Old age

At the end of 2000, Beda became seriously ill. His hands and legs swelled up, water accumulated in the body. “I would offer it with pleasure to lake Kineret,” he remarked. In 2001, he could not walk any more, even lean on a stick. He was given a walking aid.
“They gave me this thing. I passed the check-up, got the license, everything. Well, actually, the reverse gear is a bit hard to manage… But I’ll learn that as well.” Then even that did not help, and Beda drove to his studio in a wheelchair. He continued to paint. “Now I take the brush, now I drop it; I take a tube and then drop it. Driving a nail in is an hour’s work. I don’t know, how to deal with an old age. How should I behave? This is very unusual. You didn’t have such experience, did you? Gosh, this is strange! When I draw, I don’t have a right to make mistakes – what if I don’t get up tomorrow and the thing remains incorrect forever? How can you put off anything to tomorrow? I sleep for one or two hours and all the rest – I’m thinking.”
“I work twenty minutes, then I have to rest for half an hour to gather strength. But the moment I take the brush in my hand, I forget everything. That’s what keeps me alive. But to be realistic, I didn’t ask a lot, and I didn’t get a lot. I didn’t take it tragic, didn’t succeed, so I didn’t succeed.”
“I am done. My life already passed. I was lucky to be able to put all my anger inside the colors… That’s what gives me satisfaction from this life. And that’s enough!”