Unsmiling Nun

Catholic headstones are often adorned with rosaries, photos, flowers, ornaments, birthday cards and Mother Mary statues. Some are so festooned you can barely read the carved name of the dead. I saw one with the top bit smothered in lipstick marks and I've seen people kissing headstones before they walk away (old people with ailing bodies tend to kiss their palm and then touch the headstone.) Here's a painting of a nun who didn't seemed pleased with me.

Years ago I was in Burnley Cemetery looking for the grave of my great-granddad George Halley (a footballer.) Even though I had a plot number I couldn't find it (probably nothing to find.) I decided to stroll around the sprawling 59-acre cemetery. I came across a copse of headstones which were nearly identical, the only deviation being the names of the dead. They were sisters from St Mary's Convent which is a ten-minute drive away. My curiosity sated I went exploring the other graves but walking back to the car park I saw a elderly nun reading the headstones I'd been reading. She was as wide as she was tall, wholesome-looking and old (I've yet to see a young nun.) I did a half-hearted wave and she acknowledged me but was stern-looking and unsmiling. I could tell she was not given to idle chat or easy smiles. Had I trampled on the graves as I read all the names? I'm not sure but I doubt it. Had the nun not wanted me reading the graves? I'm considered approaching her and asking if she wanted a lift back to the convent. The glance she threw me wasn't inviting.

I felt uncomfortable and walked back to the car park. Sat in a van was another nun - old again but boney with a ready smile and nervous eyes. The van window was down and I would have said hello but she seemed to shrink back into the seat, turn her face and look at her arm. I thought it wise to just put a thumb up and keep on walking.

One afternoon I thought I'd paint the unsmiling nun - perhaps to exorcise some guilt. Thinking back I wondered if the nun was patiently waiting for me to leave the graves. Many times I wanted to photo a certain grave and there's been someone very near it. After twenty minutes you're shouting inside your head, "I've been here for twenty minutes - won't you just go!"

Anyway here is the painting done on a canvas I'd started years ago and forgotten about (showing a prostitute picking up a customer.) I covered it in paint and got going. I got carried away and it was soon done. Another one for the attic, never to be seen again.

Looking to Frank Sinatra for inspiration...