Reflections on Nothingness is personal, yet universal, an exploration of the self. Think of Odysseus and the Cyclops curse. Odysseus tricks the Cyclops by naming himself "Nobody." Am I employing trickery? Or is it something deeper. What is the meaning of existence? How do I exist? So many parts of myself I have shed, as time present has melted into time past. What is left, presumably is the true self. That which we cannot see is where the spark of life lives. As God is invisible but not unknowable, so is the soul. Where then does the true self exist, if not within this corporeal mass of protoplasm? Are we just an empty chair, without form and void? Are we merely an idea? A maniacal doll seems to be the only one who knows the answer, the witness to my non-existence. In time the chair will indeed be empty. Will anyone notice we were ever here? The portrait my father painted of me as a small child is all that remains, the only proof I ever was.

A lantern flickers a faint light as if trying to illuminate the scene. So does a lamp. But alas, their light is too faint. My power palette, which is adapted from the Frank Reilly palette, is featured with different colored lights falling on it, as well as the entire scene, which is bathed in a cool front light and a warm over the shoulder light, casting dramatic contrasting hues over everything, and nothing.

As an artist I am often asking models to allow me to draw and paint them in the nude. Here, I return the favor. The human form has always fascinated me. I realized it had been a long time since I did a self-portrait. The world will have to settle for a portrait of my non-self.

Ask for reproductions in other sizes . . .

Here, NETI, who is that he is not, and I have a little fun, at my expense: