I'm guessing you put a piece of your soul in this, didn't you? All creations must require it but some get a bit more than others.
So this is a confession. I've had your painting as a background image for some four years. I don't know if you approve of such things but there it is. Don't remember how I came upon it, just this thought of 'oh, this feels like home'.
I can't tell you how many times I've pulled all my documents down to look at it and imagine myself just being there.
I'd breathe in the calm air, squint in the twilight, brush aside some vines and find out what he's reading today. The slight frown in his face is always about the book of the day. Today it's likely a murder mystery, and he's approaching the end with the great reveal, unable to tear his eyes from the page.
He cannot leave the place, must have been angry about it once. What happened? Great change in his world, and he's the only one left, the last guardian? Or is he exiled, and life continues somewhere close but unreachable? I think these days he's come to peace with it. If you think about it, what more do you need from life but a book and a quiet place to read it?
I’m sorry. I really don’t know anything about painting techniques or composition, and cannot offer worthwhile critique. Just thought you might like to know I love it.
Also, please don’t say I have to take it down. It means very much to me.