Our life is short and tedious, and in the death of a man there is no remedy: neither was there any man known to have returned from the grave.
For we are born at all adventure: and we shall be hereafter as though we had never been: for the breath in our nostrils is as smoke, and a little spark in the moving of our heart:
Which being extinguished, our body shall be turned into ashes, and our spirit shall vanish as the soft air,
And our name shall be forgotten in time, and no man shall have our works in remembrance, and our life shall pass away as the trace of a cloud, and shall be dispersed as a mist, that is driven away with the beams of the sun, and overcome with the heat thereof.
For our time is a very shadow that passeth away; and after our end there is no returning: for it is fast sealed, so that no man cometh again.
Book of Wisdom (II:2-5)
I painted this poppy in commemoration of my father’s service. He was not a war veteran, but he was the head doctor for the veterans of BC. He cared for their health, travelled with them to France to Vimy Ridge, to England to be presented to the queen and he knew all their names. They loved him and he called them his “old boys”. He cared for them in that village doctor way which doesn’t happen anymore. Today I’m thankful I never sold this painting.