When Wil Traub became sick with blood cancer, he didn’t put down his camera. Instead of photographing architecture with heavy, professional-grade cameras, he photographed his experience in the hospital and then recovering at home with a simple point-and-shoot. The focus of the art work kept him sane during a very difficult period, he says.
As a little boy in Amsterdam in the 1920s, Maurice spent every Friday night after dinner with his family listening to his father sing. His grandmother played the piano to accompany him, even though darkness had long fallen and Shabbas – the time between sunset on Friday and sunset on Saturday when observant Jews do not work – had officially begun. “It was the highlight of our week, celebrating and singing together as a family,” he says, his chin resting on his folded hands, brow furrowed.
It has been a love-hate relationship with sugar that has defined Robbie McCauley’s experience with diabetes. But it has been Sugar in another form that has helped her towards healing.
When I was a child, I used to sit in my room and write for hours. In my notebook, I was anywhere and everywhere. Soaring above my eight year-old body, I found a place for myself – a place amongst words. Writing gave me wings. It made me feel free.
Ask Dr. Heather Stuckey about her diabetes, and you probably won’t get the answer you’d expect. You won’t hear about insulin doses or what her blood sugar was earlier that day. She may not mention that she has Type 1, and not Type 2, diabetes.
What she might say, though, is this: “My diabetes is like dry bones. For me, it’s just a never-ending dryness.”
Art has always been an important part of my life; I just didn’t always realize it. I grew up on a farm in northern Minnesota and in my small community there wasn’t much of an opportunity to experience “Art.” I knew that new crayons and building things in my father’s workshop spoke to my heart. Even without much direction regarding a career, I eventually became an art teacher. Whether it was working with fresh young kindergarten students or college art majors exploring new techniques, I was aware of how they shared their stories through their work and seemed to create with such a passion.
I am a self-taught assemblage artist (B.A. in art history), living in Jamaica Plain Massachusetts with my husband and 9-year-old daughter. In 2001, I was 37 years old and experiencing what would be my first symptoms of Multiple Sclerosis. My body below my ribs was partially numb with a pins-and-needles sensation throughout.