The Milanese painter’s technique struck him as happiness personified. The end of semblance. Arcadia before the coming of man. Not all of the paintings, of course, because The Roast, for example, was like a horror painting, a reversible canvas that, hung one way, looked like a big metal platter of roast meats, including a suckling pig and a rabbit, with a pair of hands, probably a woman’s or an adolescent’s, trying to cover the meat so it won’t get cold, and, hung the other way, showed the bust of a soldier, in helmet and armor, with a bold, satisfied smile missing some teeth, the terrible
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