the PDF of her book - National Aphasia Association

Tales from the Other Side of Language 65
of luxury to urban me. With a studio I become independent in my art, working
without a class, drawing and painting at my whim, my desire.
Leigh, the office manager of the practice I’ve joined, went to Antioch
College like me but more than a decade later. She is tall, lanky, and full of
zest, and when we meet says, “I’ve been so eager to see you, woman from
New York, woman from Antioch!” She is infectious. I feel instant affinity.
We are both artists. She is rowdy and compulsive in her art; she tweaks me
beyond my ways of seeing.
Her husband is dying of cancer, another deeper bond. I meet him once
for tea at their home on a little island in the Sound. We stroll through their
gardens, admire vegetables, sunflowers, and tall clusters of poppies. The day
is softly sunny, so we walk along the water’s edge through new young trees.
He is weak and becomes chilled. Leigh goes back to the house for a jacket.
When she is out of earshot, he presses me quietly. “Ruth, I want you to make
sure she follows her art. It is her path. I’ve kept her from it.”
With breathtaking courage, she tends him all the way through his
dying. And then she is off and running with art, with me on her tail. We take
life drawing and clay sculpture classes in the small community college art
department, a little hidden jewel. We are a bold duo among the tentative young
students, and the contrast makes me even more audacious. Leigh’s rowdy
side is a good influence on me. I plunge into new media: ceramic sculpture,
monoprints, pushing past the technical to find my own voice.
On a trip to New York I spend an afternoon with Henry in his tiny apartment/studio,
bringing new work to show him. At length he says of a color
pencil portrait of Leigh, “You are a good observer, Ruth. Now bring something
unique into what you see.” I thought I had; he pushes me deeper.
At home I drop into easy experimentation, a playful, unconstrained self
without words. With this new freedom I lose self-consciousness in my art, the
bedrock of my brain’s balance, its rest and peace. Challenge and play make
my brain more flexible—and yes, happy.
I am often homesick for New York friends, museums, galleries, and
music—yes, and the tumult, the dirt, and the sophistication. Invisibility and