No, we shall not cease from exploration

Back home. Artist still coughing. Doctor. Infection in one lung. Antibiotics finally. Amoxicillin. Two children settle in. Shopping. Basics. Artist's work acknowledged by artist's husband on return from shops. Two pieces still on wall. Other pieces by wall clocked too. Situation normal, as left. Artist's materials on small table. The work ahead viewed like a shimmering prospect in the snow. It is as if everywhere still on holiday. I chomp at the bit. Artist lies in bed. Children refamiliarise. This year will be a good year for the artist. The purpose of the blog, namely the finding of a show, goes on. Patience difficult today. The starter's pistol fired but no one has begun race yet. To do so feels like cheating. Our son is sitting on floor beside me. He is making a day-glo pair of spectacles. His legs are straight but crossed at ankles and his concentration impressive. Our daughter is in bed with her mother, the artist. I reach for the John Ruskin book to my left. (Every time I hear the word revolution, I reach for my culture.) On Art and Life. When he writes about the soul of the Gothic, I am compelled to think of the artist. 1. Savageness. Well, not exactly in her work, though the interpretation may be wrong. 2. Changefulness. There may be one main theme in present work but it does shift like the seasons, or roll like an apple on a deck, and is at times also a love of change. 3. Naturalism. In this artist's work? I should co-co. The artist loves nature, enough to place her most precious being in the work. 4. Grotesqueness. Not anymore, though there is a whispered element of disturbed imagination in the corners of some work. 5. Rigidity. Well, there is a kind of deliberate rigidity in some of it too, a reflection of well worked principles, creative obstinacy. 6. Redundance. If by redundance the great John Ruskin really means generosity, then most certainly. Anyway, please get well soon, artist. I place the book back on the shelf. New people have moved into the flat above. I can hear their unfamiliar footsteps on the bare floorboards. We wish you well.