I drew the Hawksmoor churches, the Old Bailey and Trafalgar Square. It was soothing, and I allowed myself to be soothed, and then to feel content, and then, content, I stopped, because I was not discovering a new landscape inside myself, I was just winding down. The urge to paint was gone. Why would I bother? I had money, to a point. I could set myself up in business, live well enough. If I had no desire to carry on, why should I?