The Healing Power of Art: My Journey with Memory Care

When I first walked into a memory care and adult day program this past June, I thought I was just coming to share a little art for fun. An hour of painting, maybe a few smiles, and that would be enough. But what I discovered has changed me in ways I never expected. Week by week, brushstroke by brushstroke, the people I met became more than participants in an art class — they became family.

Why Art Matters in Memory Care

Dementia affects more than 55 million people worldwide (World Health Organization), with nearly 10 million new cases each year. Beyond memory loss, dementia often brings isolation, anxiety, depression, and a loss of independence. These challenges weigh heavily not only on patients but also on their families.

And yet, research shows that art can bring light into this darkness:

• Emotional well-being: Creative activities reduce agitation and ease symptoms of depression and anxiety.

• Cognitive stimulation: Painting, drawing, and coloring engage attention, spark imagination, and can trigger memories.

• Social connection: Group art sessions encourage conversation, laughter, and a sense of belonging.

• Self-expression: Even when words fail, art allows patients to communicate feelings and thoughts.

The Alzheimer’s Association notes that while dementia takes away many abilities, the parts of the brain tied to creativity and emotion often remain active. That means art can unlock a space where dignity, joy, and identity are preserved.

Art doesn’t cure dementia, but it creates moments of clarity, joy, and connection. And those moments matter more than we realize.

A Cultural Calling

Growing up in Samoa, honoring elders wasn’t just encouraged — it was a way of life. Our parents and grandparents taught us that the wisdom of older generations was the foundation we stood on. In Samoan culture, elders are the keepers of tradition, the voices of history, and the roots that ground the community.

Later, when I lived in Hawai‘i, I remember how our church would dedicate 1–2 weekends a month to visiting elderly care homes. We would sing, pray, share food, and simply sit with the kūpuna (elders). As a child, I didn’t always understand the depth of those visits, but I could feel it. I saw the joy in their eyes when we came, the way their faces lit up just knowing they weren’t forgotten.

Now, as an adult, those childhood weekends come rushing back every time I step into the memory care center. I see the same need, the same gratitude, the same longing in the patients’ eyes. Some have family who visit faithfully. Others are rarely, if ever, visited. Some are remembered daily, while others are quietly fading in the background of life.

Some are remembered, some are forgotten — but when we create together, no one feels alone.

Being there every Friday is not just volunteering to me; it is a continuation of what I was taught as a child. It’s my culture in action. It’s respect, love, and service expressed through paint, paper, and presence.

Fridays of Color and Connection

Every Friday, the tables are set with pencils, paints, markers, and paper. But what fills the room isn’t just color — it’s spirit.

I’ve seen quiet patients, who usually sit back and watch, suddenly lean forward and begin painting with a confidence that surprises everyone. I’ve seen others laugh as their “mistakes” become masterpieces, full of personality and freedom. And I’ve seen the way encouragement flows around the table — patients complimenting one another, holding up their work proudly, and clapping for each other’s efforts.

Art allows them to tell their story in ways words can’t. A sunflower painted in bright yellows becomes a symbol of joy. A sunset brushed in deep reds and oranges carries the weight of memory. Sometimes, it’s not about what they paint, but about the fact that they painted at all — that they participated, connected, and created something new.

In those moments, the illness doesn’t define them. Creativity does.

More Than Volunteering

What began as a “for fun” idea has become something sacred to me. Each week, I walk in ready to teach — but I always leave having learned more. These patients remind me that life’s value isn’t measured by productivity or memory but by presence, connection, and love.

For them, art is a way to reclaim dignity and joy. For me, it has become a way to honor my culture, my upbringing, and my belief that no one should feel forgotten.

Healing isn’t always about cures. Sometimes, it’s about companionship. Sometimes, it’s about creating beauty in the middle of brokenness.

What I Carry With Me

Every week, I carry their laughter, their smiles, their pride in holding up a finished painting. I carry the quiet strength of those who push through confusion and still choose to create. I carry the reminder that even in life’s hardest seasons, beauty can still be made.

Art heals. Art connects. And every Friday, I get to witness it firsthand — a gift that continues to shape not only my artwork but my heart.