The Eyes Go On

Turn the lights on. Chilly. Turn the floor heater on. Point it to the easel.

'Be paying 300 buck-a-month gas bills again soon.'

Take off my sweater and toss it to the desk. Squeeze more white onto the palette. And red.

'Will be needing that again.'

Stand back.

'God, my skin is pink. I hate pink. Nevermind. It'll match someone else's couch… somewhere.'

'Where to start?'

'Spose if I did abstraction, impressionism - whatever it's called - I'd stop here. Make the paint thicker and call it a day. Twenty minutes tops. Could do three or four a day that way. Rake in the dough.'

"Proportions, Jeff. Proportions."

I measure the distance between my eyes in a mirror. Some quick math. The canvas is 20 inches wide. My head, what? about 6 inches wide?

"We'll put the pupils 9½ inches on center… right about there. And there."

'Too blue or somethin'. My eyes aren't that blue. Too thin too.'

'There, that's better.'

'I still think self-portraits are self-absorbed. Vain. What'd that article say? "…in the absence of other models… "'

' 'Spose. Get over it. I just wanna see if I can paint eyes like that other guy.'

'Then there's that reminder… I need… '