Painting Grayson

At last the daily death rate in the UK appears to be falling rapidly. Although the timing is broadly in line with my original projections, it may be seen that the initial rate of infection was much higher, and the total numbers increased rapidly. Once lockdown was imposed, the curve flattened dramatically and I have revised the predicted total rate downwards to 40,000, and at the current rate, the final figure from this first wave is likely to be nearer 30,000 deaths. The lockdown has certainly been effective, and will soon be eased. But the one certainty is how little we know of this Chinese disease, only time can tell what will happen next.

Flowers from Mary-Anne

We received a mystery box in the post today, which contained six small pots of flowers, bright and cheerful. We discovered that Mary-Anne had sent it, which was lovely surprise.

We are also continuing our painting. We were inspired by Grayson Perry's new Channel 4 program, Art Club. On television he is boisterous and lively, with a ready laugh and totally encouraging to the artists who send him their work, but Ann looked him up to discover he came from a very poor background with a dreadful childhood. In homage I chose to paint a portrait of him and his wife, Philippa, who in contrast was from a very wealthy background having been to bording school and finishing school in Switzerland. I have therefore portrayed him with a deep, sad look rather that the jocular face he shows the world. Also, I have painted him in straight dress rather than his trademark doll-like cross dressing. Knowing now something of his background, I believe this is part of his front to the world, a thin cover for a deep unhappiness.

Grayson and Philippa Perry

His wife appears in the programmes as someone who is always there for him. I believe she is fiercly loyal, and would defend Grayson to the death. I have therefore tried to show her as standing behind his shoulder, with a look of  gritty determination to defend him from anyone who dares to attack him. She is an artist in her own right, but also a professional psychotherapist. She has a very round face, accentuated by huge circular glasses that dominate her face. They have already turned our lives to a new direction, and are both so expressive it is a pleasure to paint them.

Moving on

Moving on

This silent lockdown
has made me analyse
the story of my life,
the gains, the losses,
the constant proding
of memories past,
time for me to reconnect
with those I loved most dear
and put away the cruel sham
that has trapped me here.

Annie Elliott

Many of my previous blogs have railed against the lockdown, the restrictions to freedom, the huge economic destruction, and the loss of the local pubs. It is time to redress the balance and consider the gains this enforced stillness has given us.

For Ann, it has given a time for reflection to think of her life, her memories, her friends and relatives near or distant who have meant so much. For me, more exercise than I have done in a long time, walking the dogs daily; some gardening (but let me not overstate this virtue); to carry out repairs that have been waiting, sometimes for a few years; to connect with our family directly each week through HouseParty and the quiz night. Also, and so valuable, a quiet time of peace, with little work coming in, and no high-level conference calls or travel to London or beyond to visit companies; no queueing in traffic jams down the M11, or facing the horrific squash of tube trains at rush hour. Also a time for pastimes such as the painting we have started. I'm just sorry we don't have access to lessons - we are having to find our own path with no guide. We may not be earning much money, but the respite is a delight - almost the first time I have been so idle since childhood.

Kingfisher by Ann

Outside the home, there have also been many blessings from all of this. There is a tremendous sense of peace, with no traffic, no children running down the street, no harassed mums dragging them to school each day, or crowding their cars along the road at 3:15pm. On the dog walk, one garden has hung celebratory discs from the tree with rainbows, and put a large painted wooden disc with a message of optimism. There air seems cleaner, with no airoplanes above. In the garden, the birdsong is louder and more cheerful than I have heard it for years, We are seeing all types of birds, even a kingfisher flew into the front garden and landed on the table before flying off to the hedging, while overhead, so high it was hard to follow, a large bird of prey, possibly a buzzard, was turning on the wind, barely moving its wings as it looked for lift. For the first time for many months, I am not getting hospital appointments - though that is probably an uncertain blessing, as all my checkups and follow-up scans have been cancelled.

Message in a Hundon garden 

No, such times as these may never return once the "new normal" fades into history to become the "old normal". I know the majority will want to get this time behind them, but for now, it is wonderful to enjoy this special time and - for those not stricken with the dread bug - consider how fortunate we are.

Stay at home to stay active

We have a lovely fishpond in our garden. I can speak fondly of it for I dug it out myself many years ago, when I was young and healthy and capable of solid labour. The pump and filter were powered by a cable underground to a switch in the house, but a couple of years ago it stopped working and each time we switched it on it blew a fuse in the fuse box. The cable itself was old: it had been installed before we moved in to feed a light in the garden. Beside being buried, it now lies under the patio and somehow comes up inside the wall to the light switch, so it cannot be simply replaced.

Since the pump stopped, the pond has become green and overgrown, though the fish still seem to survive and breed. We've had it cleaned a couple of times, but now I have time off I decided to lay in a new wire, so spent the morning drilling through the garage wall and connecting a new cable to the garage supply, which is easier than trying to go back to the house. Unfortunately, the old pump has now seized up, but our son-in-law had a spare one, larger and better than my original, which he's brought round for us. As the pump wire is also buried until it emerges at the pond, I have had to send for an underwater connector. Next job will be to connect them up.

We had another family quiz night last night, run by Andy. It was much harder this week, but next week Edwin and Andre will run it, so it might be even worse! I will plead for a few easy questions. However, an article in today's paper suggests that social isolation is even worse for our health than smoking, so I'm grateful for all contact to keep us in touch with each other, even difficult quizzes. Also, a lovely snippet in The Irish Times: "For God's sake reopen the pubs soon, before we all become alcoholics!" A nice thought, but what with that and with isolation being as bad as smoking, I think they are killing us all off without any need for a doomsday virus.

A problem with painting

A room with a view

 Ann sits by the window reading as she sups her wine. The sun is streaming in, and it's hard to believe the world is not to rights. I did a little more work this morning, meaning I clipped the hedge back. The garden is so green and peaceful, Ann couldn't resist taking a photo to record these days of confinement.

I cannot believe painting is so fraught with problems. I expected it to be a peaceful, relaxing task to fill an hour or two during our lockdown, but there always seem to be complications to the simplest thing. A couple of days ago, Ann painted a modern skyscraper scene with a background of bright stormy cadmium yellow (please note, I am beginning to learn the technical details already!). Our painting set has quite small tubes, and I had used a lot of titanium white, so we ordered some replacements. The tubes are no bigger than 15 gm, so we tried to order a slightly larger size. Today, the yellow arrived with a note saying they were out of our order, so they were sending a substitute. It is a two litre tub of the stuff, enough to equip a whole art school for a year or two, I should think. How I am supposed to pour a drop or two onto my palette to mix in with some other colour I do not know.

We plan to have our second quiz night tonight with the children. Even that is not easy; it has grown more popular, so more of our extended family want to join in. However, HouseParty can only host 8 groups, so we tried a new one: Discord. I can only say, its name describes its problems. I logged on with Matthew to test the system, but even the voice channel kept breaking up to the point of being inaudible. I think we will have to revert to HouseParty, and take turns to drop out each week.

One helpful bit of news: we have identified the shrub I asked about yesterday (see Art and identifying shrubs). Robin was quite right: it is Red Robin. A neighbour of ours has planted some for his hedging, and seeing him outside today I was able to call across and ask him. Further verification came from a fellow villager in Hundon, who sent a comment to yesterday's blog also identifying it. Now we will try to order some for home delivery. Thank you all for your help and support in these difficult times.

Art and identifying shrubs

What hedging shrub is this?

We are hoping to plant some hedging between us and our neighbour's house. We have some in the front hedge which has lovely red stems, and bright red leaves that die down to a nondescript green. It grows to well over 2 meters and seems to be in leaf all the year, but is not a beech. Our friend Robin, a keen gardener, thinks it might be Red Robin, but the book of words thinks this is a smaller shrub. If anyone can recognise it, I'll try to order some more.

I received my letter from the NHS today, confirming I am on the list of vulnerable people and therefore to be treated with kid gloves. The restrictions they advise are too onerous: not going out at all, even for exercise or to walk the dogs; wholly separate facilities such as room and towels; even sleeping in separate beds. It's bad enough as it is - I would not like to be forced to endure further confinement.

Daughter Lucy

Ann and I continued our art therapy this afternoon, whereby I attempted a portrait of Lucy. It is very therapeutic, for me if not for Lucy. The total concentration forces one to relax and move at a slow pace, with a vague sense of achievement even for such poor efforts. Lucy is a sport and says she loves it! Thank goodness her name isn't Meghan or she might have sued me.
 I still have much to learn in this game while it is still fun. For the eyes, particularly, I must find a thinner brush as they look like heavy mascara. Also I need to learn how to graduate shading; at the moment it looks more like "painting by numbers". Perhaps I would do better just sticking to leaves, like the picture above.

The artistic life

envelope

Typhoid
cholera
TB
stalked the Victorian house
they did not imprison
but took their chances
hoping and praying
for divine intervention
Darwin's fittest survival
not cowered in solitary confinement
where loved ones die alone
no cuddles,
no sweet caress
just a letter of gratitude
from kith or kin
read by a gentle nurse
with tears in weary eyes
frightened it will be their turn next
to pass the envelope

Annie Elliott

Ann writes much that is raw emotion, but direct, as she rails against confinement and petty hypocrisy. She also thinks deeply and produces work that is intense and moving, as in her new poem, envelope. We are all too aware of death stalking the country, looking for a way into our lives to cripple and destroy all it can. Relationships, trust, livelihoods, whole careers and hopes, are being taken. Even the young, immune we hope from the virus, will be affected by loss of education or close elderly relatives, and by rising unemployment, incipient inflation, and a reduction in available finance and support for university or work.

Many young couples in their twenties will have been devastated by the wrecking of their marriage plans, unable to arrange their future lives together or gather their clans to celebrate a birth or mourn a death. Edwin's partner, Andre, was due to fly home this summer for his sister's wedding but this too is cancelled and he does not know when he may see his family again.

My own efforts at poetry are more mundane than Ann's, and alas my artistic efforts are no better than the poetry. The art equipment arrived yesterday (see Doing time), though this sounds grander than the actuality, i.e. a pad of paper, a packet of brushes (made in China!) and a set of paints. I decided to do a portrait of Edwin as a young boy, and have learnt now why artists are considered so radical, with the world set against them. Though copied from an old photo, it looks like a parody of a young man. Edwin says it looks like Lucy, and Ann says I must have been thinking of her subconsciously. No I wasn't! Please accept, it was not meant to be insulting or an unconscious Freudian representation; I am just a poor artist.

Portrait of Edwin as a young man

A Scientific Epitaph

My life is run,
My journey done.
My telomeres drop one by one,
Till one more gasp
And John is gone.

Doing time

Sacrifice

sacrificing the old for the young
is now the mantra of democracy
who cares if corona's shadows
stalk the roof of wrinkled tiles
time to bring out your dead
paint the crumbling caravan
set the ancient wood afire
for the old have had their time

New Hell
If I am jailed much longer
I shall lose my fragile mind,
I would rather face my chances
with COVID's cruel caress
than live in a prison cell
with chains and slavery's manacles
within this lock down hell.

Tomorrow
tomorrow
will be a better day
God willing
I will put away my hating hat
find my compassionate beret
put it in cheeky fashion askew
on my very bemused head
and stop wishing myself ,
and everyone else,
would drop down dead

Annie Elliott

The powers that be now say we can go for a short drive to take a long walk. For me, even a short walk counts as long, and a short drive is anywhere out of Hundon, so after yesterday's rain when we could go nowhere, I drove out of the village to  walk along the reservoir approach road. This is concreted and less muddy than the fields, and the dogs enjoyed getting back in the car after all these weeks.

Ann does not come and has been prolifically producing poetry. Much of it is the inner scream against confinement; Ann more than most could not bear to be locked in, restricted, imprisoned. Even after her Caesarean section she was up in a day, and home two days later, only agreeing to be wheel-chaired to the car because it was a condition of her discharge.

Now we see no one, go nowhere, not even a simple drive, and the pain is growing intense, though eased occasionally with a better day, as in Tomorrow.  It is raining again, so no more work in the garden or more country walks. Just four walls, and moving from room to room to vary the scene. We even have a television in the bedroom so we can sometimes sit up there to watch it as a change from down stairs all day.

We do a lot more reading, and the crosswords. Ann has also sent for some paints and paper, so inspired by Grayson Perry's Art Club, we will try our hand at some art. The results will certainly be amusing, and it will pass an hour or two. Who knows, if the pictures are vaguely recognisable, I might even publish one or two in this blog!