A Confession

To soften his adolescent growing pains he was encouraged (can’t recall by whom) to take up painting – to make a name for himself, they said. When that failed, and miserably, he took up drinking which he likened not to a godsend, rather to a bodily need and calling. And so it was, for in little time he became proficient with the bottle and was soon dubbed master of alcohol. His first exhibitions were private, of course; he was, after all, a novice. Only years later, with no small courage or lack of inhibition, did he feel competent enough to go public. To his disappointment, however, and a severe blow to his pride as well, his public exposure (though widely known) was not well attended except by the usual “patrons” – mostly police, psychiatrists, and condemning clergy. Happily, however, his name often made headlines on gossipy tabloids – the only recognition he consistently garnered during a long career which has kept his name burning in the public’s ears and eyes for decades now, and is certain to be his legacy long after he has passed out and away for good.