When I look at this painting, I’m mystified.  To me, it looks like a completely different hand painted it, and I suppose that, in a way, it was!  At twenty, I was not who I am today.  Still, in what little breathing space I’ve left between the marks in this portrait, I can see the beginnings of the work I make today.  And it’s only right: after all, style isn’t something you cultivate, but something that cultivates you.