There’s a painting I visit, when I’m in London, that’s like an old friend; I’ll go and sit for a while and just enjoy its company. This past week I was visiting for a conference and feeling a bit — well, frankly, a bit however it is introverted-intuition types feel when we dwell on existential crises for too long. I left the venue, grabbed a hire bike, and rode across the city to the National. They’ve moved it recently, so I find myself wearing a new path through the carpets to a smaller room where it sits with a large...
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