A gallery in Paris, small but respectable, reached out last year. They wanted a solo show. I was flattered, obviously. Then the director came to the studio, looked at what I had, and said: "You need to produce twice this many in half the time."

She wanted me to work smaller. Looser. Less glazing, more direct painting. "People don't look that closely anymore," she said.

I thought about it for a week. I have a daughter in lycée, a mortgage, the usual reasons to say yes. But I paint slowly because the paint itself dictates the speed. You can't rush oil. You can fake it, but it shows.

I said no. She was surprised. I think she expected me to be more desperate.

Six months later, I still don't have a show. But I'm finishing a triptych of my daughter reading in the late afternoon light, and it's the best thing I've ever done. The shadows on her neck took me three weeks to get right.

I don't know if that was the smart career move. Probably not. But I'd rather have the painting.