I emerge, face first,from vertical brushstrokes daubed like a rainstormof bright colours. You might think I’m dressedas Harlequin, but you’re wrong – I am arrayed,dismayed, fighting my waythrough pulsating oiled emotions, scented with linseed,tickled with brushes, waiting to open my eyeson the finished portrait. Maybe I will be finished.Maybe I will recognise myself. Kim M. […]
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