POSTCARDS TO GLASGOW (I): WORK ROOMS
A year of lockdowns and separation. The second year of the Crown Letter. Instead of a letter from Glasgow I wrote to friends whom I have not seen for months or a year or longer. I asked them to send me an image, a postcard of the view that they looked at most over this past year, and to put a few words, on the back of a postcard so to speak, about the view or about what they were doing or thinking as they looked, day after day. This week I received the first four postcards to Glasgow, all are views from work spaces, from friends of over thirty years: a lawyer in Wales, a mental health worker in Oxford and a writer in France, and one from my sister in Bristol. We have been corresponding throughout the pandemic, but for the first time I can sit, in my mind’s eye, at the place where they work, and look out, for a moment, with their eyes.
Assan S. is an artist. Assan is like a brother for me. Assan had an accident and was amputated six months ago. My mother is my mother. My mother is a virus survivor.
Assan makes today his first exhibition at the Invalides, in Paris. In this precise place, his first exhibition since losing his leg. I see him for the first time with his prosthesis, there, at the Invalides. He’s the one supporting my mother, he’s the one missing a leg. This is the best life lesson that I can receive. The sense of Care.