It's hard for me to believe I did this work back in 1998. People kept trying to buy it, and then failing somehow. Because I did a lousy job varnishing it, the work has gotten all scratched up and marked -- but that just gives it more character.

At the time that I painted this, I had only an inkling of who Maugham was. Since then I've read all of his short stories and most of his novels. He's a fascinating, brilliant author with a wry, ironic view of humanity.

He also happens to look like a constipated toad. I am told that whenever he was having his picture taken he sat ramrod, clenching his throat muscles, staring into the infinite distance. Nothing could convince him to relax.

I'd hate to see this painting go. But if you're interested in trying to buy it, feel free to contact me. But you don't want it. It's all scratched up. Go buy something else.