I haven’t painted in a while. This was supposed to be a green screen. I wanted to key a server farm behind me, but he’s not here to help me with the computer. My right hand presses the button that takes the pictures. My daughter Sonia said, Oh my god, you’re taking selfies now? So this is a selfie. I asked her, What is more venerated than the selfie? What? Vener-what? Sonia was confused, got angry. That response we share, which makes me sad. A selfie is a self-portrait, I said. She laughed; I became angry. What are they fucking teaching you in art school? I asked her. She’s acclimated to my outrage. She laughed. Why don’t you post your sneering snark, I told her. Every day, she said. Every fucking day. He’s not here to help me with this, either. I’m trying to focus on the button in my right hand. It still connects me to something. But, for how much longer? Fucking computers and daughters—so many buttons.