Solitude. (First published November12 2020)
The American realist painter, Edward Hopper died over half a century ago, he lived in a different era and yet his art resonates beautifully to the strange times we are all living through.
His psychological paintings, created between the 1920's and 1950's, embody the artist's view that
"a nation's art is greatest when it most reflects the character of its people."
There certainly seems to be a 'stillness' that has descended here in the London suburb where I live. The sun is shining, (thank goodness, for small mercies) and there is a feeling of eerie calm. The streets are empty except for other dog walkers, like me, and we respectfully give each other maximum distance.
There is a feeling of tranquility, quiet, stillness.
So, unlike a few months or so ago. Those times of frenetic energy, rushing around, coffee cups in hand, phones to ears, bodies crushing, short tempers, me first, work, work. work. Ignorant of our fellow men and women. Me, me, me.
And now... enforced solitude.
We must stay away from others; we must find ease in our interior world.
We will have time to discover who we are, until, that is, the coronavirus dies a death, and we can return to our mad lives.... if indeed we want to.
Be safe. Be strong.
