It’s one of the most human urges, to leave a mark. To carve a gesture of love into the bark of a tree, to write a name into wet cement, to draw words in the sand, to doodle hearts, circles and arrows on a post-it note. It’s one reason why so many of us are drawn to Cy Twobly’s paintings. There’s something in the intensity, and also looseness of his scribbles, scratches and painterly lines that is both familiar and otherworldly. His paintings have a rawness to the them, a spontaneity, a compulsion. In short, they feel like an urge. I came across this 1974 Vicenzo Accame painting (below) the other day, and it caught my attention. His painterly script in Alfabetto is so beautiful, and I love the combination of colours. Next time you’re chatting on the telephone –– something some of you may be doing more of these days –– doodle away, and see what appears before you. And next time you’re walking in the woods –– something some of you may be doing more of these days, also –– don’t forget to leave a mark for whomever may be on your same journey.

“Nature is taking a breath when the rest of us are holding ours,” writes Marina Koren in an inspiring Atlantic piece on the positive effects that widespread social-distancing measures are having on the planet’s seismic activity, air pollution, and city soundscapes. ‘“I used to think there weren’t really birds in Wuhan, because you rarely saw them and never heard them. I now know they were just muted and crowded out by the traffic and people,”’ says Rebecca Franks, an American living in Wuhan. ‘“All day long now I hear birds singing. It stops me in my tracks to hear the sound of their wings.”’ The oceans are quieter, too, says Koren. The suspension of cruise ships has meant a reduction in ocean noise which research shows affects the stress-hormone levels in marine creatures, such as whales. Calmer waters can only have a positive affect on their mating patterns, gestation period and general wellness. ‘“This will be the quietest entry that humpback whales have had in southeastern Alaska in decades,”’ says Michelle Fournet, a marine ecologist at Cornell. It was an inspiring read, and it got me thinking about what we can all do to make sure this wasn’t a single breath, but rather a change in our collective breathing. I often think about what impact one little life can have, both positive and negative, on the world. What difference does one car, one airline seat, or one cabin on a ship make? What difference does one cigarette tossed in the ocean make? What difference does one plastic straw, one steak dinner, one high street, polyester dress make? And inversely, what difference does one smile make? What’s in one small act of kindness or gesture of solidarity? What’s in one choice that puts another living person or thing ahead of you? What difference do I make? I think nature’s response is shining proof that each and every one of us, collectively, has the power to make a whole world of difference.

When Covid 19 erupted, my family and I were happily cocooned among the cranes, palm trees and mellow sunsets of Anna Maria Island. Islands have a way of removing us from reality, and even the headlines couldn’t puncture our rose tinted bubble. When news that England would be closing its borders reached us, we were catapulted into reality. My Mum was with us, and it was clear that catching the next flight home was the right thing for her to do. It was an abrupt ending to a beautiful week together. The following 48-hours were surreal, as we held on to the sweet ignorance of where we were, while knowing we were flying home to a very different life. Sunsets are an occasion worth turning up for, especially on Anna Maria Island. Our children have learned to embrace them, and see the beauty and majesty in them. I shall always remember that last sunset on Anna Maria; local children playing in the surf, old men standing guard by their fishing rods, families admiring their sandcastles, Iole, Antimo and Luma racing against the wind. Sometimes, as a moment unfolds, we just know to pay attention. We just know that it’s significant.

I came across the work of artist, Lari Washburn yesterday and I wanted to share it. It looks like Washburn uses a mix of acrylic paints, watercolours and inks to create patterns and textures that hone in on details in nature. Her sketchbook is a feast for the eyes, filled with mindful doodles that may inspire us all to turn on some Sigur Ros and put pen to paper. Have a look at her ceramics, so delicate and heartfelt.

When we bought our little Annex Victorian in 2007, the home came with a drab front door. We were so excited, and overwhelmed by our grand purchase, that the door wasn’t something we thought about for at least five years. My neighbour, Su and I used to take long walks around the neighbourhood, and on one of our many wanders we saw a beautiful pinkish/orange coloured door that inspired me to paint our charmless brown one a similar colour. I looked at twenty shades of coral, and finally picked a winner. It was called persimmon, and I loved it. A few years later, after a wonderful week in London where cobalt blue, racing green and scarlet red doors are in abundance, I felt ready for a change. We settled on a turquoise, and again I spent hours pouring over paint chips to find the right shade. In the end, the one we chose was a bit too toothpaste turquoise, but it was bright and cheerful, and in a city of drab doors, it stood out, and shouted, “Welcome!” Over the many years, I have amassed well over a hundred photographs of our children, and all the neighbourhood children, standing on our porch, a bright beacon of colour behind them. This morning, when my friend Alison sent me a photograph of our turquoise door unhinged, and propped up against the neon orange safety fencing, I felt pangs of nostalgia. Goodbye old door, thanks for having us.

Emilie Grigsby (1876 – 1964) was an American socialite who led a colourful life. An affair with a much older, wealthy tycoon landed her a New York mansion and money enough to live a lavish life. Wildly beautiful, and very generous, Grigsby became a patron of artists, sculptors, musicians and writers. She moved to England in 1912, and regularly travelled between Europe and New York on the Olympic, Aquitania and Lusitania liners. W.B. Yeats and sculptor, Auguste Rodin were frequent guests at Grigsby’s Mayfair home, and an obituary in The Times said that “she could out entertain her rivals with wines and cooking beyond their ken.” One of her steamer trunks, and a few cocktail dresses, was part of a recent V&A exhibition, now sadly closed. The silk georgette and glass beaded ‘salambo’ dress was designed by Jeanne Lanvin in Paris in 1925. Oh, the parties these frocks would have seen.