studio afternoon June 4 2020

Finding it difficult to settle to work this afternoon, nevertheless, one drawing of the transit of Mercury is finished; number seven of around fourteen, thus I have reached the half way mark.

I call my mother and her voice brightens on the other end of the telephone as she tells me that it is good to hear my voice. I reply that it is good to hear her's, also and for just a few moments the conversation proceeds on an even keel. It quickly plunges into irretrievable depths,however, as she becomes tearful , describing how she wishes she were dead, she will die of loneliness and isolation. The conversation closes on an angry note as she puts the telephone down, and I am left in a welter of frustration and self hatred for having upset her. She had told me that she was afraid to walk the few steps into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea in case she fell ( she has very little sight and her ability to balance is compromised). I replied that if that were indeed the case then perhaps it was indicative of her need to be in residential care. She became furious with me and I regretted the words as soon as they had left my mouth; I realised that once more I had spoken where perhaps I should have been silent. Why cannot I be kind to her? What would a person for whom kindness is second nature have said? What would someone other than a tired, frightened, despairing daughter have said?

studio morning June 4 2020

I awaken early, before five and the light is beautiful. I make coffee and return to bed without disturbing my partner, but I cannot return to sleep. Instead I get up, go downstairs and photograph the drawings made yesterday of the transit of Mercury 2016. Fragile drawings on lightweight Lokta paper, more like tissue. Following a diagram  printed from the internet showing in one image the passage of the tiny black dot of Mercury making it's way across the face of the sun.

I found it difficult to work yesterday, even though I find pleasure in making this suite of delicate drawings, and fully intend to make more of other recorded transits. Easily distracted from my task and subject to frequent episodes of loss of confidence, I am restless and worried.

'I Remain in Darkness' is a slim text chronicling the decline of a mother, written by the daughter; Annie Ernaux. The mother is suffering from Alzheimer's Dementia. As is my own mother. I am moved to write of our experience, but feel reluctant to expose my mother. I draw, lay down my pencil, pick up the poignant journal of Ernaux, read a little, return to my work, and so it goes until time to prepare the evening meal. I feel a little more settled when it is time to go to bed, but do not sleep restfully and awaken to hear the first carolling of the birds.

My mother is on my mind; it is difficult to concentrate upon drawing, or upon anything, for that matter. The morning and the beginning of the afternoon pass before I commit myself to working, and I am aware that I have not yet called my mother on the telephone. I receive a text message from one of my sisters which closes with the words, "Mum not good today". This message was transmitted yesterday evening, and I missed it, only seeing it this afternoon; I feel an instant shock of alarm and an almost simulataneous stab of guilt. I must hasten to close this journal entry, reply to my sister and call my mother; I shall not be able to return to the drawings until I have done so. A blackbird calls poignantly in the garden, the day is cool and fresh, the air sweet scented, my heart heavy within me.