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.

studio evening May 28 2020

My place of work on the evening of a day of warmth towards the end of May. This month has seen day upon day of gloriously fine weather.The evenings have been particularly beautiful, calm and filled with birdsong; the bees working the cotoneaster outside the sitting room window do not leave their labours until late, so can be heard humming throughout the evening hours.

On my drawing board lie drawings made of eggs; the lower image showing 'looking glass' eggs, that is, drawings made of decorated eggs, drawn from my imagination, inspired by the oriental glass egg which can be seen gleaming softly in the tranquil evening light. I am looking forward to making further drawings of decorated eggs; eggs with landscapes drawn upon the surface, when I receive the Japanese papers, as the lokta paper, which I am using at present, is too soft; the fibres easily disturbed. It is good to have these drawings to work on, however, whilst I await the arrival of the Japanese paper and the Eyewitness Handbook; I am also moved to procure some plain wooden eggs to draw upon, having first rendered the surface with gesso. I would love to try silverpoint, but will begin with graphite and colour pencil; after all, the decorated eggs may not be as I wish them to be!

These small drawings, despite the fragile surface of the lokta paper, give me much pleasure to make, and I am reminded of the delight I have in Japanese cups and saucers, particularly those with delicate little landscapes painted thereon . I remember wishing to make a series of photographs entlitled, 'mountains, lakes and little houses', the series documenting the painted cups and saucers I have in my possession; I suppose I could yet fulfill that desire.For now, however, I shall refrain and direct my attentions towards the drawings, it is enough to fill my workplace with frail, small drawings, a plethora of 'painted' eggs.

studio afternoon May 28 2020

My workplace on a breezy, sunlit afternoon in May. We are experiencing a run of fair weather; the days are akin to Summer days, and our little garden is burgeoning with new growth. As mentioned previously, the ox-eye daisies are at full throttle; a mound of snowy white blooms massed over the path. Buttercups and pink campion, the elegant  lustred bells of the tall campanular we brought from the lodge in Hampshire, columbine and thick grasses; all are flourishing and gladden my heart when I sit out in the garden.

I am restless, about to begin new work, awaiting the arrival of the Japanese papers and the Dorling Kindersley Eyewitness Guide. There are preparations to be made; tracings of the outlines of birds eggs as depicted in my old books- I can at least make a beginning, although the 'collection' of tracings will not be completed until I have in my possession the Eyewitness Guide.

Small pieces of tissue paper to make tracings of the eggs are needed, so, under the supervision of our gentle tabby cat, I begin to tear down large sheets of tissue. It feels good to be making these preparations, and although I am a trifle fidgety, it is the positive restlessness I experience just before embarking upon a new series of drawings.

Do I need new pencils? Choosing and purchasing new pencils is one of life's pleasures. One of the preparations I shall make is to sort through my pencils and select 'egg' pencils; subtle ochres, velvety browns, greeny blues and ink blacks. As I sit to make this post in my partner's little study at the back of the house, I can hear the flutey sounds of a blackbird in the garden; it seems most appropriate to be about to embark upon a series of drawings of eggs at this time of the year.

studio evening May 26 2020

On the drawing board lie my old books on bird's eggs and my Observer's book on astronomy; I do also have an Observer's book on bird's eggs, but have frustratingly misplaced it. I have made a beginning to the long series of drawings of bird's eggs, by tracing the outlines of some thirty eggs on tissue paper, to be transposed onto the Japanese paper when the paper arrives; I have, with great excitement, ordered a pack of fifty sheets, which I should be able to tear down into four pieces, thereby yielding some two hundred small sheets.

I have also made a return to drawing imaginary configurations of stars on black paper, whilst I am awaiting the arrival of the Japanese papers, although I may work on both series of drawings concurrently. It may be that I make drawings of the named constellations on black paper; I would love to do this , but am uncertain about my capabilities. Even so there is something about the connectedness of stars and eggs which stimulates my mind, and makes me long to depict the named and 'real' as well as the imaginary.

I did make a series of 'looking glass', or painted egg drawings; I have in my possession a glass egg, with a scene of mountains, lakes and little houses painted upon the inside with great delicacy and exquisiteness. I believe it is Japanese. Using it as inspiration, I drew a small series of my own, painted eggs, even depicting the small hole at the base of the egg through which the paintbrush was originally inserted. Where are these drawings? I no longer have them. Periodic departures of self confidence and bouts of despair are a blight upon my practice; I destroyed the drawings, but that does not mean that I may make no more, indeed, I have determined to begin again, this time with, I hope , enhanced skills and clearer vision. Perhaps I may even draw an egg covered with stars, or with a starry sky depicted, as it were, on the inside of the egg.

With the same thrill of excitement with which I ordered the papers, I have also sourced a copy of the Dorling Kindersley Eyewitness Guide to bird's eggs, and ordered it; when both arrive, I shall embark upon the long series of bird egg drawings about which I feel so much optimism and anticipatory pleasure. The book will come from a bookshop in Petersfield, Hampshire, which is where one of my sisters lives with her husband, so I feel a sense of connection with my family, and with a little town  I know so well, and for which I have great affection. A link with home.

workplace evening, May 2020

Grid drawings made over the course of the last few days. I have worked intensely upon these drawings for a number of days, but am without warning plunged into doubt and insecurity; are these careful drawings just a  means of passing the time, a kind of therapy without artistic merit, or are they drawings to be taken seriously? I cannot decide, and am somewhat cast down, so take my wavering self into the garden where the sight of the ox -eye daisies, just now at full pelt takes my breath away; they are exquisely beautiful and so generous in their beauty. I am restored to myself; resolve to put aside the grid drawings for the present, and begin a long series of works for which I have made some preparatory drawings, namely a series of drawings of British birds eggs. I have a couple of old books illustrating bird's eggs, but according to a dear friend, L, the best book to be had is the Eyewitness Guide, published by Dorling Kindersley. I am also seeking papers on which to draw, and she sends me links to an Art Supplier who carry Japanese and Chinese papers.

Resolve, newly awakened and made keen, is a wonderful restorative. I hasten indoors, where I clear my drawing board, put away the grid drawings, and find my books of bird's eggs, promising myself to order the papers on the morrow, and perhaps to order the Eyewitness Guide.

the evening after

My work place on the evening of the day before my mother's birthday. I have just short of a dozen grid drawings made over the course of the past week. They are difficult to photograph; it is easier to show them thus, perhaps scanning them directly into the computer would be the ideal. Each drawing takes around two or three hours to make, and involves intense concentration and effort. If I have one or two drawings at the close of each day, I am delighted. Sometimes, on a good day, I achieve three. After each couple of drawings, I re sharpen my pencils; a deeply satisfying ritual, and then set aside time to appraise my work. I keep the finished drawings in the top drawer of our plan chest in the back bedroom of our rented house, where I have an old Lloyd Loom chair in which I sit, the chest drawer open,  so that I can look upon the work accumulated  during the course of the past days.

This particular evening is warm and windy, the wind chime sounding with vigour from our neighbour's garden. I can hear, as I have been able to all week, the sound of the bees busy at the blossoms on the shrub just outside the open window.

It is difficult to explain to my mother just why we shall be unable to visit her on her birthday and spend the day with her; she does not understand the notion of 'social distancing'. There is pain in my heart, as I should like to be with her, to sit in the beautiful garden together. As it is, I try to persuade her that her birthday is to be postponed, not cancelled, or not celebrated, but just put back for a while, until restrictions are lifted. I may as well attempt to convince a three year old. Part of my mother's undoubted charm are her child like enthusiasms and candour, but in this instance her tendency toward child like behaviour is robbing her of the capacity to cultivate patience and thereby attain something approaching peace of mind.