have to laugh.

One day my Dad decided he needed to reinforce his lunch bag, an empty sugar bag, so that it would last longer. He took that bag and covered the entire thing with duct tape. It was effective and he was very proud. He then took this a step further. He decided to cover the cracking exterior vinyl on the roof of his car, a late-70s Mercury Cougar (with the vinyl roof and a hood that went on forever). He covered all of the vinyl with duct tape. It actually looked pretty good, since his car was silver!

I decided to duct tape a sugar bag in preparation for making this piece. It is harder than it looks! I was surprised that this ended up being a profound moment of connection with my Dad as I went through the same process that he did. 

This piece celebrates resourcefulness in the midst of navigating the shrinking pathways within the Alzheimer's brain.

Size: (h x w) 14" x 11"

Media: Digital print on Arches paper, thread

SOLD