'...a seamed and folded imitation of a magazine picture that is itself an imitation of a woman who is also an imitation, the original nowhere...'
Margaret Atwood, Surfacing
This is a sketch of me, aged 11, I think, done by a school teacher in art class, and the passage from Atwood's book struck me just as I rediscovered this crumpled, folded A3 pencil sketch. I don't remember how accurate it was at the time, but it is eerie to be able to stare into a likeness of my own face, constructed by a middle aged man as I sat sill and patient, more than sixteen years ago.
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