Ever since our painting teacher assigned self-portraits, I have been fascinated by that challenge (and the first one was hung in that semester's student art show, a major honor). Of course, I am not alone. Rembrandt, Durer, Michelangelo, Van Gogh, Cezanne, they all did them. And time marches on, you know, a lot of it right over my face. So it is probably a good thing to keep up this process, sort of chronicle my slowly sinking jawline. I can now appreciate photos that ten years ago I thought made me look like a toad. But drawings and paintings, ah, there I can cheat a little, leave out a wrinkle or a crease. I think that is pretty damned special. And, I am happy to report, all the lab tests that the Dr. did were normal, so I expect to be feeling better really soon. Just not yet, at the moment. Follow up coming, to discuss languid thyroid. Notice I hid that sucker under the turtleneck, artistic device to avoid having to display turkey neck. That's the beauty of being an artist, and doing portraits. Smart artists flatter their subjects. Me, too.
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