Moira was alone in her studio and a large standing mirror was just off to her right. The mirror was so tall it seemed to loom over her as she painted. It was old. I mean old. Truly an antique. It was from an estate sale out in Atherton California. One of the richest neighborhoods in all of California. Moira was so struck by it, the head of the estate gave Moira an unbelievable deal on it. She knew she was meant to have it. She didn’t know why, but she knew. It was 6.5 feet tall, with a mixture of cherry, mahogany, maple, and oak woods. She was still in awe now, standing before it.


It was a black and white you see. Or rather black and a natural tan canvas. A self portrait. The very thing that had driven Van Goh so mad he cut his own ear off because it was so difficult. For Moira it was staring into her own eyes from the reflection of the mirror in the low light that was tough. Mirrors were reflections of ourselves. Looking at yourself in real time. There was something almost sinister about it tonight. Her brushstrokes were frenetic and almost vicious at first. Setting the background.


Then came the white and gray paint, and it just kept getting darker, rather than lighter. Until when the finished painting was finally in front of her it sent a chill down her spine. Her lips parted and she stepped back from it, and immediately covered the mirror with a thick sheet. Arranging it carefully, almost reverently, before moving it to the corner of her studio. A part of her wanted to get rid of it. It was a sudden impulse to smash it to bits! She held herself in check by opening a bottle of wine.


Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely get the corkscrew into it. “C’mon open!” She hissed angrily, frustration burning through her like explosive fireworks. Finally the cork came free, and she put the mouth of the bottle to her lips and drank until half the bottle was polished off in moments. She greedily sucked in gulps of air, gasping after such a long pull. She lit a pre-rolled joint, and threw some music on. Not something from the stereo. She didn’t have anything like that in her studio. No, she used the record player. She put on some music and slumped against the wall greedily puffing on a lit joint, and taking sips of wine to ease the burn it caused in her throat, until she felt calm and lit as fuck.


4 successes

1 success

4 successes

3 successes

5 successes


The Self Portrait