O my! The things we artists paint, for no obvious reason except to see if we can do it, or perhaps a really bad idea one tired afternoon that actually turns out worth the keeping, or a scribble on the back of a café menu which somebody will buy one day for a gazillion dollars (Picasso in particular has several of these).
Why did I think it might be worth spending dozens of hours fastidiously constructing a fake stained glass window in whose centre was a completely mis-shapen guitar? I honestly have no idea. I like it though. I think it works. It may even be Art, though I have no idea what benchmarks to use in order to draw that conclusion.
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David Prashker
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