I’m standing at my easel, the breeze on my face carries the smell of old trees and wet grass, the air is full of birdsong, the buzzing of bees, and I’m ready to paint the scene in front of me. How on earth can this be in the surreal and restricted world of coronavirus lockdown? Actually, I’m set up at the doorway of my painting shed, the doors fastened wide open, and a photo of the scene I want to paint blutacked to the wall in front of me. Yes, I could paint the garden, next door’s shed and the trees beyond but that’s not the remote empty places I long to be. What I’m doing is the closest I’ll get to outdoor painting for the foreseeable, and, with my easel, palette, brushes and water pot in their accustomed places, the act of painting feels just the same. But it’s not the same, I’ve never been as satisfied painting from photos as out in the open air, in front of the subject. I’ll become used to it, though, and I have amassed hundreds of photos of views I will “paint one day”. So, now the day has come. And I’ve finished. For the last hour and a half the crazy, frightening times we’re living in have ceased to exist and I’ve been transported back to an early morning in the Peak District where the silence was only broken by the call of a curlew, the lighting and shadows were magical and all was right with the world. And it will still be there when this is all over. Stay at home and keep painting.