All Dogs Go To Heaven (SOLD)
Acrylic on Italian Cotton, 18" x 22"
My grandfather was 96, and he really wanted to reach 100 so he could get that letter from the king. They found a clot the size of a grape in his heart, and it was blocking the flow of blood to one of his lungs, which was dead as a result. On the X-ray it looked like a shrivelled black bean. The doctors said “We don’t know how you’re still alive,” and he beamed a beaming smile. Six weeks later he had a stroke and was put into palliative care where he hallucinated rows of teeth in the windows. Before the funeral mum told me he had been prescribed pregabalin for nerve pain and I went to his house looking for it like it was the Holy Grail, but somebody else had already beaten me to it so I copped some dexies off my cousin at the wake instead, who is a Rhodes Scholar.































