I'm not suggesting that Vincent Van Gogh was my father, but I am saying that I was conceived by him, in 1888, during a series of paintings he created. That makes me roughly 119 years old. It was necessary to lay in his womb for over 50 years, awaiting the right set of parents, ones who would subsequently birth and abandon me to a greater fate, the one that Homer likewise patterned for his return trip.

Thus, in honor and recognition of this elongated awareness obtaining expression, I am this very day commencing a series of self-portraits, to illustrate what I am talking about. Based on already existing photographs, I am more interested in the moods that show forth as I convert silver to graphite.

PRISMACOLOR on PAPER, January 2nd, 2007 -- FRED BURKHART
 Illustration straight out of Huckleberry Finn.

PRISMACOLOR on PAPER, January 14th, 2007 -- FRED BURKHART 
Her daddy used to do it for her... until I came along.

PRISMACOLOR on PAPER, February 1st, 2007 -- FRED BURKHART 
When my hair gets unruly, I put on a hat.

PRISMACOLOR on PAPER, February 23rd, 2007 -- SOLD
Practicing my place on Mount Rushmore.

PRISMACOLOR on PAPER, March 17th, 2007 -- FRED BURKHART
Sometimes it's so dark inside I have to switch on the Light.

PRISMACOLOR on PAPER, May 19th, 2007 -- SOLD
Moses must've felt this way, figuring out how to come down off the moutnatin.

PRISMACOLOR on PAPER, June 3rd, 2007 -- FRED BURKHART 
Still crazy, figuring out how to get down off this mountain and rejoin the race.