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Portrait of Evil.

London. Winter. 1850.

Michael Colonessi drank as if that night was his last.
He celebrated the completion of his latest painting, a portrait of Lord ? He couldn't remember the name. Old moneybags the art dealer, had secured that and other commissions on his behalf. Michael could care less, but at least they afforded him painting supplies and a little extra for liquor and whores; Two were at that moment asleep on a make-shift cot in a corner of his gloomy studio. As long as he made enough to continue his craft, he was content.

He lived in a squalid part of east London's dockland area, on the banks of the River Thames.
It was a far cry from the patrons who purchased his work.
His room, an abandoned warehouse, had mildew infested walls and ceilings, with a cracked skylight that continually leaked filthy rain water onto the warped floor, below.
Dense fog surrounded the grimy dwellings and their forgotten inhabitants; thieves, pimps and beggars.
It was early morning, when he finally could take no more alcohol, and passed out next to the snoring women...

...'Please move along the viewing room so that everyone can see.
Ladies and Gentlemen, you are looking at what is considered to be one of the greatest works of art ever painted. Michael Colonessi's masterpiece. His self-portrait.'
A large gathering of people of all ages stood before him. They were dressed in strange clothing, and some of the women showed naked arms and legs. All eyes were intently focused on him.
'Move in a little closer, Please...'

The artist awoke with a start. His head ached, but the dream burned brightly.
'Michael Colonessi's masterpiece. His self-portrait.' A superstitious man, he wondered if it was some kind of premonition or good omen. Whatever it might be, it was the inspiration he looked for.
Suddenly re - energized, Colonessi threw himself into his latest project; a self-portrait. He felt that it would be his greatest painting, ever.
The whores had long since gone, along with the remains of his money.
Michael worked all that day until darkness filled the studio, and exhausted lay down on the bare floor next to his easel and slept...

...'Ladies and Gentlemen, you are looking at what is considered to be one of the greatest works of art ever painted. Michael Colonessi's masterpiece. His self-portrait.'...

Old moneybags awoke him the next morning.
'Take this payment, my lad. It is not as much as I had hoped, but I dare say it will suffice, eh? What is this? A self-portrait? It has promise. However,

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