On February 20th, I badly injured my left leg while at the gym. It's a long story, but the bare facts are that I was in driven pursuit of a goal and I was careless. I was not paying attention to my immediate surroundings.
Afterwards, I was basically bedridden for two weeks and then I had to have surgery. In all the weeks since my injury, I've worn a full leg brace and now it's been seven weeks that I've been confined to my house.
I posted bits of my story and some sketches I made on social media. People were lovely and sympathetic, of course. They urged me to have patience and fortitude. Life went on as usual in the world outside my own.
Then, the pandemic hit and soon, everyone was confined. My personal story blended in with the world's story. I had a four week's head start for sheltering at home, so I knew what it meant.
Now we are all trying to be patient and have fortitude. We are all trying to stay whole, healthy, and sane.
I've on and off felt like drawing throughout this period. I've had some really down moments, as have we all. I miss my family so much. I miss my friends. I miss walking. I miss all sorts of physical activity. I miss being in my studio and working on my painting project. Under these circumstances, both personal and societal, sadness is normal.
But this will pass. All things do.
Here are some sketches I've made in these past weeks.
As soon as the pain medications diminished, I felt like drawing. The bedside table was handy.
As days went on, I found myself obsessed by the bottle of hand sanitizer on my table. While I was drawing it, I realized that the bubbles in the bottle, frozen as they were in viscous liquid, sheathed as they were in harsh plastic, felt like me, my spirit, my ability to move. I was drawing self portraits.
Bored with my bedside, I drew faces from Netflix screen captures. It was something different to do:
Kind friends brought food and flowers. These gorgeous sunflowers captured my longing for vitality and the sun:
Well, and there was always, and again, that bedside table. It grew crowded with jostling objects. It still is.
Tulips from a beloved friend seemed to yearn for freedom after a few days in a pot on my bookshelf. They became another self portrait.
Eventually I was able to sit in my garden, in a wheelchair, and draw a bit.
So here I am and there we are. Together, I hope. Patient, I hope. Blessed with fortitude, I pray. I send my best wishes to all and my deepest hope for a brighter world waiting.
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