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Owing to stories too short to be told, like the drawer full of string too short to be saved, my last two paintings have been dogs. Not that they were terrible, but they were paintings of dogs.
This much is true.
A colleague today revealed that she had, sketch pad in hand, surreptitiously captured me at work on one of these efforts, and I post here her depiction, a preemptive defense against charges of working from anything but life.
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