I'm sick of this bloody ceiling. On my back at the top of this rickety old scaffolding to paint one tiny bit and then clambering back down to look up at my work. Back up again, back down again.
I wish I'd never agreed to it.
"You'll be famous," they said.
Well they can keep their fame. Sistine Chapel? It feels as if I've painted 17 already.
No comments:
Post a Comment