art smarts

Chapter 6. Technique and Adaptability

As people with disabilities, we face lots of situations where we must be creative to get around obstacles in our lives or do things differently from the way most other people do. This can apply to art, too. Maybe you think you could never be a writer because you can’t hold a pencil in your hand, or you have difficulty holding the musical instrument you’d like to play, or your stamina affects how much energy you can expend on making art.

We don’t need to tell you how frustrating these things can be! Resolving them may be a personal process of eventually getting the “knack” for doing something differently, changing the materials or tools you use, limiting or completely changing the kind of art you do, or simply admitting to yourself that you need help (and remember, many non-disabled artists have helpers and technicians to carry out their projects, or they work in collaboration with other artists).

How does disability affect your technique for making art – or does it? If you’ve had a disability all your life, you may have done things differently without thinking about it. Others of you may be facing problems that talking to other artists or professionals could help you to resolve.

Artists are known for their open-mindedness and, of course, their creativity. We offer this chapter to help you to think about the importance of adaptability.

Disability may affect the technique you use, or the time you take, to do your art.

Theatre’s been something I’ve shied away from because of the immense physical commitment to the project. Up until ’97 I wasn’t physically able to do that level of work. Working for an afternoon or even one or two days was manageable; working for a four-week period with three weeks of rehearsals and a week of performance, in which there are perhaps four performances in seven nights or even a double-header, just wasn’t possible.
james

Because of my disability, I feel like I have to make it finer and smoother; I can’t rush with it. I try to make my pieces so that they’re just as good as those made by a person who doesn’t have a disability.It makes me feel good that I can do it just as well as them. Takes me twice as long, but I can still do it!
koskas

I think for the blind person, the difficulty is the observational things: fashions change, items in stores change so rapidly, the methods of payment change, there’s the computer and the Internet. Technology flashes so many miles ahead from a blind perspective that it’s exhausting to try to keep up with what’s happening. And that’s certainly a heavy influence on the creation of new material – when you’re visually not being able to take it in and say, “Oh yeah, look at that, that would be a great joke.” You don’t see it, unless somebody’s almost working for you, going, “This would work,” or “This is what’s in fashion and here’s what’s funny about it.”
gord

your disability may also affect the kind of art you do

Multiple sclerosis is the reason that I began training in electroacoustics. With the onset of MS, the physicality of performing music has become increasingly difficult, while electroacoustics allow me to continue to be musically creative through field and studio recording and working in studio environments with computers and other technology.
sylvi

I think if you’re going to sing blues and jazz – especially those two art forms – it requires life experience to really emote. The old blues guys always say, “You can’t sing the blues unless you’ve lived them.” And I think that helps the art, too, because you know, art without pain isn’t really good art. I find when you have to struggle to get something done and then it comes off – boy, it really charges you up, and it’s a satisfying feeling. A lot more so than when it’s really easy.

My father nailed it down for me. He said, “You have pathos in your voice.” And that’s what appeals to a lot of people, when you can sing a very emotional piece of music and get that emotion across. I’ve had a disability my whole life, so I think it’s given me more opportunity to acquire life experience because of overcoming barriers at a very early age, as opposed to having a playful “Let’s go out in the back yard and run around!” childhood. I never did that kind of stuff. Sometimes you see a lot more going on if you sit still than if you’re running around like a chicken with your head cut off all the time. When you’re in a chair you have to develop very strong observational skills. Sit down and let things happen, because it’s amazing what you actually do see when you stay in one place.

A disability can be an advantage; it can provide new material and ideas to work with.
joe

In 1984, you didn’t have a lot of blind comics working anywhere. If you had a visible disability, then you weren’t likely doing comedy, performance or anything like that at all. So I was certainly a novelty. It was a brand-new thing. And then, of course, that was exactly what appealed to Mark Breslin, manager of Yuk Yuk’s – was the thought that “Hey, this guy’s different, this is gonna be unusual.” And it was. It still is today in many ways. I mean, twenty thousand comics working and the majority of them do a sex joke, a relationship joke, or whatever it is, but there aren’t too many who do blind jokes. That is still an intriguing aspect of my show that appeals to any audience. I would be a fool to abandon it at this point.
gord

During a performance when I was at school, I told the story of a time that I fell out of my chair and the first person to come by and help me was more hindrance than help. It was funny, it was educational, and it was a hit. It was a hit because it was a real story told by a real person. So I can go out and try to tell the story that some scriptwriter’s written, and it will be OK, or I can go out there and do something like a crazy sitcom about people with disabilities, where maybe the acting’s not the best or the set, but they’re real, honest stories, and they’re probably gonna be really attractive stories because of this.
james

sometimes a wheelchair is just so – hard, so bad, you know! but sometimes a wheelchair lets you go to places where, without the wheelchair, it would be impossible to go.
france

After the accident it was six, eight months before I could begin writing again. When I did, I was wondering, ‘Am I going to have the same sense of humour? Am I going to be able to get it across as I did before? Will people find what I write interesting and entertaining anymore?’ Now it seems as though they do, because they’re still paying for it two and a half years later. But it’s interesting, every once in a while someone will say, ‘You know, your writing is a little different. It’s better, we think, but it’s a little different: there’s a serious note that creeps in from time to time that wasn’t there before. Now we find that you seem to be injecting a little heavier material once in a while, which you didn’t do before.’

I’m not aware that I do that, and I even try not to do it, because I don’t want to get into a preaching stance with my column or anything. But evidently it happens even when you’re not aware of it. What people say, when I pressure them a little more on it, is that where I might have been satisfied previously with passing a sardonic remark, or taking a few shots at a politician, or trying to turn a situation upside down to have fun with it, now I’m not too tempted to do that. Now I’ll say something a little more serious about it before I go on and take a shot. Or I’ll do that afterwards. It seems as though underneath the froth of nothingness that I do with my column, or used to do, there is now something fairly serious, a little more substantial perhaps, a little heavier.
ed

To continue making art, you may need to find new materials or tools to work with.....