Why is it that we humans are so obsessed with images of ourselves? Judging by online galleries alone, it’s as if we invented cameras and paint for no other reason than to replicate our faces and our bodies. If by some cosmic fluke Nietzsche was right about eternal recurrence and all possibilities of universes are played out, it must be a weird ego-less alt-Earth where we paint only landscapes, abstracts and still lifes. Hey, there’s a subject for your next SF novel. You can send my royalty cheques to the alt-Louvre: they’ll need the cash with no Mona Lisa to attract patrons.