Dear Anne,

Thank you for your letter. I'm sorry that I can't answer your question how I view
myself, because, although I frequently satirize myself as Narcissus looking
in a mirror in self-admiration, such contemplation is subjective and does not
lend itself to observation, description, analysis, accounting or judgment. Art
is the only bridge across the chasm of loneliness, and your question is meaningful
to me only as poetry pointing beyond what is tangible, measurable, susceptible
to public display or recognition to a realm of subjectivity where each of us is
at home - or imprisoned - in the congregation of his or her gods or demons, 
or most likely a mixture of the two.

As children, my sister and I were taught by our parents to be "etwas Besonderes",
something special, different from everyone else; they sought at once to immunize
us against the debilitating viruses of anti-semitism and National Socialism, and
to imbue us with their own intellectual and spiritual aspirations. It didn't quite
work out. My sister, who was two years older than I am, recognized me as a monster
as soon as she learned to say "Missgeburt", and all her life remained critical of 
me as being arrogant and condescending. My father, unshakably affectionate during
my childhood, became progressively disillusioned with the development of my own
personality and with my escape into the Eden of my own marriage. The affection of
my mother, who was forever scolding me, never wavered. Who is to say whether I was 
(and am) kind and loving, whether I listen to what others have to say, - certainly
I cannot be the judge of myself - who is to say except you yourself who might have 
by now accumulated sufficient competent evidence to form your own judgment, which 
you may keep impounded, with no obligation of disclosure.

I hope life is bearable for Dan and yourself.

Jochen