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Drawing to celebrate a life.

Writer's picture: Andrew BissotAndrew Bissot

Last week, I drove to Philadelphia to take a class at the University of Pennsylvania. Eager for continuous education, a detour took precedence because it involved seeing my Grandmother, who lives nearby. In her mid-90s, she is not as strong as she used to be. From point A to point B, she is not as mobile as she once was. As a widow and mother of 8 who now lives alone in a retirement home, the shenanigans associated with a large family are rarely matched by a casual visitor stopping by. When visitors visit, we default to talking for a while and conclude the conversation with a selfie to remember the moment. But I heard a podcast in transit to Philadelphia that encouraged me to change it up.


Having a conversation at the end of one's life


A never-missed podcast, People I Mostly Admire, just reposted an updated version of Drawing From Life (And Death). To say the podcast was perfect timing is an understatement. As I listened to the podcast, I committed to the action discussed. This action required an additional detour to Target for some paper and a box of 64 crayons.


With my Target bag of experimentation, I walked into Grandma’s room as she was talking with my Aunt Diane. Grandma said, “Aaaaanddddrewwww” when I walked in. After giving hugs and sitting on her bed, Grandma asked, “Why did you bring a sack lunch?” As if it was a calling to introduce the radical idea without attempting to define what a podcast is, I said, “Grandma, it is some crayons and some paper. I want to color something with you.”


This podcast, Drawing From Life (And Death), talked about performing an activity with a loved one nearing the end of their adventure. The activity required individuals to focus on something and draw it without looking at the paper. From this blind drawing, one could imagine an eye in the middle of a forehead or a smile that connects to a left ear if you were trying to draw the person you were looking at. The activity was to naturally develop smiles and laughter from depths that have become rare.

And I don’t draw from imagination; I draw from life. Drawing for me is a vehicle for looking closely at things, but it’s also a way for me to look at things that I’m scared of. - Wendy MacNaughton, People I Mostly Admire

Drawing with someone to celebrate life


After introducing the activity, we wheeled Grandma into a lobby with Aunt Diane and my lunch... I mean my crayons... in a Target bag. We chose to sit at a table with a beautiful vase of orange, pink, and blue flowers that welcomed me to explain the rules. I told Grandma we would draw the vase and flowers without looking at our individual papers. Among a selection of 64, the rules allowed us to choose our colors and look at each other's drawings, but we were not allowed to look at our own paper.


Well before the results, we got a chance to talk about colors. For example, I gave Grandma the option of green crayons to match the collection of stems. She provided me with reasons, sometimes with historical relevance or stories, elaborating on why certain shades were chosen. She elaborated on the choice of green, red, or orange and their individual significance. We talked. We explored. We shared.


As we drew, we laughed at our techniques. Grandma had the method of guessing where she left off when grabbing the next crayon. Like Grandpa the engineer would have approached the activity, the engineer in me kept my left index finger on the precise location of where I finished an orange pedal as I transitioned to a green stem. The conversation was organically refueling each other’s souls.

I’m still scared of things, and I’m still worried and sad, and all of those feelings, don’t go away. But along with that, I think by being more cognisant and thoughtful about my impending death, I am living my days fully in a way that I didn’t before. - Wendy MacNaughton, People I Mostly Admire

When done, laughter flooded the room when we revealed drawings that looked like nothing we were looking at. Interruptions of the laughter were when we complimented each other on the placement of stems, angles of the petals, or placement of the water exterior of the vase.


"Hang it on the fridge Grandma"


I asked Grandma if I could put my name and age on mine so I could hang it on her armoire as if it was the 5-year-old me mailing her the artwork I drew in Texas when she lived in Delaware. I reminded her, that forty years ago she would have hung it on her refrigerator, but this time, we will settle for her room's armoire. I also asked her to sign hers with a date so I could hang it on my refrigerator for the first time.


I consciously chose not to take a picture with Grandma on this visit. I have had plenty of pictures from previous trips that capture the moment. This trip was different. I did not want an electronic layer between her, me, and the moment. Instead, I received something equivalent to a Picasso.


Thank you, Steve Levitt and Wendy MacNaughton, for the idea. Your conversation motivated me to write and share my experience. As you did for me, I encourage others to do a similar activity with those you love. If we are to get lucky to live a life as long as Grandma, we would want someone to do this with us. 


Thanks for drawing with me


Looking back to 1984, I was four when I moved from Delaware to Texas. From my Grandma's perspective, she encouraged us to draw our own lives without looking at a sheet of paper. She told my mother and father, “It is your life; so go live it.” Doing an activity like this will teach you to love and appreciate life and the blinded experiences that it offers. It will make you appreciate those who give you the box of crayons and a blank sheet of paper. So often, we do not know what we are drawing, even if it is right in front of us. Slow down, and appreciate who you are drawing with versus what you are drawing.




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