"things happen appropriate to the time"

 

So sayeth Mrs Brown, the stalwart mother in Enid Bagnold's National Velvet, a book which was given to my by my maternal grandmother, and which, as a child and adolescent, I read over and over again. 

If M had not recovered to return to a fulfilling life, if I had found myself struggling to cope with a profoundly devasting situation, the new drawings, 'with my mother in her garden at sunset', could never have been made. As it was, I persisted with the grid drawings until I had exhausted their possibilities, during the time of M's receovery. Now that he is well, and receiving care to offset the subtle health changes wrought upon his being by Covid 19, I am at liberty to take up my work again in a way that feels meaningful. I have discovered that I need solitude from other artists to make my work, in point of fact, I am now quite sure of my various needs in terms of making art in a way that I was not before. I need to be, if not ecstatic, then at least able to distance myself from everyday worries and cares. It appears to be all about finding a balance- when I work, although, as the title of my new work bears witness, I do have my mother and her ongoing pitiful situation in mind, I am now able to create a happiness bubble in order to proceed. The capacity for choosing to take a positive line when I approach my work is now available to me. 

M has survived and is retired from work. We garden, talk, walk, and work each at our respective tasks.We have enjoyed the summer thus, despite often shy weather; for every day is a gift. I feel as though, to coin a phrase, a burden has been lifted from my shoulders. Each day I give thanks for his life.

'With my mother in her garden at sunset' is dedicated to my mother.Some years ago, after a day of labour in the garden that had come to be hers on my father's death, we paused to watch a most exquisite, delicate sunset. Lavender, rose, apricot, lemon; it seemed as though all colours were present in subtle hue, as the lights in the sky faded to allow the mitigating presence of a profound inky darkness. We were silent for a spell, as though to speak would shatter the perfection , before we stretched our weary limbs, and, quietly put tools away before stealing back to the house, where we lit the fire and settled with a glass of wine apiece, to take rest in the early Autumn dusk.