Truly an exercise in vanity, I liked this self-portrait so much back in 2014, I had a small canvas-print made. On a wall in this room, in a dimly lit place mostly hidden by books, it’s a private daily reminder of my foolish self-absorption, which I can only hope, and am in no way certain, I’ve outgrown. But for all that, the likeness is still a valid record of sorts, and may one day have some small value in terms of family history. Hence this brief explanation, and the decision to include it here. Five years ago, the idea was that it resembled the old life masks and death masks of those made of Keats and Beethoven, which I find so moving and revealing of character. What this particular image reveals, other than the mediocre talent required for its composition, I will perhaps never fully know. It might just as easily end up an unnamed, unsigned curiosity in a thrift shop, the very possibility of which teaches me something about humility and meaning. For that I am grateful.
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