Dallas was a big strapping young man who wanted to be a writer. A gentle giant, he liked the Beats. He certainly reminded me of those big hearted American writers of the Sixties, like Allen Ginsburg and Ken Kesey. His height, his long hair and beard, and his bear-like bulk made it easy to miss his sad eyes. In doing his portrait, I felt like I made a little leap beyond mere likeness, a step into character study. My teacher tells me portrait drawing has nothing to do with seeing into a person’s soul; it’s a matter of measurement. I’m not so sure. I mean, I know he’s right: measurement is the key. But to turn the key in the direction of art, you need empathy, a feeling for the sentiment in the arch of an eyebrow, the turn of a nose, or the hang of a lip, no?