Gwen John, The Convalescent. Image courtesy of the National Gallery of Art.

It’s that time of year, when sniffles and sneezes and snorts and wheezes are all around as people succumb to seasonal coughs and colds. If the passenger on the bus beside you isn’t honking into a hankie, then your colleagues at work will be chugging hot tea with honey for their throats. It’s a big job, battling to keep at bay all those bugs and bacteria being airborne as everyone is eventually felled by a fat bout of flu.

Well, worry not, because to boost your immune systems today I’ve a peachy picture to make you feel all better. This is The Convalescent (probably late 1910s to mid 1920s) by Gwen John. What a cosy, coddled and comforting feel this emits, with its soft-focus subject, suffused light, divine dappled paint effect and hushed blushing color palette.

Gwen John (1876 – 1939) was one of the foremost British artists of the early 1900s. In contrast to her flamboyant brother, Augustus (also an artist, one of the most gifted of his generation), she led a reclusive life and had only one solo exhibition in her lifetime. At her death, she was largely unknown, but her reputation was revived in the 1960s.

This sort of quiet, contemplative study of a woman in an interior is exactly the thing that John did best. The simple, unadorned room is boiled down to a flat, matte wall, a strip of skirting and a glimpse of wood floor. Front right is a table with doily, pot and cup and the subject herself sits in a wicker chair, backed and boosted by a big white pillow.