Dear Fernando,

Murderous hatred flared within when I first saw your new paintings: I was consumed in an instant of super-hot, anthracitical jealousy. I wanted to rip the canvasses apart and club you to death with the thickest, longest and strongest of the wooden frames. But I rejoice the fact I suppressed that civilized urge.

Had I cracked your skull would stand charged today with criminal homicide, to which l would plead 'not guilty, and seek the court's leave to approach the bench. The judge I would rap upon the knuckles with his gavel and to the astonished gallery shout: 'Your honours, my lords and ladies. I plead guilty to symbolic infanticide - the slaying of a new-born artist!'

I despised you and your paintings, Fernando - for a moment, as I have said - because in them I detected no fault; not one blemish nor flaw could I grasp, hold aloft and declare gleefully to all and sundry: 'This man has erred and so doing reveals himself imposter, how dare he pretend claim to the hallowed laurel of the artist! His work, if I may be described thus, is nothing but slick, pretentious and systematized daubing. Inconsummate rapscallion! he has no soul, no heart; he lacks empathy, the genuine artist fundamental power to delve in his subject and withdraw its gizzard impaled upon the bristles of his brush, like a string of sausages dangling from a fork……!

Accept please my warmest congratulations, for you are born.

Sincerely,

Maurice
Signed Maurice Batcheldor