Pictures

Getting near the end of my endeavours in artwork; worked on sporadically over a few years circa 1995; never finished and never likely to be. Not bad for a first attempt at portraiture in oils tho, I suppose. I love working with oil paint - for the olfactory treat if nothing else - just not very expert in it.

Harry Stevens was a lonely and justifiably crotchety old man. I made it my business to visit regularly - being the one out of about one hundred associates of his who could identify with something of his plight.

The photograph on which this painting is based was taken 6 months before he died; he had been diagnosed as having cancer of the liver only a few days previously.
I sat with him during the last hour of his life, while it took more than the strength he had to do nothing but breathe, and watched as he breathed his last.
Strangely, I felt or regarded this as some kind of 'priviledged' experience at the time - maybe, still do. It's the only time in my life I've been witness to the death of anyone.

I'm sure there are plenty who have witnessed death first-hand and would not describe the experience as 'priviledged' in any sense but, I'm not meaning to draw paralells or make comparisons between my experience, and my perception of such, and that of anyone else.