The birds are singing their songs in my sketchbook today

Each time I came into the ward
during the workshops, I was conscious
of intense concentration and quiet
conversations going on between artists
and patients.
As I watched patients creating work,
the questions I found myself asking them
were in relation to their art.
If dialysis came into our conversations,
it was often about the inconvenience
of right hands being hooked up to tubes
or whether they felt they had enough
energy that day to finish their painting.
I heard words like charcoal, acrylics,
line, form, animation, water colour
alongside medical vocabulary.
t somehow sounded a happier balance.
Christina had finished yet another
vibrant extraordinary painting.
The woman in her painting lazed
comfortably, unlike Christina, who was
standing by her bed in an
attempt to maximise the light and check
her colours were accurate as she made
finishing marks on her painting.
She turned her easel around to face
feedback from other patients and nursing
staff.
The reaction was immediate and positive.
«The nurses call me the arty farty one
now» she laughed «and I tell them I’m
very happy with that tttle.»
I overheard a conversation between
Christina and one of the nurses.
Christina was explaining her difficulty in
drawing the profile of a woman. The
nurse was asking questions about
the painting as she made her medical
checks. They were exchanging information.
They were equals