Well, how are we all today? Coping, barely coping, or climbing the walls?
Hopefully, over the next couple of weeks, I'll have a couple of book giveaways for you (you're never alone with a book), and myself and the team at the Street Level Gallery are investigating how we can present my cancelled Oscar Marzaroli talk as an online audio visual presentation. A wee technical challenge for us (when we are doing everything online, rather than face to face) and, hopefully, a wee bit of a distraction and artistic inspiration for all us self-isolators.
It's odd to think that a teenage Oscar spent time in self-isolation, when a recurrence of his childhood TB saw him spend a year in Kingussie Sanatorium. Not long after he got well again, he was in a motorcycle accident. Aye, lucky white heather.
Thing is, it was the time he spent alone - reading every book he could get his hands on, listening to music on records and the wireless - that helped form him, both as a man, and a photographer; he knew how precarious and random life could be, and wanted to squeeze every last ounce out of the time remaining to him.
Much as we treasure his images as a visual record of a vanished Glasgow, for Oscar, I think, they were as much a personal diary, proof that he was still here, still recording, still creating. Still alive.
This almost post-apocalyptic 1964 image of the Gorbals, looking towards the Southern Necropolis, serves as a perfect memento mori, and reminds us all that, in life, we are in death; we're all just passing through. It's what we leave behind that matters.
If that all feels a bit grim, look outside, the sun is shining, the birds singing, the daffodils already nodding their yellow heads, and the bushes and trees coming back into bud.
Like them, come the end of these dark days, let us all re-emerge bursting with a fresh appetite for life, love and the things that really matter.