Preparing for a retrospective exhibit, LaVar showed me this caricature of himself. I thought that it looked a bit wild for the conservative man that I knew. However, he pointed out that this drawing captured the “inner artist.” LaVar considered himself a risk taker, a rebel. Candidly, he admitted that his risks didn’t always turn out well.
During the last year and a half of LaVar’s life, he created many drawings, including this one. Several artists have commented that it is reminiscent of Edvard Munch’s painting The Scream. Indeed, it was a scream for two.
For at least a year and a half before he died, LaVar knew neither my name nor that I was his wife. I showed LaVar this picture just three weeks before he died. When I asked if he remembered it, he looked at me and back to the photo a few times and said, “I know who you are.” He was able to retrieve my name and the fact that I was his wife. Then he called me by name to the last day of his life.
LaVar spent his last 13 days in a care facility. When I admitted him for respite care, the manager asked me to stay away for 3 to 5 days. She said that he would settle in, forget about me, and accept the staff as his new family. Then I could just be his wife. This nonsensical wisdom still dumbfounds me.
After one day’s absence, the reports of his distress were too much. Going into the facility, I helped LaVar shower and clean up. The staff made him a hot breakfast. Then I sat at a table, opened his briefcase, and asked if he would like to draw. He drew this picture and then slammed his briefcase closed. I still didn’t understand how profoundly LaVar was communicating through art.
Four days before LaVar died, he handed me this caricature of himself. The picture was one from when he was a young man. Cluelessly, I asked why he had ruined the picture. He just handed it to me with an insistent, “Here.”
The next morning as I walked by my dresser and glanced at the photo, I had a flash of insight. LaVar was expressing himself. He couldn’t see well because of macular degeneration, he had hearing problems, and he had lots of confusion.
When I entered the facility, I held up the picture and told him that I finally understood. I asked him to keep reaching out because now I would be looking for messages. Later that morning, he pantomimed his pending death, which I describe in more detail in the books.
Thereafter, he attempted to incorporate words into his drawings even though he had lost his use of conventional written and spoken language.
LaVar Steel Art 