I'm going through my fortnightly Schiele phase again. I really just think he was a genius, the way he could capture people's (often his own or prostitute's) fragility just in a few scratchy lines.
It prompted me to try a couple of black and white portraits in a similar, although hopefully not identical vein.
There's something a bit Quentin Blakey about the last one, which took all of three minutes, but I don't hate it. Well, this is the time of year for miracles.