Between painting and writing I sometimes get asked to do little jobs. When I begin I am always somewhat reluctant as the the jobs never seem to rise to my exhalted level of 'high art' and I usually moan and complain. This is a good time to take a step or two back and view yourself as the arrogant 'pain in the butt' you are slipping toward. Probably because there is no woman around to bring you back down to earth (not that they ever did) ... anyway, I digress, the job is to fix an old photograph.

The photograph had been torn into four pieces then lovingly stuck back together ... sounds like the normal commerce between loved ones or family members ... then a marker pen was used to repair the rips. I was immediately struck by the blandness of the whole thing, but stick with me here for even the delicious local mud crabs I can sometimes afford are trapped in foul swamps.

For a little more detail ... notice how the marker pen was used on the lips shirt and uniform.

Well I fixed all that using what is called a smudge brush.This allows you to drag surrounding areas over the cracks in whatever 'opacity' you like. At this point I was feeling rather pleased with myself - job quickly done - another mundane task bites the dust. But I started to think (always a dangerous sign), I asked myself, 'I wonder what sort of life this man had? Which war was he fighting and how do his comrades remember him? Maybe he was a hero? Maybe he was a heor who fought in the trenches and saved the day, or at carried a wounded comrade to safety through a hail of bullets?' So even if he can't pay me perhaps he deserves a little more of my time.

Let's see if I can't make him come alive a little.