Moving On (2011.3)
Article Transcript
Long-time caricature artist and ISCA member, Lee Suckow, will be writing a new column for Exaggerated Features. His writings will focus on preparing others for health-related challenges by sharing of experiences. Everyone is invited to participate. In this introductory article, Lee shares with us some of the challenges of Parkinson’s disease and his goals for future articles.
Until that day in August 2002, things had been progressing pretty much as usual, with summer vacations decorating the annual round of classroom work and school activities. Throughout the year, there were satisfying numbers of opportunities to draw caricatures at art fairs, parties, and other events, and it seemed as though I would barely finish one project when another would stretch out on my drawing table and say, “OK, I’m next. Let’s hop to it, bud.”
But then came the 17th of August. It was sun up, and I was doing my part to rid the world of yet another complimentary doughnut as my wife and I sat in our crowded car and waited for movement in the long line of art fair exhibitors entering the park. A team of Boy Scouts would help me to quickly unload our supplies and equipment from the van, and a guy with a megaphone would hustle Louise on her way to the parking area set aside for participants. I stood there, looking at the limited space into which our ten-by-ten canopy would be crammed, an Official Michigan Art Fair Mud-Puddle that was waiting at the entrance of our plot for a shopper’s shoes, and the half-eaten doughnut in my hand.
“Let’s go home,” I told her as she returned to our assigned location. Later she said she knew something was wrong. Never had she known her husband to turn down the chance to draw caricatures.
A few days later, on the 24th, we were drawing at a local “Make-a-Wish” children’s party. All at once my right hand started quivering. I kept on drawing, adding the hair; the boy had a “flat-top,” so the “jiggedyjaggady” lines my hand forced me to draw were just what was needed.
Eventually, other signals popped up. I found that I could no longer swing my leg up and over the rear wheel of my bicycle. I had to give up bike-riding, but I wanted to keep on taking those romantic evening walks through our neighborhood. That’s when my feet decided to show a preference for the “shuffle step.”
I wanted to drive my car here and there; trouble was, my reaction times were so unreliable that I couldn’t trust myself to get behind the wheel.
Then there came a development that would prove to be especially bothersome for anyone who was engaged, even part-time, in a “people business” such as caricaturing: my ability to converse with the subject I was drawing and with onlookers took a steep plunge. A fellow would come into my canopy and sit down. I’d welcome him with a smile and ask what he’d like me to draw. He’d say that he was a plumber; could I draw him fixing a sink? I’d reply, “Sure… head and body in full color will be twenty dollars…” Time and time again my customer would look at me and ask, “Would you repeat that, please?” I was SURE that I had spoken clearly. But what I thought I said was not what he heard. My tongue got all twisty and I was burbling again! Sometimes I was speaking too softly; folks would miss the opening words of my sentence and would have no idea what I meant by the closing words. When I tried to make myself clear by emphasizing this or that word, folks would just be more confused. Good thing my wife Louise was there helping in her usual way. I’m not taking on any drawing events these days, but with her help I can manage projects that I can do at leisure in my home.
Some folks in ISCA may remember that I served as a teacher in my “first” career— 27 years in elementary schools and 13 years as a college instructor. For the most part, my work at Baker College, Muskegon, Michigan, emphasized good, clear communication. Writing articles such as this will show if I learned anything about English Composition by teaching that course over and over again 71 times!
My goal for this series of EF articles is to provide some input from The Voice of Experience—in topics such as health, planning for the future, personal growth, and other stuff that will come to our attention as time passes. What we’re hoping for is some good, solid material that provides down-to-earth suggestions along with practical strategies which every artist can use as he or she matures and becomes more of a professional person. Such serious material can often be presented with a light touch of humor.
What I really want to do is encourage you folks, old and young alike, to participate in this venture by sending me your ideas, opinions, comments, ruminations, and mental meanderings — I’ll even welcome nickels and dimes, although they are by no means a requirement (when I accumulate enough of your cash, I’m heading for the nearest burger joint and getting me a double cheese vegetarian sandwich).
Kindly gather your thoughts and concerns, and dispatch them to me via e-mail, using the address below. Keep on keeping on!
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