That there is a picture of me holding a very important painting for consideration by The National Portrait Gallery. The competition is massive, the odds huge, but I have done good work and entered anyway. My metaphorical balls are large.
The work is of my mother as she lay in bed dying. I was able to detach myself from the subject as I painted it, but I must admit that I don’t think I could’ve painted this closer to her death. This one had to wait a spell, but I’m pleased with the results.
If I am not selected by the hanging committee, I will return to Bristol to retrieve my work. In Girl Scout terms, I think I’ve still earned a badge for trying, and that feels pretty damn good.
The terrifying part, for clarification, has nothing to do with the competition; I had to leave my work unprotected with a shipping company, who will then transport my work to London. That was unsettling. At least I’m insured…






