One morning Donald rang Gisella to say he felt very strange and couldnt get out of bed. She dropped everything and rushed to the house where she found the door open and no sign of Donald. At last she found him in the bathroom, which was a long way from his bed. It must have been an agonising effort for him to get there and when Gisella found him he had collapsed. She rang the Galleries and had two young men in her employ come post-haste to the house. Between them they got Donald to St. Lukes Hospital; there, it was discovered he had had a stroke. Donald was left-handed, as indeed I am (All we geniuses are, m dear, he said to me). So, it was a double tragedy that the stroke had disabled his left side. The diabetes that he had ignored for so long was now rampant, and the emphysema had progressed to an alarming degree. All in all, it was a thoroughly bloody awful time.

Spectators in the Sky,1989 Watercolour, gouache, pastel 66x103cm Philip Bacon Galleries, Brisbane

One morning I called to see Donald and found him seated at the kitchen table, surrounded by paper and drawing books and pencils. He was frowning with concentration as he made his right hand move in long flowing lines. They didnt have the sweep and freedom of his normal line, but even though they wavered and faltered, each one was a little better than the last. He looked up at me with despair clouding his eyes. Oh Christ, why doesnt this bloody hand obey me? he said.

It looks as if its trying to.

I havent got time to fool around with trying. And pencil defeats me. I havent used pencil since I was in swaddling clothes. Ink gets all over the place when youre fumbling about. So does watercolour. My poor cleaner has been swabbing the place for hours.

He went to lean forward with his elbow on the table, a favourite way of sitting, but he had to pause to pick up his left hand and put it on the table. You see? Even the most elementary move becomes an infuriating chore.

Friend,G., My Brother Donald, Angus&Robertson, Sydney,1994