Finding that he was alone he spoke to himself. When he received no response he pulled at his skin with his broken fingernails drawing blood that trickled onto the paper. He took his brush to hand and smoothed the blood into repetitive strokes that soon became an image to describe his syndrome. Pathetic. Yet at the summer exhibition of ‘91 he was the talk of the works on show. He felt that the other works were ineffectual and a waste.
He appeared regularly at the exhibition, he never spoke. He followed selected visitors, grunting and spitting at them when the fancy took him until he was permanently barred from attending.
At home, the long unending days sucked the blood from his veins. He lost the will to paint.