Mother's Day, e-mail to nephew.

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'Other Mother', acrylic on canvas, lost or destroyed.
Happy Mother's Day, give the mothers a kiss.

Mother kisser!!! Mother kissers!!!

And me? I have no mother or father and thus I am an orphan.

But I don't live in an orphanage.

You see, told you so, first time, when you grow up it all changes. No orphanage for you, mate. Find another mother. Think about it.

The 'M' is the 'mummy'

Motherkisser walking around looking.

Looking for another mother.

What if you don't want that? I don't, do I? Must talk to Sigmund.

'Oh mother, I can feel the sign falling over my head', Jeff Buckley swoons.

Like painting Nephew.

You still have that searching and proving thing. That is a prerequisite. As avant-garde as I could I would want to be. I have lost the control and the power has taken over and put me in a nice and comfortable place.

Maybe the orphanage for nearly dead painters. I stand in front of a canvas and ask; 'what am I to do?'.

This must sound strange to you. Maybe a little depressing for your ears. It is not. You are on the way, on your way. I don't feel I am traveling anymore. I am not going from A to B but I do have that slightly embarrassing need to show off my work 'cause what else do you do with the Motherkissers?'. My babies. So am I the mother of my work?

Anyway Nephew, this is so typical, I have just finished a few things and now have this post natal feeling. So, yes, I must be the mother. The Mummy.

I'll wake up and there are dirty nappies and soft toys to be picked up.

See you soon. Please send me all the info on your coming exposition. Loved the dots, full stops (see, I told you so)(second time).