This is Ken. A Vietnam Vet I met at the VA
Hospital the other day when I was drawing portraits there. It was a
humbling experience. I spent the whole day drawing and talking to these
Heroes. Some in better shape than others. I spent about 30-45 minutes
with each person, and if you've never sat for a portrait, you may not
realize how very intimate and reflective it can be. To be thoroughly,
meticulously, studied by my eyes...
every wrinkle, every hair, every moment... your countenance... you are
the entire focus of my attention. Some of these men are there because
they're having a hard time coping with who they've become... some have a
hard time looking in the mirror... So I tried to keep it light. I tried
to start each conversation about myself so that no one felt obligated
to talk about anything they didn't feel like talking about. One person
came over and sat down looking particularly downtrodden and stoic, I
struggled to find the words to say, I kinda grazed over some generic
things, and started to resolve that maybe a comfortable silence was in
order... but I had this gripping feeling, that he wanted to talk to me
but wasn't relating... I thought, maybe I should ask him about something
a little closer to home, so I asked.... "Do you like shooting
shotguns?" And his face lit up like Christmas morning!! haha! The
floodgate opened. His eyes gleamed as he told me all about hunting game
back home. I told him I had done an 8 hour shotgun class the day before,
and my drawing hand was still shaking from it. Little did anyone know, I
could barely hold my pencil. I told him about our drills, and hot
loading, and just maybe bringing Magnum buckshot wasn't the best idea. I
showed him the bruises around my collar bone and he joyfully pointed
and laughed his ass off! I was happy to be the source of his laughter.
I was drawing another Vietnam Vet named John. He asked me if I could incorporate his granddaughter into the picture from a photo he had in his wallet, so that it was him and her together. Of course I could Sir. So as I was drawing his granddaughter he was smiling ear to ear watching me draw, and his PTSD counselor walked by and said, "Wow John, this is the first time I've ever seen you smile since you got here!" And he said [pointing at me] "It's all because of her. Man Jessica, it must feel good to know you make people -so- happy." My heart nearly broke. I was so touched. It had never occurred to me that my presence or my art could actually help someone this way. Here I am, so focused on the technique, I was absorbed in trying to make the drawing "good," and accurate... as if that was what anyone cared about. It dawned on me that the day wasn't even about drawing, it was just about being there. Being there was enough. Talking was enough. Caring was enough. The drawing was -my- honor to do. This experience was a gift to -me- ...in that moment, it became very clear that I wasn't here to work... I was here to serve.
I only hope that when I lay down that final night, that I may have contributed to this world even a fraction of what these men have already sacrificed.
Thank you to anyone who has served in the armed forces. Thank you to my Dad, retired Army Colonel Jack Hook. Thank you to those who made the ultimate sacrifice. Not just on Memorial Day, but every day. You are never forgotten.
I was drawing another Vietnam Vet named John. He asked me if I could incorporate his granddaughter into the picture from a photo he had in his wallet, so that it was him and her together. Of course I could Sir. So as I was drawing his granddaughter he was smiling ear to ear watching me draw, and his PTSD counselor walked by and said, "Wow John, this is the first time I've ever seen you smile since you got here!" And he said [pointing at me] "It's all because of her. Man Jessica, it must feel good to know you make people -so- happy." My heart nearly broke. I was so touched. It had never occurred to me that my presence or my art could actually help someone this way. Here I am, so focused on the technique, I was absorbed in trying to make the drawing "good," and accurate... as if that was what anyone cared about. It dawned on me that the day wasn't even about drawing, it was just about being there. Being there was enough. Talking was enough. Caring was enough. The drawing was -my- honor to do. This experience was a gift to -me- ...in that moment, it became very clear that I wasn't here to work... I was here to serve.
I only hope that when I lay down that final night, that I may have contributed to this world even a fraction of what these men have already sacrificed.
Thank you to anyone who has served in the armed forces. Thank you to my Dad, retired Army Colonel Jack Hook. Thank you to those who made the ultimate sacrifice. Not just on Memorial Day, but every day. You are never forgotten.
