The man in the drawer
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Though faces are the very thing I choose not to paint, (masks can cleave-up agenda, intent, attachment, and reaction, which I love) this opportunity came at a time when I was aching to flex a new muscle. The Man in the Drawer is as detached as I could get from traditional portrait subject selection; there is no honour, celebration or identity. He comes from an anonymous urban explorer’s photo of a photo found in a long-abandoned hospital that contained pathological preparations used for teaching. Information is third-hand and not credible, but someone online was able to translate his meagre file: he was found dead on the street over 80 years ago, still holding the weapon that opened his throat.
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