A painting that started in distemper. The figure was from a photograph of Georgette Magritte sitting at a table (there was no dog). She sat without purpose until I found a story that drove me on further with it. This is often the way.

I remembered a meal somewhere near the German/Czech border. It looked something like this. It comes from a period of my life where there is virtually no photographs, therefore it is highly mysterious. A two week residency that I went on, that I was coerced into going on. And it went on and on.
The longest two weeks.

The facilitator was such a social butterfly, an ubernetzwerker, a person itching to stand up at any gathering - ting ting ting - and give an hours speech. She was flirtatious, coquettish and possibly a bit deranged. A bit draggy. A woman dressed as a man dressed as a woman. Years later I saw Rainer Fassbinder’s The Bitter tears Petra Von Kant I thought thats her.

I stuck some gold paper down, and worked over it. I kept some peeping through. Gold was a sticking point for a long time, a big no-no. But now I allow myself. Gold is ok. Gold is allowed.