Wayne and I met when he was called in by my presiding psychiatrist at Our Lady of Peace in l980. I had acquired a disorder totally new and strange to me. I was not only a stranger to myself but was also a stranger to Louisville. I was in a volatile state resulting from an emotional break that occurred just as I was ending a major grant-funded graphic arts project for the University of Florida. I came to Louisville because my parents lived here. The contrast from "one of the most talented and brightest" to the indignity of mental illness had created in me a deadly combination of grief, rage and terror. I was 26 years old and in good physical health and was fairly certain that I would be a "lifer" in this state. Contemplating the next 50 or 60 years left me suicidal. This was my state when the expert, Wayne Oates, was called in.

I was ready for the attack when this tall, many stately but curiously open-faced man walked in. I said, "I don't care who your are or how books you have written! Can you help me?" His face relaxed even further and with a timely pause he said, "Of course, and you have just made my job twice as easy -- you have already seen through me and it is you who has asked."

The following 20 years before his death were difficult, but Wayne was there at every turn. He did not talk about anyone else, but always spoke of my talent, creativity and his enjoyment of our intellectual banter. He cherished my particular uniqueness. His appreciation was an oasis for me and I always felt comfortable with him.

I was privileged to visit in their home to chat over Pauline's famous muffins and a glass of orange juice. He always accentuated my strengths for my self-esteem but he also worked desperately and passionately with me as if I were his last work of art. He tried to help me see, understand and put to work what I needed to survive and to obtain the best quality of life for me. He was always a gentleman, rarely spoke first after greeting. His conversations could be witty, animated or sometimes calculated. We often empathized about our personal pain and parallel journeys. His last letter to me was dated September 25, l999. In it he said, "Be strong and of good courage and know that you have a friend in me through thick and through thin." I sensed his growing weakness in the last four months of his life. I knew his back pain was worse and his telephone voice was frail. He begged me to shake off any notion of his profession and simply remember him as a "steadfast friend." Wayne taught me much about friendship, especially how to be a friend. Hearts are not to be fooled with. In his death he has not only given me a stronger will to live but also a responsibility to do so. I miss you, Wayne, and always will.

-- NOTE --

The artist presented the Institute with the painting "Blue Lady," which she did at Our Lady of Peace about the time she met Dr. Oates. She included the following description: "It has often been considered a self-portrait or a likeness influenced by Modigliani. It is neither but, as I recall, an internal likeness - the depth of rage and depression in the haunting, piercing eyes, and years of learning to hide my anger and look complacent. But the all-telling lips of self-knowledge, true desire and hope."