While many artists focus on preserving memory, Bill Marshall's inspiration comes from forgetting. He's the artist-in-residence at the Memory Disorder Clinic at Camp Hill Veteran's Memorial Centre and he gets his inspiration from Alzheimer's patients.
By Jennifer Wilson <jlwilso2@dal.ca>
Posted: Oct. 30, 2006
The Two Trees of Eden by Bill Marshall. Photo: Jennifer Wilson
The Two Trees of Eden was inspired after a hard day at the clinic. Bill Marshall was feeling emotionally drained after seeing a patient's mental state get vastly worse.
On his way home, he decided to take a walk on Graves Island, near Chester, and that's when he saw the trees.
Marshall says the trees perfectly summed up his experiences of the day. As he explains, the two trees are the trees of Eden -- the Tree of Knowledge and the Tree of Life.
He says, "I'm not a religious person, but I find the creation story fascinating. We die because Adam and Eve ate the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. Had they eaten from the Tree of Life, which they were allowed to, humans would be immortal."
Under these trees on Graves Island, apples lie on the ground. They're perfectly good fruit, but because Graves Island is a provincial park, they can't be harvested. So they're just left to rot and be raked.
Alzheimer's patients suffer from a death of the mind. They lose access to memories and knowledge, and, as a result, to quality of life. They, like the apples from the Graves Island trees, find life and knowledge lying fallow and unharvested.
This is but one example of the inspiration Marshall found from many of the patients during his 16-month residency as an artist at the Memory Disorder Clinic in the Camp Hill Veteran's Memorial Centre. The memory clinic, which opened in the early 1980s, takes on about 600 new cases a year and works with patients suffering from cognitive problems such as Alzheimer's.
Marshall's residency ends Nov. 10.
He worked closely with Alzheimer's patients, learning from them about the way they see the world and being inspired to create a variety of work, from paintings to sculptures.
Marshall says the experience could be summed up as "Intensely interesting."
"It really ran the gamut of emotions," he said.
Bill Marshall stands with one of his sculptures. Photo: Jennifer Wilson
The artist in residency program at the Memory Disorder Clinic helps people working in the clinic understand more about their patients' view of the world.
As Dr. Ken Rockwood, a researcher at the clinic, says, "The program has been very helpful. It's opened up ways to think about Alzheimer's. It's provided a good forum for people working in the clinic, like doctors and nurses, to know what people are thinking. It is an innovative way to get important information."
Marshall became involved with the program through a friend and fellow artist.
He says the program "seemed like a great opportunity." His friend spent lots of time in the clinic's lab, something that Marshall envied because "he got to look at things that normal humans can't access."
To see those unimaginable tissue samples and experiments was thrilling for the artist. Marshall says, "Being a visual, an image person, that was really very appealing."
Marshall took up the position in May 2005.
The next thing Marshall knew, he was surrounded by Alzheimer's. He says, "At this point, I knew nothing about Alzheimer's. It wasn't in my family history."
What he did know was that he had to start learning quickly.
Not only did he need to learn about plaques -- dense, irregularly-shaped spots that replace brain cells in Alzheimer's patients -- and tangles -- thread-like things that choke healthy brain cells -- but he had to pick a focus for his art.
Previous artists had focused on memory tests, emotional experiences, and, like Marshall's friend, the hard sciences of plaques.
Marshall focused on the clinical trial of medicine derived from the galanthus, or snowdrop, plant and the way the patients in the trial viewed the world.
Marshall spent the next 17 months sitting in on interviews with Alzheimer's patients and watching hours of tape.
He watched for signs of improvement, like lucidity or telling stories. Marshall explains, "Fiction and tale-telling represents a higher level of consciousness."
Marshall also had to combat fear. Watching others fight the disease made him worry that it could happen to him too. He says, "Humans fear chaos, especially when that chaos is inside us."
A puzzle combining Peggy's Cove and Adironack chairs by Bill Marshall. Photo: Jennifer Wilson
Marshall experienced a lot during his time at the clinic. He listened to one woman, displaying aphasia, or word confusion, call Nova Scotia's 2003 storm "Haemorrhoid Juan" and not notice anything wrong. He saw another man pour Campbell's soup over his food, combining something he used to like with another habit without noticing it was strange.
He saw how one woman, a 50-year-old writer, struggle with the knowledge that her brain was deteriorating. She didn't want to read or write anymore.
Not all the patients knew they were losing their memories.
"You know, the patients didn't always mind. They didn't always know what was going on. But you could see the pain on the faces of the caregivers," he says.
Marshall tried to express this confusion by focusing on one of the memory tests; asking the patient to recount a story like a family vacation.
Each time the patient would tell the story, it would be entirely different, picking up bits from other memories or fiction.
To express this, he put together puzzles, broke them apart, and stuck the assembled chunks of different puzzles together to show the muddling of scenes.
One example of this would be the example to the right, which uses Arizona scenery and downtown Prague. Another one blends Peggy's Cove with Adirondack chairs.
Marshall's next project is an installation at Gallery Page and Strange in downtown Halifax for April 2007.
But, he won't forget his Alzheimer's patients. He says "[It] may not directly inspire new work, but it will certainly influence it."
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