Susan Louise and I have been friends since 1973. For her entire career, she was a polymer clay artist, her hands constantly shaping beauty to sell at festivals and street fairs across the country. Today, Susan lives at the River Grove Memory Home, navigating the fog of Alzheimer’s. But this afternoon, the fog lifted.
I took Susan to the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art for "Communities and Connections," a program led by Rosemarie Oakman. Rosemarie is a specialist in "Creative Aging," and she understands a profound truth: while names and dates may slip away, the artist’s soul remains.
interacting with people with memory loss and their partners or care-persons at the Community and Connections program
We stood before a massive triptych by Damien Hirst—a vernal explosion of pink blossoms and thick, textured paint. Rosemarie didn't just ask us to look; she asked us to inhale. "What does this garden smell like?" she asked. "What childhood stories live in these flowers?"
For a person with memory loss, these sensory questions are a lifeline. In that gallery, the clinical reality of a diagnosis vanished. It was replaced by what I can only describe as a "deep engagement."
Later, in the studio, we traded the Hirst painting for watercolors and oil pastels. Surrounded by a team of gentle University of Oregon student helpers, Susan began to paint. There was no judgment, no "correct" way to remember—only the dignity of expression. Susan was visibly moved by the students’ attention; she wasn't a patient in that moment—she was a peer.
Rosemarie Oakman is an unsung hero in our community. She proves that art isn't just a luxury; it is a bridge back to the self. Even when the memory fades, the spirit of the artist remains, vibrant and full of hope.
