Years ago, while on a visit to Odense I found myself in the Hans Christian Andersen museum. The one thing which finally sunk in was that Anderson never really owned a home. He moved around and stayed with various people as a sort of 'pet' guest.
One of the paintings on display which he made himself knocked me completely sideways the moment I saw it. A rather childlike rendering of a room with a single bed and no personage in it. A life spent apart in a strange sort of lonesome homelessness.
