August 2021 – joy murray art~stories~life

Look Closer #4

August 27, 2021June 12, 2022Posted in disability art, Look Closer, original artLeave a comment

(In my last blog post, I talked about getting caught in the rain and my power wheelchair breaking down. I wanted to let readers know that the repairs are in process. I’ve also managed to get the proper paperwork done for a new cushion for the chair. It should all be taken care of by November, but I hold out hope that they’ll at least get the chair running before then, even if it’s November before the new cushion arrives.)

This blog post is to announce the completion of the 4th painting in my Look Closer: Disability and Sensuality series. With these paintings I hope to show that a person can be in transition, in great pain, and have major body transformations but still find themselves filled with elation and sensuality. How we express sensuality changes, but it doesn’t cease.

This one stretched my skills and challenged me in new ways. I didn’t have any idea what I was going to call it, which is unusual for me. I usually have a whole story or working title from the beginning.

This one is based on a former neighbor of mine, a young woman who had a below the knee amputation after a car wreck several years before I met her. She was a lovely and vibrant person and I enjoyed seeing the ease with which she made her way in the world.

I started with sketches, trying to capture the liveliness with in a still figure.

I’m not used to representing architecture — stairs, doors. It’s not important to me that I paint things realistically, but I wanted a basic sense of perspective in this, so I started with a grid. (I painted over a failed painting.)

But once it was all gridded and measured out, I immediately went outside the lines.

It was interesting and often frustrating working on her facial expression, what to shade, how far to stray from reality. I also changed the design of the prosthetic leg several times. There are a lot of really dynamic prostheses now. I wanted hers to both stand out and to blend in.

I also wanted to capture the light and energy of sunset — light on one side of the porch, shadow on the other. And to somehow show the energy of yearning.

And then, after consulting several people on it, I finished it up and titled it.

**She Unlocked Her Door, by Joy Murray, 20×24″ Acrylic paint and ink on stretched canvas**

Although it took a long time to finish this, I enjoyed this painting and am growing to appreciate my own style more and more. I hope the wonkiness adds to the energy I’m trying to convey.

I’d hoped to have this series finished by the end of the year, but I don’t see that happening now. I think it will be next summer before they are all done, but it’s not something I want rush.

These are the first three paintings:

What do you think?

~~~

Thanks for reading my blog. Feel free to share it, if you’d like.

This blog is brought to you by the generosity of people who support me on Patreon , buy my art, and who support me in so many different ways.

If you’d like to make a one time donation, you can do so at paypal

Cards and prints on some of my art is available on Redbubble.

You can subscribe to this blog by email in the link below this post.

If you find a typo, let me know, and I’ll send you a postcard.

Didn’t it rain?

August 21, 2021Posted in degenerative disease, disability, Uncategorized, wheelchair life6 Comments

*Carnations on a Rainy Day by Joy Murray*

Last Friday, August 13, I got caught in a rain storm on the way home from Brooks Art Museum. I’ve been caught in the rain before, and it’s irritating because the chair cushions get wet and it takes a long time for them to dry out. This time, though, the rain seeped into the joystick, the mechanism that runs the chair, and about a block from home, the chair just stopped. No puttering or slowing down. It wouldn’t move at all.

At the time I was in the street because the sidewalk was blocked with trash bins and piles of yard waste. I was next to a storm drain and rain water was gushing down from the gutters. I didn’t want to disengage the motor (you can do that with two levers on either side of the chair so it can pushed manually) because I was afraid I would roll into the gutter or the storm drain. The street isn’t level — it’s been paved over so many times it’s a hill of asphalt. I was tilted.

I tried getting it to start a few times but it was dead. I called my son, and he was home and could come help me out. As I waited, cars wooshed by and a sense of vulnerability rained down on me. I wished I had some kind of flair to light in case a distracted driver didn’t see me. I remembered my flashing lights on the back and front and back of the chair. I hadn’t used them in a long time because it’s summer and I’m rarely out in the dark anymore.

I got them on and waited. It was about 10 minutes but seemed like an eternity. My son parked his SUV next to the chair and got me out of the rain. He then disengaged the motor and began a heroic struggle to get the chair into the vehicle. It weighs probably 150 lbs. or more. I tried to look up how to take it apart on my phone, but it’s not that kind of chair. A youngish man stopped and helped, so they got the chair in — it fit. It lay like some spent and defeated robot in the back.

My son got me home, got my manual chair, got me in the house, got the chair out of the SUV, got it up the ramp and into the house. We were soaked. Once I got in dry clothes, I called the wheelchair company service department. They said I had to let it dry out for a day or two and see if it worked then. The manual chair I have is not really built for my body. I got it so I could get rides in other people’s cars — it’s lightweight and folds up easy but it’s not meant for everyday use. And I have arthritis in my hands, so continued use increases my pain.

But I am glad to have it.

*My power wheelchair when I first got it, after a year’s process, in August 2018. My old chair was donated to me a few years before.*

Monday I had an appointment with my neurologist. One of the things I already needed to discuss was getting the seat cushion replaced on my chair. It’s 3 years old and I’m starting to have pains in my butt. (Life can be such a pain in the butt.) When I talked to the wheelchair company, they said the doctor had to send a prescription and “a physical therapist will have to be involved.” Okay, fine, another layer and delay. I don’t mind a PT being involved. I want a good cushion because I don’t want to get pressure sores. But there was no way to get the chair serviced and the seat cushion replaced on Tuesday, when the person who services the chair would come out to look at it.

On Tuesday, the repair person came out, tried the joy stick. It turned on, but it’s stuck in the fastest mode, which is unsuitable for indoor use, especially since I have some cognitive delays and already sometimes run into walls and tables. (Plus I have a fear of going out the front door and flying off the porch like a broken ET. There are steps out there, my entry ramp is at the back door.) The repair person said, well my work here is done. “I’ll put in an order for another joystick.”

It’s going to take two to three works — getting the order in, getting medicare and medicaid approval, and getting back here to install it.

I had to ask if there was anyway I could get a loaner chair. No they didn’t have any.

And there was no real recourse.

The repair person wasn’t completely without sympathy (after I asked for it). He went back to the shop and found an old chair that I could use. He put in my batteries (it’s nice to know they weren’t damaged in the rain.) The replacement chair is not built for my body either. It’s also not designed as well. It’s a front wheel drive and the rear wheels are worn and janky. They wobble and it feels like they have their own agenda. A friend said they were twerking, which gave me a more lighthearted way to deal with it. Still, it doesn’t feel like a safe chair for running errands and travelling the neighborhood in. Or going out in the yard and communing with the garden. And the cushion is still a problem.

But the team of Joy Helpers are doing what they can to make sure I get my food and medications in.

It was a rude awakening to be stopped so completely. I forget my mobility is totally ruled by my wheelchair. If it breaks down, then I don’t get to move about. The powers that be will approve a wheelchair for a person who needs one once every five years. A machine that gets used everyday in all kinds of circumstances is not going to make it 5 years without some need of repair. Businesses that contract with public health services often run on a tight margin and they don’t keep stock around; plus they have to file the paperwork to assure they get paid. It took me almost a year to get the chair I use now. And I’m very grateful for it.

But this latest rainstorm may take a month to recover from. And I’m in limbo about the cushion.

I needed to get back in touch with both the neurologist and the wheelchair service provider this week, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. There is only so much of this game of bureaucracy I can take before I start to feel the beast of depression start munching at my spirit. And so I’ve just read, rested and even painted some. The days of stress had taken a toll on me, I was exhausted by it all. I was running on anxiety and nervous energy. I watched some videos on how to better manipulate a manual chair and one bit of advice was to get rest. So I did some meditation, some stretches, danced a little in my twerking chair, and took some deep naps.

Sometimes resting is the only way to win a battle. To stay healthy and hopeful. To ease the pains in the butt.

~~~

Thanks for reading my blog. Feel free to share it, if you’d like.

This blog is brought to you by the generosity of people who support me on Patreon , buy my art, and who support me in so many different ways.

If you’d like to make a one time donation, you can do so at pay pal

Cards and prints on some of my art is available on Redbubble.

You can subscribe to this blog by email in the link below this post.

If you find a typo, let me know, and I’ll send you a postcard.

Back on the Bus

August 1, 2021Posted in UncategorizedLeave a comment

Earlier this week, I took a bus for the first time since February of 2020. I had a doctor’s appointment at an office that was relatively close and accessible by bus. I could have called around to family and friends for a ride, but sometimes, I just want to do things on my own. I researched the bus schedules and was delighted to find that all adult fares are $1.00 now. I am eligible to get an additional discount because I have a disability, but I’ve never gone to the Memphis Area Transit Authority (MATA) to get my card. I don’t ride that often and fares are reasonable, so I just support public transportation with my little bit of money.

I’d spent the day before in a major funk because I’d gone to the store and while I was crossing the street at the light, a big shiny black pick up truck made a left turn almost into me. He braked quickly and then gave me this little shrug and wave with both hands. An “oopsy” smile. It was hot. I was deeply irritated by his goofy response to almost running me over. I thought of all the other times similar “almost” accidents happened to me. It weighed heavily on me.

I considered just cancelling my appointment. There’s a certain state of mind, a certain kind of confidence that I need to ask for favors, or even to go out at all, and it sometimes eludes me. The weight of living, of getting simple things done, felt impossible.

But I’m also blessed (or cursed) with a sense of adventure, so I knew it would be good for me to get out again and make my own way to see my doctor, in that small window of possibility that’s open to me. And so, in the 98 degree heat, armed with masks, water, and my long list of medications, I caught a bus.

*On the way there I saw this bit of litter under the IBEW sign.*

*Being a pedestrian/wheelchair user, I noticed the cicada skin on the box*

The trip there was nice. I had the air-conditioned bus to myself most of the way. The bus driver was masked. The farebox was broken so the ride was free. As we rode along, a few more people got on, most were masked. The ones who weren’t were clearly overwhelmed and challenged by life, trying to get home with groceries, trying to cope with the heat.

Every once in a while, an announcement would blare out about mandatory masks. The voice was deep and male, with a terse Southern twang that made me thing of a stern Southern sheriff. “Your mask MUST cover you NOSE and Mouth.”

*When I got off the bus, I saw this chair parked in front of a nail salon. I hope the owner didn’t melt.*

This doctor, my GP, has an office in the center city, and I appreciate that there are still doctors practicing close by. So many have been moved out to the edges of the city, and there is no public transportation that goes out there. And if there is it takes hours to get there.

In this part of the city there are lots of people without a lot of money. There are more pedestrians. There’s more variety. It’s also a part of town that shows signs of age, urban decay, and how people and businesses try to keep up appearances without much support from the city’s budget.

*Sidewalk hazards — do you try the hole or the rusty cover? The cover held me. I went a different way when I returned.*

My GP was encouraging. My triglycerides and my blood sugar are both down. I was glad to talk to her. While I waited in her office, I sketched, nothing much, but it sparked the memory of how much I used to sketch during waits for buses and doctors. I started missing my sketchbook. I’ve stopped using it. Some of my internal scaffolding has broken. I can’t clearly see the point of all this scribbling and drawing anymore. Haven’t for a while — since COVID? since I had to start using the wheelchair full time? Since the beginning, way back in childhood? Sixty years old and I still let negativities restrain and sabotage me. I don’t even carry a sketchbook anymore, just my calendar with some blank paper. I used to have a whole kit, pens, pencils, paint all tucked like secret joy weapons in my bag.

Back on the street, I got the bus back home. It was crowded. Another wheelchair was already on — a woman about my age. She had a larger chair and it was loaded down with bags — at least 5 backpacks, shopping bags, plastic bags — all hanging from her back handles, head rest, arm rests, and a few stacked on top of her feet. She didn’t look unhoused, she was clean, wore make up, smelled nice. Maybe a hoarder, or maybe she just went out once a month and got everything she needed.

I was able to fit my chair in the other wheelchair spot without blocking the aisle. (Thank Science for these chairs that turn in place).

*We’re all being filmed on the bus, with a nice flat screen tv to remind us*

The bag burdened woman had on a mask, but the bus driver didn’t, and few of the passengers did. But there were no haters — people who get angry that wheelchairs are taking up extra seats. I’ve always disliked that using the wheelchair keeps me from getting further back in the bus and eavesdropping on conversations, watching human stories unfold, but now I feel the social distancing provided by being in my designated spot is a good thing.

I got home, crossed all the streets without anyone trying to kill me.

The journey broke my funk. It also made me stash a small sketchbook in my purse.

The world seemed manageable again.

It’s still scary and frustrating, but I wheel on.

~~~

Thanks for reading my blog. Feel free to share it, if you’d like.

This blog is brought to you by the generosity of people who support me on Patreon , buy my art, and who support me in so many different ways.

If you’d like to make a one time donation, you can do so at pay pal

Cards and prints on some of my art is available on Redbubble.

You can subscribe to this blog by email in the link below this post.

If you find a typo, let me know, and I’ll send you a postcard.

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