Most Unlikely, Listening and Loving Arab Music; There Is Hope – The Story of a Painting Found in the Tate Britain and in Watt’s Gallery; A Muse on the Hope Found at Watt’s Gallery; The Advantages of Being a Loner; Improbable and Consternation Defined ; A Post Card Given to my Grandfather Dryburgh Brings Tears; Ending With Something Funny

This is most unlikely/ I am in bed writing my blog, that part is likely and normal. But Arab must is streaming from my computer as I write, and I utterly love it. Why is that unlikely and improbable. First of all what is improbable? The definition: not likely to be true or to happen. Its synonyms are unlikely, doubtful, dubious, debatable, questionable, uncertain; unthinkable. , inconceivable, unimaginable, incredible; informal iffy. ANTONYMS certain. Ao why is it unlikely, almost unthinkable that I am hooked on Arab music? I was born in Saskatchewan, Canada, the first Arab I ever met was in November of 2019 in my hotel in London. It was a chance encounter, he is the Sultan, the Crown Prince of Dubai. Just to be clear and honest, I am hooked on Arab music at this time but not hooked on him.

Although it did bring me consternation yesterday I managed address major issues concerning the coronavirus on my blog. The definition of consternation is a feeling of anxiety or dismay, typically at something unexpected. Synonyms are: dismay, perturbation, anxiety, distress, disquiet, disquietude, discomposure, angst, trepidation; surprise, amazement, astonishment, stupefaction; alarm, panic, hysteria, fear, fearfulness, fright, shock. Antonym: satisfaction. Although, at the conclusion of the writing, it did bring me satisfaction as I had stood up to untruths and Governor Newsom, gathered facts that supported my position. A problem with the numbering of the six silly items but that can be remedied at a later date.

The blog of today will speak of a painting found in the Tate Britain, comparing it with another at Watt’s Gallery. A photograph of the painting is found in yesterday’s blog. The story of my trip to the Watt’s Gallery, located just outside London is the first of by blogs, it was wonderful to retrace those steps. A momentous train ride from London – treated with much courtesy by all the other patron and staff at Watt’s – gifted with a book and Watts and the gallery by a couple and later at the hotel. a young man said I was the most charming person he had ever met.
Me: That is not saying much. You are so young!
He: You are so funny!

In my fashion (which will be explained in detail in ensuing blogs) I sat with the painting on a stool thoughtfully provided by the staff at the Gallery. Thereupon mused on the beauty of the image, free associating, expressing these throughs in a notebook. The following is the free association with the caveat that my handwriting is a bit difficult to read at times and so the translation to the typed version may include mistakes. .
“This might just as easily be called Despair. This particular painting was apparently done by Watts himself, not with the help of his students and assistants. It is of better quality than the one at the Tate Britain – even to my unschooled eyes. One aspect, I note with humour, is that her feet are cleaner, does not look likes she has had a pedicure but her feet are clean (hahaha).
There is more detail in her feet (to start from the bottom up). The folds of her dress are almost palatable- actually a perfect word because with your eyes it seems possible to feel them. The Hope at the Tate does not so inspire. For some reason, unknown, I just recited the words to the Lord is My Shepard – it did seem so fitting and inspirational and can imagine Hope reciting those words. There is a musical version, probably learned as a child, and, at times I have to start singing to get into it, Perhaps that is what she is trying to strum on her lyre. The Lord is my Shepard is my solace, and has been my whole life, surely I shall live in the House of the Lord forever.
But back to Hope, the Superior Hope. Her skin is perfect, almost translucent and almost like alabaster. I read somewhere that Watts was into necks, hers is beautiful and smooth, not like my turkey neck. Turkey necks are a sure sign of old age. Her hair is wispy and looks red. Her ears are perfect. Well, actually, you can only see one. A wonderful volunteer stops and speaks to me. I do love volunteers. I tell her what I am doing – she is entranced. Hope’s expression is beautiful, I would say she is being transported, but at the same time, full of hope. How can one be transported and at the same time be at piece. That is the question and perhaps the question I face at this moment. it must be possible, there must be inner peace. A woman said yesterday that Hope was chained. NO NO. The chain is part of the lyre. Hope sits almost comfortably astride an orb – is it it the world? Probably because exercise balls had not been invented then.
The detail is extraordinary – it is possible to see one string on top of the lyre. One can see knots that hold the string. This Hope is perfect – the one at the Tate is not. Looking closely, standing and staring at her I am transported and begin to cry but struggle for composure. I succeed. A look at the star, it is a guiding light. That is not, as the guide says, what gives this painting its hope. It is a trivial detail in my mind. “Hope is evident in the star shining in the sky behind her”, says the guide. I politely do not disagree openly with the woman.” That, in itself, is a miracle as I am most outspoken.”

It was most incredible to have typed these words from a notebook. It took me back in time, it seemed I was there, sitting on a stool in Watt’s Gallery. I muse further. I have these profound experiences because I am a loner – one could not experience this is accompanied by a husband or a girlfriend. Of course, I am hardly a loner and most social, and dare I say charming? But I need my alone time and definitely am getting it these days in solitary confinement for a crime I did not commit. But this time was needed, my doctors and those closest to me say – and they are right.

Hope has other meaning for me, which I can barely write about. Surviving soldiers, returning from World War One were given a post card of Hope. My Grandfather George Dryburgh survived the First World War. He would have been given a post card. I find that so meaningful. I am weeping inconsolably but it is not tears of sorrow but ones of joy.

I shall lighten up. The terrifically funny sign was sent by my computer guru. It is called God. Please laugh, I am at this moment.

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