I AM WRITING TO YOU AGAIN, BECAUSE I AM ALONE AND BECAUSE IT BOTHERS ME TO BE ALWAYS IN DIALOGUE WITH YOU IN MY HEAD, WITHOUT YOU KNOWING OR HEARING ANYTHING ABOUT IT, WITHOUT YOU BEING ABLE TO ANSWER ME. AS BAD AS IT MAY BE, YOUR PORTRAIT DOES ME THE BEST SERVICE, AND I NOW UNDERSTAND HOW THE “BLACK VIRGINS”, THE MOST INFAMOUS PORTRAITS OF THE MOTHER OF GOD, COULD FIND UNFAILING WORSHIPPERS, AND EVEN MORE WORSHIPPERS THAN THE QUALITY PORTRAITS. IN ANY CASE, NONE OF THESE REPRESENTATIONS OF BLACK MADONNAS HAS EVER RECEIVED MORE KISSES, EYELASHES AND TESTIMONIES OF ADORATION THAN YOUR PHOTOGRAPH, WHICH IS CERTAINLY NOT BLACK, BUT HARD, AND ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT REFLECT YOUR DEAR KIND FACE AND WHICH CALLS FOR KISSES, YOUR GENTLE FACE. BUT I CORRECT THE RAYS OF THE SUN THAT HAVE MADE A BAD PAINTING AND I FIND THAT MY EYES, HOWEVER DAMAGED THEY MAY BE BY ARTIFICIAL LIGHTING AND TOBACCO, STILL KNOW HOW TO PAINT NOT ONLY IN DREAMS, BUT EVEN IN THE WAKING STATE. I HAVE YOU IN THE FLESH BEFORE ME, AND I CARRY YOU IN MY HANDS, I KISS YOU FROM HEAD TO TOE, I KNEEL BEFORE YOU AND SIGH: “MADAM, I LOVE YOU. “AND I LOVE YOU INDEED, MORE THAN THE MOOR OF VENICE EVER LOVED.