What's Love Got to Do With It?
The Freedom and the Fury
Elizabeth had a lovely painting studio, which fact made her feel terribly guilty, as she wasn’t currently painting. In fact, she was doing anything and everything she could do not to paint.
“Gosh, a million painters would die for my studio space,” she heard herself saying. But that thought did not motivate her to paint.
One day, she found herself having lunch with her friend Rod, an art director. Rod had stopped drinking, which made lunch with him less fun but more real. She hoped that Rod could help her.
“You know,” she said, “I have all the freedom in the world. As much as a person can have.”
“That’s lovely,” Rod replied while cutting his cod. “And too bad.”
“I know.”
“Freedom,” Rod said, shaking his head.
“I know.”
“Now, of course, if you loved something, that would take care of the problem.”
“But I do love painting,” Elizabeth replied, with something like indignation.
“Of course.” But Rod didn’t sound at all convinced.
“I love color!”
“Or course.”
“I do! Just like you!”
“Me? I don’t love color. Not any longer, at any rate. Color is just … color. You might as well love a sunset. That’s just … something that happens.”
“Well, but can’t we ‘sort of’ love something? We can sort of love color, yes?”
“Sort of loving doesn’t cross the threshold. It doesn’t get you to the canvas. I haven’t painted since I was an undergraduate.”
They ate. Elizabeth drank her white wine. Rod sipped his special lemonade. The fish was good.
“I love the works of certain artists,” Elizabeth said.
“Do you? When did you look at them last?”
“Well … not for a while.”
“A while?”
“A long time.”
“Does that sound like love?” Rod put down his fork. “Plus, if you did look at them now, you’d be trying to figure out how they did what they did. That isn’t love, that’s appropriation. That’s what I do all day long. Copy Klimt or Mondrian or figure out why in the world everyone goes crazy for polka dots … ”
They ate silently.
“Polka dots!” Rod exclaimed.
“You mean, art is dead?” Elizabeth said after another long moment.
“That’s not for me to say. I’m just an art director.”
Elizabeth nodded. Lunch ended awkwardly. The food had been satisfying, but not the conversation.
“Going to your studio?” Rod said, more mockingly that he had perhaps intended.
Elizabeth made no reply. They got ready to part. Suddenly Rod exclaimed, “Well, what did you want from me? I’m not a real artist.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Let’s do this again,” she said.
“Yes,” Rod agreed. “Love to.”