When you say the word "portrait," this is the first thing that comes to my mind: some snotty guy in a ruff, staring down his nose at the painter. (Side note: It's on Friday and at least fifty-one IF'ers have posted before me. I guess they just draw faster than I do.)
Of course, the most famous portrait of all time is the Mona Lisa, which no one can mention these days without bringing to mind The DaVinci Code. I have to say the book didn't impress me. It's written for a sixth-grade reading level, and if it hadn't been so deliberately controversial, it would have wound up in the bargain bin with all of Dan Brown's previous works. A far better Mona Lisa story is the Doctor Who episode "City of
I once made the mistake of buying a book called How to Write a Bestseller, or something like that. The first half of the book was full of scare tactics to convince the reader that unless they followed the author's instructions, they would never sell a story, much less make any money off it. The rest of the book was patterned after, yes, The DaVinci Code. It basically said to write at a sixth-grade level and be as controversial as possible. I threw it out.
But I digress.
I have, at the moment, two photographs hanging in my apartment. One is my wedding picture, the other is one of Joe "graduating" Kindergarten. (There's a great line in The Incredibles about the phenomenon of celebrating mediocrity) I'm a bad father, I guess, because I haven't put up any pictures of Mandy yet. But it just never occurs to me, because I see the wife and kids every day. Maybe I'm supposed to decorate my home for other people, who might come in some time when my wife and kids aren't home. I don't get it.