Summer 2019. I was on a roll. I had just exhibited and sold one of my artworks in the somewhat prestigious Harley Gallery. Sunshine was plentiful. British sunshine. The kind you want sunshine to be like. The kind that frames all your childhood memories. The kind that my “straw” trilby hat and shades could easily cope with, as I sat in the gallery courtyard sipping my latte, being careful not to disturb its frothy top. Life was good, and would continue to be so through the cool winter months ahead. Until the unexpected happened.
Early 2020. An allegedly life-threatening disease came in, allegedly, from the East. Allegedly. Something to do with bats and test tubes. Rumours and conspiracy theories were rife. And that was when, over the horizon came the first of a trilogy of lockdowns, broadcasting their soon to be legalised directions: “Stay indoors! Cover your face! No physical contact! No touching!” The lockdowns didn’t really bother me. As long as I have a sketchbook and laptop, I swear I could easily do solitary. What bothered me, and does so to this day, is what happened next.
On July 19th 2022, we all stepped outside. It was a bit like one of those sci-fi movies, when they take off their space helmets on an unfamiliar planet, to see if it’s okay to breathe the air. The Lockdown Tripods had gone. It was okay to breathe. But was everything else okay? I felt like the character in “28 Days Later”, or “Day of the Triffids”, who woke up one morning to discover the world was no longer how he had known it.
I took a drive out to my usual sketchbook haunts, only to find that several places where I used to stop in the past for a drink or a meal, were gone. They hadn’t survived the pandemic. I took a drive in the opposite direction and immediately incurred penalty charges for entering what had previously been a much used familiar lane, but was now restricted for buses only. When did that happen? And what about all the new buildings along the skyline? Some people must have had a very busy lockdown. I must have not got the e-mail.
The last four years have gone by fast. After the lockdowns a high percentage of people did not return to their workplace, choosing instead to continue working from the seclusion of home, like they’d gotten used to it. A notable percentage, though capable, chose to not work at all and let others pay the taxes. We got four Prime Ministers in four years. More blades in city streets than the cutlery drawers of Buckingham Palace. A country that once took down the Luftwaffe, now no match for a rubber dinghy. Everything seems broken. Remember that song about walking along city streets where there’s “Always something left to remind me”? Well, there isn’t. Or if there is, it’s fading fast.
All text & art copyright ian gordon craig.
