My Dad always used to say (when I and my siblings came out with the usual childhood yells of “It’s not fair!”) “Whoever told you that life is fair?” He was right, of course, but I can’t shake off the hope that perhaps there might be fairness in life’s dealings with me.
The last few days have seen really nice weather. I devoted two whole days mainly to household repairs and maintenance. I took part in a community litter-pick. Then, yesterday, I drove all the way to Dent, in North Yorkshire, in order to spend the day with my step-daughter and her husband. Each of these days could (in theory) have been spent collecting reference material for a couple of pictures I have in mind. In a world that was fair, wouldn’t I have earned a little good luck in the form of time to myself?
I don’t mind it raining today, because my friends and I decided that we were going to climb on the inside wall in Leeds anyway. The next two days (or perhaps more) are now forecast to be thoroughly wet. What is more, the national frenzy of panic-buying of petrol would make an artistic foray into the countryside to be a dodgy proposition anyway. I shall be stuck inside thinking that I could really be spending my time to better purpose. It really isn’t fair!
The trip to Dent was, I have to admit, good. The countryside in that part of North Yorkshire is a source of wonder. There is such a feeling of enormous space and remoteness. I suppose that it is typical of me, however, that as an artist I found the most arresting things to be a hollow tree and the shape of rocks in the river bed.