A Hard Day's Night

The artist slept deeply beside me. Knowing her, she was probably dreaming about the new piece on the wall, unfestering, already certain, autonomous, but the body at least was enjoying some kind of respite. It needed it. I could hear the children in their room too. They were also sleeping: their sigh-like breathing and occasional small splutter drifting water-like across the small bay of the flat. It was like something conspicuously unpainted, our little scene. The new and slightly imposing security light from the next door garden sent shadows across the window's one wooden blind, as a long branch waved with might not indignation in the nocturnal wind. I couldn't sleep but was not restless. I could see our four selves as if on camera from high above - an overhead shot of a sleeping mostly family - and was reminded that much that is beautiful in life is often unwitnessed. It is a serious business this life thing, too. I like to think I am at ease with it, but it is not always easy being a father and husband, and I am still awaiting news of a possible posting abroad. (I have been waiting so long now I feel like it has all been sent to test me.) But at least I have in my way been fortifying the artist's spirit, in between raised hopes and baffled patience. This fortifying is important. It is also fundamental. It is not easy, I imagine, being an artist at the best of times. But to be a great one does and will involve sacrifice. That the artist makes what she does seem like no sacrifice at all is to her enormous credit. But there are sacrifices. She does not for example indulge in a normal person's idea of recreation. She is not a zombie to whatever life in the form of a weakened culture throws at her. For her, any time not spent mothering is time that could be spent working. When some of the other mothers complain of exhaustion, I always think of the artist, and of what she goes through. At least the artist's work is good. It would be a nightmare if I loved this person and the work was bad. The love would be fine but the horizon would feel less worldly. No, I have said this before but the more I am familiar with the new work, the more I am convinced it is very serious. I fell asleep eventually. I must have, otherwise I wouldn't be living this dream.