I paint the fantasy of me—my story replete with screwups, pleasures, and pleasant fictions. I paint fake portraits and fake views out of a sense of nostalgia for something that I can’t quite remember. Some of these fantasies are illuminated by the refulgence of past encounters, like the glowing filament in a freshly turned-off light bulb. Others are ideas of people whom I haven’t yet met. And some come from who knows, or wherever.