Responding to a huge clamor, all from Amanda, for a representation of myself in hippie days, and lacking any photographic evidence of same, here is my attempt to render it like a police sketch artist. It's surprisingly accurate, if I do say so myself, probably because I spent 3 months in painting class on a pose very much like this, and that nightmarish experience is imprinted on my rods and cones. And I actually did do a police sketch once, when I was in college. A fellow student was raped, and the campus police were referred to me, because the small town didn't have anyone in that capacity. So I was introduced to a "friend" of the victim, and it was painfully clear that she was the one. It was so hard for her to call up the memory that I found myself drawing with tears in my eyes. I never did find out whether the guy was caught. Every so often I'm reminded how profoundly different the lives of men and women are just because the crime of rape exists.
Posted by the sensitive, caring, hypocritical Sparky D.