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On being painted…

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My son Ned painted me…somewhere between my 50th birthday and this recent Christmas Day, I metamorphosised onto a canvas in all my strange likeness..or not. Each time I walk down our hallway I have this strange sensation of trying to fit myself into a face in a landscape. I’m not entirely sure it won’t say hi one day soon…then what?

2 thoughts on “On being painted…

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