Paint by Numbers by Dmitry Samarov

I want to say something about art and commerce, about fame and failure. I’m using episodes from my life and the lives of people I know to do so. Inevitably, feelings will be hurt and my intent will be questioned. That’s the price of playing the game of art. I’m okay with that. What I want to assure you of in this, perhaps unnecessary, break from the action, is that it took me many years to conclude that I could say something true without sticking to the facts. I’m using fictional tropes because I’m convinced they will get at what I’m trying to say better than if I tried to chart out a painful tell-all, with fact-checkers and lawyers poring over every sentence. This is not an exposé or muckraker’s screed. I also have no interest in holding myself above or apart from the monsters I describe. I’m one of them. A willing participant. Likely worse than most of the others. Because in sober moments—often the middle of sleepless nights—I know there are better ways to be. More noble paths to fo