Lucy & Gene Morris - Creativity is the Best Medicine
Creativity is the best medicine, and sometimes it's the only medicine.
Gene Morris, a gentle man who always kept his family, friends, and coworkers entertained with his quick wit and spot-on humor, is at a loss for words. In January 2021 he was told he did not have Alzheimer's as previously diagnosed, but instead a rare form of dementia called Primary Progressive Aphasia (PPA). Among other things, this degenerative disease robs a person of language and eventually the ability to speak. There is no treatment for PPA.
In Gene’s case both words and their meaning are lost. Isolation increases as human connection decreases. Unfortunately, while words depart, feelings of embarrassment and anxiety hold strong. Books, stories, movies, conversations with friends - all the usual comforts are language dependent. Even dance lessons are difficult. “Step lightly, pivot and spin” – too many words. And while music is generally soothing, music with lyrics agitates. I was constantly thinking of something engaging that would distract Gene from what was happening and give him a sense of purpose.
Prior to Thanksgiving, months after Gene's diagnosis was revised, I received a gift basket. In it was a 5X5 inch potholder. I held it in my hand, examining it with nostalgia, when suddenly, I swear, my hand went all tingly as the idea came to me.
I had tried for some time to interest Gene in my floor loom, but, I suspect, it was threatening. Puzzles he deemed purposeless, drawing too difficult. Even simple activities posed too many decisions. Gene, however, still possessed basic math skills. And I’d observed a growing fascination with patterns. He was always pointing out reflections, shadows, light strewn across the hardwood floors. He was drawn to the repetition found on foliage, bark, and the surface of water. Everywhere he noticed the symmetry of windows on the facades of homes and buildings. My observations and the tingling in my hand sent me off to buy a pro-sized potholder loom and plenty of loops. First, I sat weaving potholders; Gene watched from his seat at the table. After a while, I slid the loom over to him and said, "Wanna try it?" He did not refuse. He tentatively accepted the long wire hook and began to weave.
Like medicine that requires time to reveal its full strength, the value of Gene’s weaving wasn’t fully realized until later that week. As family arrived the night before Thanksgiving, Gene greeted and hugged everyone and then sat silent as discussions of cranberry sauce, pies, and stuffing got underway. I watched his face tense as he tried to keep up the ruse of understanding. When the conversation segued to prior years of hunting for the perfect Christmas tree, Gene caught my arm, tears in his eyes, and whispered, "What is a Christmas tree?" He was desperate for an escape. That's when I went for the loom and a pile of red and green loops and announced that Gene had work to do! He gratefully took the loom and with the colors and pattern chosen for him, he settled down to weave. Within a short time, his facial muscles relaxed, and his posture softened; he was thoroughly engrossed in a way not possible before. What transpired for Gene that evening, and continues to happen a thousand plus potholders later, is a mental state of flow where everything falls away - worry, embarrassment, even Primary Progressive Aphasia.
Neuroscience has not completely figured it out yet, but researchers have recognized that flow is a distinct mental state that arises only when the task and a person’s skill level are in balance. For Gene, potholder weaving is the perfect match. With clear patterns and color choices made for him, Gene can succeed. He feels a sense of purpose. He is creating and with creating, he is connected to others and to the world.
Gene has gifted and donated hundreds of potholders to friends, family, churches, and secular non-profits. At our daughter's wedding he may not have been able to make a toast, but his beautiful creations were bound in copper ribbons and mounded high in baskets for guests to take home. It didn't go unnoticed by Gene when guests rooted through the baskets for various patterns or asked if they could take extras. Now when people come to the house, he often takes them to view his latest potholders awaiting delivery to their destination.
Gene is weaving twills, summer winter, and more intricate patterns. He loves to point out the different designs on each side of a single potholder. People are always amazed, and while Gene deflects all the credit to me, he’s the one creating – bringing into existence that which did not exist before. Totally invested in the end result, he, in his own way, takes ownership of the design. He shakes his head when he thinks my color choice does not provide enough contrast. And there is a labyrinth design he just can't abide; the opening of the labyrinth interrupts the solid border. While he often comes to this patten anew, not remembering that he's woven it before, he always takes creative license and closes the opening to maintain the strong border that he prefers. I've lost count of the total number of potholders Gene has made. I am using them to make runners, wall hangings, large trivets and currently to upholster an ottoman. Each unconventional use of Gene's potholders pleases him immensely - validating and elevating his woven treasures and sustaining a connection with all of us.
Thank you to all those who have been so encouraging and supportive – to my friends at Hartford Artisans Weaving Center, especially Jill, Myra, and Pam (alphabetical order), to Necker's Toyland and Harrisville Designs for their loops, and to all the generous people who post their beautiful patterns on-line. Piglet’s Portfolio of Potholders is exquisite, and Piglet will never know how the portfolio’s patterns have delighted our eyes and changed a life. Thank you.
- Lucy Morris