Gouache on paper

Signed on the front.

portrait of a deceased fellow I saw in Ipswich Hospital as a child. I was walking past his single room and happened to see him. Nobody else was present. I thought he was sleeping but his face was a strange colour. Returning past a while later the door was closed and I could hear crying from inside and realised what must have happened. I've dreamed this scene a number of time over, standing looking at the fellow, no words said. One of those memory imprints that buries itself in the recesses of our brains that pops up from time to time like an air bubble in the quiet hours.