Easter Sunday


Oil on canvas, 20″ x 30″

Good friends invited us up the hills for the Easter weekend, to a very special home nestled on a grassy ridge between steep slopes of coffee bushes and pine trees, with nothing around but birds and breeze, and nothing to distract from the stunning views other than the good friends themselves, but sure we were all entranced. Even when playing the traditional game of malicious croquet on the lawn, we would pause our cheating ways to watch in awe as mist tumbled over a nearby hill. We were surrounded by beauty, non-stop.

Sunday morning I practiced yoga with this view in front of me. Lupins glistened and glowed with morning light and dew upon them, and pink roses grew wildly in every direction. The hummingbirds and butterflies were out on their morning rounds, and in the distance I could see the soldiers at Soldier Camp running up and down the very steep hills, keeping fit. I was happy to be doing slow quiet stretches, no running…and breathing in the beauty. I knew I would have to try and paint it…

Of course the Camp is a leftover from the days of British Imperialism, and an interesting parallel it was to be looking at it across the valley, as back home in Ireland the centennial of the Easter Rising was being commemorated (the Irish Rebellion against British rule), with lots of discussion and debate, plays, performances and articles, some of which I accessed online and learnt a lot in the process. There are many similarities between the Irish and the Jamaicans, and being colonized by the British is one of them. It’s a history that has created much of what we are today, in both Ireland and Jamaica, a rather mixed bag of inheritance, packed with stories and tales of courage, aspiration, sorrow, failure and success, disappointment and loss, and of course love. So layered, so human, so full of  the lives of so many people living their one life in the best way they can, or not. And so it continues.