Art Making at the End of Life

6 minute read

Does an artist’s drawing begin the moment they have picked up their pencil or chosen which type of paper they are going to draw on? Or does the artist’s drawing begin when they have decided what they’d like to draw and have a clear image of it in their mind? Or does an artist’s drawing begin a few years before they picked up their pencils, when they were standing on a street corner when they got the phone call that changed their life? Or does an artist’s drawing begin when they were a child learning how to hold a crayon? Or does an artist’s drawing begin before they were born, a fetus warm in their mother’s womb, tucked in under her heartbeat? Or does an artist’s drawing begin with their very first breath?

When I was a little child, in the first grade of school, my teacher asked me if I wanted to draw a piece of music. I leapt at the chance. She invited me to the wall-to-wall chalkboard at the front of the classroom and told me to choose a piece of chalk. She then instructed me to stand at the left side of the chalkboard so that I could have so much room to move my little hand and feet, as I drew the song (she would choose) across the vast empty dark space before me. 

I didn’t know what song she was going to play on the record player. I waited with great anticipation, my chalk pressed to my starting point, excitement tempting to come through every pore on my body. I knew, without any doubts, that I understood my assignment. This was easy. Learning to read, not so much. The needle landed on the record, and into the air of the classroom burst Sergei Prokofiev’s “symphonic tale for children” titled Peter and the Wolf opus 67.

I did not have to give any thoughts to what my chalk piece was going to draw. The music moved my soul through my arms and into my fingers as I slowly made thick marks to the first low and haunting sounds of the piece. Then as the flutes and oboes bounced notes that sounded like springing steps, my hand turned began to gayly flick the chalk up and down. Though, as the music turned to signal a wolf appearing from the woods by way of the crescendoing timpani and dooming trombones, my hand slowed, and the chalk dipped to low sweeping and serious movements.

I became so happily lost in the musical galaxy created by my chalk marks bouncing and dipping, swooping and rising on the blackboard, that I forgot my classmates sitting behind me. My soul was feeling free. This was me.

Is this how my soul will feel once it has left my body?

Art has been alive in my body my entire life, and I believe that it will continue to exist inside of my body until my very last breath. Though there have been many years where my drawings and poetry have laid dormant, as my creativity swelled to create my death midwifery practice, it has never died.

I’ve picked up my paints and pencils this winter of 2023 and have begun an early morning art practice. There’s something deeply nourishing about making art in the darkness before dawn. I think about making art at the end of life. My art, the expression of my soul, is full of self-comfort, sanctuary, and is teaching me that inspiration that may never die.

What does our creativity do when we are given a terminal diagnosis? Does our creativity stop because our body is slowing down?

I don't believe this has to be so. For I now know, creativity is limitless and soulful, alive and super close to infinity. Creativity will always find a way to exist. Maybe it’s our logic, or fears, maybe even perhaps our values, that can stifle its movements.

The end-of-life period is not only about “getting our affairs in order.” It can also be a time for creative expression. Does creativity stop before our last breath? There are still creative possibilities even during the evening hours of our lives. I believe this! What stories can only be written when infinity has moved in closer? What drawings can pour forth when we’ve lost some of the weight of being perceived? What do watercolors have to do with grief?

When I talk about end-of-life art making, I am not referring to the Legacy Projects that we create for those we are leaving behind.
Legacy Projects are important and beautiful things, but we don’t always have to create at the end of our lives with ‘what we’ll leave behind’ in mind.

We can use creative play for our own enjoyment, fulfillment, and soul exploration at every stage of our life. Through art, we can find life in our bodies, even when it seems all eyes on us (bless them) are preparing for its absence.

Art in action, whether that’s poetry, drawing, decorating our walls with paper stars, or collaging our dreams, is powerful comfort. What happens when we, from our beds, arrange a bouquet of flowers bursting with life for ourselves? What joys are available in the poetry we write, from those beds, about the sunlight dancing on the wall before us? What exploration invitations are there when we draw the symbols we saw in our dreams? What playful and imaginative landscapes can we dream up for future places even when we are sometimes so focused on memories?

There is life and creativity at the “end-of-life.” How shall we animate this threshold? Maybe the soul knows how to sing through our hands and ideas all the way to the end of the blackboard.

May all beings know Inspiration intimately.

*If you’d like to talk with Narinder about art making at the end-of-life, please schedule a free consultation.