A panjandrum up close, blowing smoke everywhere with his loud suit shouting his eminence; the vertical lines to make him look taller and the four-button suit sleeves.
Nails manicured to perfection.
His sharp-toothed demon is behind, awaiting his signal to spring out.
His large flattened heart has fallen out of him and is lying flat on his right. He is operating without a heart.
His slit eyes formulating the words to describe you and your work in that bubble bursting out of his head. The bubble is sharp-toothed also. Or flaming.
A money bag in the middle of the bubble.
They are so pompous that it is only they who refer to themselves in the plural as though they are descended from Romans, even neutral ones: panjandra.
More than one of them are panjandrums because at their root is nonsensical English verse. As nonsensical as they.
The Critic, 1979, charcoal and white ink on paper. Honoré Sharrer, 1920-2009, American. Collection of the artist’s family on display at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, Philadelphia in 2017