Creative Incontinence
“For me, insanity is super sanity. The normal is psychotic. Normal means lack of imagination, lack of creativity.” - Jean Dubuffet (1901-1985) French painter, sculptor, printmaker
Recent reports have revealed that in cases of a medical condition called frontotemporal dementia (FTD), the loss of neurons in the area of the brain that controls language frequently leads to a decrease in levels of social inhibition accompanied by a remarkable increase in new areas of creativity:
Patient 1, for example, had had “no prior interest in art but started taking art courses with the onset of dementia.” Despite acting disinhibited and irritable, hallmark characteristics of patients suffering from FTD, Patient 1 began painting pictures of remembered places with remarkable clarity…. Patient 2 also began taking art classes rather suddenly, and shortly thereafter became uncomfortable in social situations, incontinent, and verbally disinhibited… A 68-year old retired stock broker when first seen for dementia, Patient RTLV 4 had had no previous interest in art when he first started painting 13 years before. This new hobby erupted spontaneously...
I don’t mean to go all Oliver Sachs on you or anything, but this whole neurophysiology of creativity vs. inhibition business really fascinates me. Especially in light of the fact that last week, for no apparent reason, totally out of the blue, I suddenly signed up for a nude figure drawing class. What the hell can this mean??
I was privileged to witness a sort of charmingly demented disinhibition of social propriety in my grandmother as she wound up into her late eighties. Grandmother had always been an impeccably proper southern lady who never once in her life left the house without her hat and gloves. But then one day when nobody was looking, she astonished us all by befriending Travis, the 19-year-old slacker son of the superintendent of her building. She simultaneously developed an inexplicable passion for suped-up muscle cars.
Every afternoon Grandmother would climb into Travis’s 1970 Barracuda Gran Coupe FC7, and they would cruise the junkyards around the outskirts of town looking for spare parts. She would not only treat her young compadre to the needed car parts du jour, she also paid off all his inevitable speeding tickets. She loved it when that ‘Cuda went fast!
Various relatives worried about this shocking development a lot more than I did, probably because they were grownups and I was still an impressionable teen. “Grandmother,” they would call her up and announce. “No. You can’t go out to some nasty old junkyard this afternoon, because cousin Matty Lou has invited us all over for tea.”
“The hell with Matty Lou and her boring old tea,”
Grandmother would spit into the phone. “I’m going out riding with Travis and there’s not a goddamn thing anybody can do about it.” Woo hoo!
I think she knew I was secretly on her side because she gave me a set of mint 1969 Dodge Charger seat covers for Christmas that year. Everybody else got a pair of white kid gloves.
But when Grandmother finally bought Travis a motorcycle and threatened to ride around on the back of it with him, the relatives ganged up and had her checked into a nursing home, where she promptly died of sheer boredom. Thank goodness she had managed to have her will fixed in time to leave Travis exactly enough money to buy the 1970 Olds 442 of his dreams. Which, as far as I know, he may still be driving to this day.
Well, I watched this whole poignant drama unfolding when I was young, and I swore to myself then and there that I would NOT wait until I was in my 80s to buck convention and enjoy the wild winds of adventure blowing through my hair.
And as you’ve probably guessed: no, I haven’t waited, far from it. But you know, it’s one thing to tear around town like a fool in a 1967 Shelby Cobra hot rod, and quite another to sign up for a nude figure drawing class. I mean hell, I can’t even draw! Now we’re talking waaaay outside of my comfort zone.
No wonder these poor frontotemporal dementia patients are so irritable and verbally disinhibited, not to mention incontinent. All of a sudden, I’m kind of the same way myself. Honestly, I think I’d be a lot less terrified of sky diving, or public speaking, or spending an entire Sunday at one of those wingnut churches where they force you to make out with a copperhead, than I am drawing pictures of naked people in public. But I really couldn’t help myself. That little Continuing Education catalog arrived in the mail one day, and, well, the urge to enroll in an art class just spontaneously erupted. Bang! What the hell does this mean?
Anyway, the class starts in two weeks. Stay tuned. I may have to call Travis and see if he can give me a ride over there though, I’ll be way too nervous to drive myself. |
Vibrating Liz |
| About the author: |
| Vibrating Liz is an avid writer, dancer, gardener, weight lifter, and cancer survivor who firmly believes that 50 is the new 18. She lives in a small rural village in the quirkiest part of the deep south with an engaging assortment of flora and fauna |
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