Life is an imitation of art. Or is it art is an imitation of life? In either case, I drew from life an imitation of life in art. I mean, I printed out a picture which I then tried to copy in watercolours.
While cleaning, I listen to march songs from the era of real socialism because the lyrics are hilarious and the rhythm is perfect for scrubbing things. I have a playlist of this kind of music saved on YouTube and as I was polishing the laptop today, I noticed a particular picture that went with one of the songs. The picture, as the music, strained reality impossibly—but so do, say, stock photos.
I printed the picture in monochrome due to a lack of a colour printer, but I don’t blame the model for my failure to paint it even in a marginally mimetic manner. I used artistic licence generously, but I’m sorry to admit that the sheer horror of the result isn’t really deliberate. Next time I’ll stick to stick figures.