Art professor finds spirit amidst health nightmare

by Mark McGowan

Jon Ashmann saw combat in Vietnam as a member of the U.S. Marine Corps Special Forces. But the horrors of war pale in comparison to the last four years and the personal hell he has endured and ultimately accepted through his will to live and his expression through drawing. Ashmann, a professor in the School of Art, has Pan Vasculitis, Polyarteritis Nodosaa.

Jon Ashmann

It is a rare and insidious multi-system disorder that causes extreme pain in his hands and feet. Both hands and both feet turned blue and then black, eventually becoming gangrenous. Meanwhile, hemorrhages in both eyes rendered him temporarily blind during a long hospital stay in 1998.

No one, including Ashmann himself, thought he would live.

Yet when his sight returned, though still severely limited, he began to draw.

The drawings, more than 200 of them, were completed with one continuous line and in black marker. They looked nothing like anything Ashmann had drawn before and, most telling, looked like the work of a man in anguish: Heads are separated from bodies, and hands and feet are enlarged.

"As soon as I started to see something, I started drawing," Ashmann said. "I call them my `pain drawings.' They're reactions to drugs, to surgical procedures. They're reaction to pain."

Following his release from the hospital, Ashmann had the drawings scanned into his computer, enlarged them and added color and some detail electronically. About 50 of the completed works were collected for a one-person show called "Second Chance."

It exhibited in March at the Silpakorn International Gallery at Silpakorn University in Bangkok, where Ashmann had given lectures the previous year. The president, the dean, the faculty and the students all were impressed with Ashmann's positive energy and his hospital bed creations.

Initial encouragement came in November of 2000 from the university community at the Universidade Federal de Paraiba, in Brazil, where he completed a one-person show with lectures.

"Everyone was so amazed at my resolve and energy during this period of tremendous challenge," he said.

His illness changed his art, he added.

"It's completely different. Most of my work had been in the realm of professional design, and of a technical nature," said Ashmann, who also is the area coordinator for the Visual Communication Program at NIU. "This is freehand, and of the mind. Sometimes a traumatic experience is, unfortunately, really good material for work."

Understandably, however, work became an enormous chore. He missed an entire year of classes.

The illness forced Ashmann, who lives in suburban Northbrook, to ride a train to Fox Lake every morning to catch a ride to DeKalb with Harry Wirth, a colleague and professor in the design division of the School of Art. The three-hour process was reversed in the evening, creating a six-hour round-trip commute to campus.

Ashmann now can drive himself.

Students sometimes saw their professor enter the classroom in a wheelchair or with the help of a cane. He carries three pairs of glasses with him, one pair of which are actually binoculars. He endured two years of chemotherapy and, until recently, kept a cot in his office for when his stamina waned.

"I wanted to show real positive energy to the students," he said, "that even when you have real severe challenges, you can contribute something positive. It's what's in your head."

Ashmann continues to suffer great pain and visual impairment. An undergraduate types, files and reads for him. His calendar includes numerous doctor's appointments and monthly surgery on his feet, which makes him susceptible to infection. He also takes pain killers with six times the strength of morphine to cope with the soreness.

But he welcomes the challenge of rising every morning for work, and even has stepped up his travel schedule.

Recent journeys to conduct student workshops or give lectures have taken him to Cambodia, Canada, the Czech Republic, Egypt, India, Israel, Italy, Japan, Jordan, Lithuania, Myanmar, Poland, Thailand and Turkey.

This summer he will direct a program in Italy called "Design and Architecture in Italy." Upon completion of this program, he has plans to visit Beijing, China.

"If I don't continue to work and travel, I'm going to deteriorate," said Ashmann, who admits he was ready to die four years ago. "The reason I'm here is because of my family. My wife told me, `The kids are too young. They need you. You can't go now.' "

Ashmann and his wife, Susan, are the parents of three children, 22-year-old Aaron, 20-year-old Steven and 18-year-old Elizabeth.

Despite his pain, he already is looking toward his next challenge: writing a book.

"I need to move on to the next project," he said. "I have a positive human story to tell. I went though hell, and I was able to come back."