This afternoon I read an interesting piece in Summit, the magazine of the British Mountaineering Council. It has really set me thinking at several levels. The article was about Hamish MacInnes, who in years gone by was one of Britain’s foremost mountaineers. In the 1950s he established several major alpine routes. I remember him most for his participation in a celebrated TV coverage of the ascent of “The Old Man of Hoy” (an impressive rocky sea-stack off the north coast of Scotland.) The article was not a simple celebration of his past achievements but a discussion of his current situation and experience.
It seems that some time ago MacInnes began to suffer signs of serious mental deterioration, as dementia began to set in. At first he was treated (as so many sufferers are) by medics who appeared to be resigned to his continuing decay, and who saw their own role solely in terms of providing care. His situation was regarded as fundamentally untreatable. His physical state declined along with his mental condition, and he forgot almost entirely the achievements that had made him famous. One consultant, however, took a different approach.
MacInnes was moved to the Glencoe area of Scotland (one of Britain’s premium mountaineering regions). Here he was encouraged to walk again in the hills, and also to re-read the published accounts of his former feats. Slowly but steadily he began to improve, with memory actually returning slowly, and his physical well-being greatly enhanced. He was able to agree to an interview with the journalist who wrote the article I read. “Memory is seems is fallible,” (the writer concluded) but Hamish’s character has remained as fundamental as ever.”
The piece made me think about my own prospects. Although I am now seventy-seven years old there is no sign (as yet) of dementia. Nevertheless, this has to remain a possibility, as it is a feature of the end of life of so many people these days. I began to wonder whether, at some future point, my art might serve for me the same function that MacInnes’ climbing has served for him, namely, a point of reference in relation to which identity can be reasserted and sustained.
All artists invest in their art something of their own identity, and it seems likely that we might be able to “withdraw from that bank” in later years in proportion to the investment we have made into it. I would like to think so, and I would certainly be interested to hear whether readers have had experiences that relate to this idea.