This 1946 painting by Lucian Freud from the Tate was on view at the Getty when I saw it as part of their marvelous London Calling show in 2016. Now that I am deep into Vol 2 of William Feaver’s exhaustive—and sometimes exhausting—life of Freud, I realize that although he is known for his craggy, let-it-all-hang-out later work of nudes of all shapes and sizes, it is the early work that has the most resonance for me. Look at the suspicious, unsettling glance in this self portrait and the surrealist thistle that only enhances the prickly nature of the ensemble. I’m feeling a bit like this. Though Covid precautions are waning, I’m wary of the next months. I long to travel to see this again in London in its permanent home.