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Once I found the ideal model, all other matters became, indeed, mere detail. Penetrating conversationalist with encyclopedic command of reported facts and supernatural overtones, gourmand, and -- dare I say -- contortionist non pareil.
As you can see, with this beginning, the barest, most pedestrian of easels, palettes, and lighting arrays become secondary. Who could not produce offerings from such an altar?
There is always something more to wish for, of course. Headroom. And some space for stepping back from the easel.
But I am less greedy and needful than in my youthful days. And I am willing to put up with the molting. Call it a fetish, but there it is.
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