Photo by Monica Lim
In the atrium of St. Luke’s Hospital, a large black board anchors a small art exhibit. At the top are the words “Before I die…”—words you would hardly expect to see so boldly posted in the middle of an institution dedicated to healing.
The Before I Die wall is part of an interactive art exhibit that brings attention to end-of-life issues. Other public art submissions range from “Giselle, the Beyoncé of Origami Poodles” to patients' pencil drawings.
Becky Lasater, a social worker at St. Luke’s who specializes in palliative care and oncology, started planning the exhibit last October while earning a certificate program through Fontbonne University, the Expressive Arts and Integrative Therapies Certificate.
The artists' ages span a wide range. One submission, for instance, came from an 11-year-old. These conversations are not just for the typical “end-of-life” period, says Lasater. Rather, the project hopes to inspire conversations throughout one’s life, as people of all ages process and live out the lives they wish.
Photo by Monica Lim
Photo by Monica Lim
Photo by Monica Lim
Photo by Monica Lim
Photo by Monica Lim
Photo by Monica Lim
“The goal has always been about stirring up more conversation,” says Lasater. “Arts softens the introduction to this topic, and people realize how profound it is to seek and process what is meaningful in their lives.”
The Before I Die wall, for instance, encourages participants to define how they'd like to live their lives. Perhaps ironically, thinking about death can enhance our lives, says Lasater. Bucket list items ranging from humorous to pensive. “Before I die I want to raise a Jedi poodle,” says one. Others talk about writing a book, spreading happiness, and finding forgiveness.
The ideas go far beyond writing an advance directive, though that is one aspect that patients might consider. After all, only about 25 percent of adults in the United States have an advance directive; for a subject that is so difficult to verbalize, art could be the bridge.
Chris Hooppaw, for example, visited the hospital to see a family member undergoing treatment for lung cancer. At Emerson Auditorium, he watched a documentary called Consider the Conversation: A Documentary about a Taboo Subject. “The film was amazing, and in some way it had some entertainment value—because these people are still living—but this whole experience of meeting other patients and families has let me slow down," he recalls. "And you realize that we all laugh, we cry, we have this common ground. Undergoing this process has been a concise way to evaluate life.”
Hooppaw points to a piece of artwork with various wigs drawn in colored pencil. The phrase “Your hair is not who you are” is written below. "My daughter gave that phrase to my mother-in-law,” he says.
Photo by Monica Lim
Cliff Hooppaw’s mother-in-law’s submission illustrates a phrase his daughter said: "Your hair is not who you are."
This week also marks nationwide programming for National Healthcare Decisions Day, which raises awareness about advance healthcare planning.
Beyond this week, though, the exhibit has potential to continue. The wall is reusable and can be used in other spaces. The exhibit also collaborated with Gateway End-of-Life Coalition, which hosts educational events. The exhibit’s “Creative Expression and Advance Care Planning: Art and Provider Self-Awareness” workshop for healthcare professionals also drew attendance from institutions outside of St. Luke’s Hospital.
For Lasater and others, conversations about advance care planning transcend paperwork and technicalities. “We also want to encourage people to think outside the box, to move beyond thinking about directives or a piece of paper," says Lasater. "People think that once a paper is signed and notarized, they are done thinking about it. But it’s actually a process of thinking about what is meaningful. What brings you joy? Once you answer these questions, it’s easier to understand why some people might not choose to have CPR, among other things.”
This ongoing conversation isn't one to fear, though. “We’re all children, and we’re all mature. We have a lot to learn from each other,” Hooppaw says. “This process has made me whole.”
