An earlier LA painting of Alan Ladd and Veronica Lake. The actor's daughter called me and asked if I'd sell this one to her, which I did. It was very inexpensively priced. I was nervous about being sued for copyright issues. But that was not a problem.
I have often wondered about this desire for repetition. Why I want to go back to something. Anything. Say a restaurant. Or listen to a song. Or read a poem. Or call a pretty woman.
Or text her. Or look at her photograph.
What is the basis for seeking something over and over? Is there a formula? Why do the alley cats keep returning to my back door at a certain hour? Because they believe I will feed them. And they are right. I do.
We return to what gives us life. Or we imagine that it gives us life, or makes life more livable.
Vice versa, we refuse to go back to that which hinders our will to live.
I haven't seen much information about this phenomenon. I'll examine it at length. I think it's worth a deeper analysis.