“And so it was that I awoke one morning to find coldness in the bed beside me, in the place where Judy always had slept beside me. She was gone – suddenly and absolutely. I still remember the horrible chill of that moment. I know how traumatic that dreadful separation was for me, but I can only begin to imagine what it must have been like for Judy. She not only lost me and our unique connection, she lost her family, her home, her neighborhood, her whole world. Instead she found herself lost in a circle of hell; a place devoid of all hope.
“That night, on our father’s return from the State Institution at Columbus, I hid round the corner to listen. I remember hearing him say that Judy had been frightened in the elevator, had cried out and clung to him. Mother seemed to find some comfort in remembering the pretty yellow dress she had worn. He looked tired. I felt a sadness descending on our family. Deep cold waters spreading and shadows in the corners that remained.”
–from an essay by Joyce Scott on the childhood institutionalization of her late sister Judith, the famous “Outsider” artist