Upstairs he settles debt. Bankruptcy. The titles of books outweighing the landowner. William Dufferage knows what it’s like not to be at home. His fifth landlord in as many years. If only he could just PAINT. Instead he misuses time, alcohol, drugs and sometimes clients to bare a landscape worthy of a brush. “Yes, it is harsh.” he tells a woman. “My life is not made for me, like my bed. I have to work.” His last show, a group effort, was four years previous. He sold one acrylic for a thousand. He has two shows, at his studio to go out the door; with no one willing to hold it open. They are even more controversial than his 20s. An agent, has said, as an aside, to go with the lesser ‘prettier’ works than the more abstract. He did not listen. Will sings: “When day breaks Your back, Climb…
