Newbridge, New South Wales
I was wondering if you could paint me. Big like an Archibald. In my cat print undies and an old grey bra. No silver and vesuvianite earrings but ones with drops of little skeletons. A packet of pills called Seroquel sit big in the foreground also showing the name of ‘Quetiapine’. On the floor a lithium battery is out from the back of my mobile phone and a packet of lithium tablets are here too. I clutch some pills in the tips of my fingers and hold a tiny vegemite glass of water. I am a left hander. Tongue poised to accept the pills. My posture is slouched by a bulging medication pot belly and a mirror behind me exposes the fat rolls of my back. My hair is plain and greying. There rings on my fingers in bands gold, silver, and a copper signet. Legs veined and a puffy ankle. I have a hot shiny face and sweaty cleavage. Red shoulders from the hot sun in the background. There are wrinkles and minor scars. There is a mole on the edge of my nose for added ugliness. I am not seated for flattery. The words say ‘Without my drugs I would be skinny and’.