Burnt Out Grand House

Sketch a day - day 80/365

I have been sitting, watching a comedian on comic relief (he won the new comic award 2024. I looked him up, he's called Paul Hilleard) asking where the billionaires are tonight? Good man.

But no. Really, where are they?

Tonight I have been drawing. I actually left our house today. And went for a walk up at St Ives. It felt good to have been well enough to get moving again. And to actually feel motivated to draw. Even though I think this is a terrible drawing to be fair. Why do I so easily forget that less is almost always more?

I dunno.

But, I was drawing this house as I watched a Mary Beard documentary about the paranoia and frailty of supposedly ‘all powerful’ Roman emporers (she's brilliant) and then the beginning of the late night (naughty) version of comic relief. It wasn't very naughty, but as mentioned above, it did have a comedian making a really good point about the inequitable distribution of wealth in this world.

I sat there drawing, listening to folks implore other folks to send money that will amount to alot, but to less than the amounts some billionaires can lose in a week on the stock exchange, and not even notice. I listened and watched as I drew a burnt out big house that sits within the st Ives estate, above Bingley.

And it's a beautiful building. Far more beautiful than I have drawn it. And it's being left to rot. And occasionally folks come along and burn a bit more of it out. And then other folks put a bit more boarding up. And windows get smashed out and bits of crap and stoic trees grow up around it. As it slowly falls apart. Bit by bit. Proud of what it once was. Never letting go of that pride. Seams slacking. Windows dropping. Shit gathering. Never forgetting what it was.

It might be a hotel or housing or an arts centre or a posh kitchen or a college or an outdoor adventure centre or a hostel or anything. But instead it's just sitting here. Waiting for the next blow.

Makes me think of the folks who have to use food banks and must be made to feel grateful to comic relief for the food they eat and feed to their children instead of simply being in receipt of decent state benefits. Makes me think of them. Waiting for the next blow.

Makes me think of the rich folks who built this house. Bradford for a time was the richest city on earth. Look that up. I mean it. For a time. The riches here. Beyond imagination. The richest. On earth. More wealth here than anywhere else. Believe it. The rich ones. The paranoia and frailty. Of course they built houses like this.

Makes me think of how they must have poured over the plans and visited the build as it progressed. Not by their sweat. How they thought, how they told themselves they were building a place that would stand forever. Built it sturdy and strong and full of all their pride and hubris and desire and wealth. Poured money into it. The money that was theirs. Legally, relentlessly, extracted from everyone and everything but themselves. Extracted.

Why not?

They worked hard.

Deserved it.

So they built it. Full of countless other people's craft and skills and blood. And they made something special, for sure. I feel grateful that I get to see it. I do. I genuinely do.

But it isn't lasting forever. It won't last as long as they thought it should or would . Because nothing that ‘will last forever’ ever does. Apart from love. And kindness. And generosity. And the bonds between people that renew over and over. The things that can't be extracted. Not in the end. But we just can't get that fucking lesson straight in our heads, can we?

So yeah. It felt strange and apt to be trying and failing to draw this building tonight.

Where are the billionaires?