Pico de Orizaba

Pico de Orizaba
Taken from Huatusco, Veracruz, the closest town to Margarita's family's ranch.

Thursday, June 1, 2017

Artist or Prostitute... That is the question...

She asked him, "if you don't think of selling your paintings, why do you paint?"  

This wasn't the first time they argued about whether or not he was truly an artist... on a prior occasion she had said, "One reason you're not an artist is because you don't paint everyday..."  To which he responded, "look, painting isn't my only artistic passion... The days that the painting clearly isn't working or I'm not inspired, I cook... A sure bet... never fails me... and we've gotta eat.  Why not eat inexpensively and what you truly crave?  Other days I write or I read...  I don't know how that would discredit me as being an artist..."

Her block-headed stubborness had been grating on him for awhile... His girl"friend" was rapidly taking the form of a horse with blinders pulling a carriage through Central Park, her self-constructed trap... He thought of calling her a stubborn mule... Instead he responded out of character, 

"Now tell me, honestly dear, when we 'make love', are you really practicing for a role in an upcoming porn movie?..."

a pause, allowing the impact of the question to sink in...

"...I mean... afterall... in your mind... passions are truly valid ONLY if you're being paid... So, maybe it's true what the feminists say when they defend prostitution; that all women prostitute themselves to their husbands in some way... an exchange of sex for their husband's paycheck, the house, the nice car, the vacations... so why give it up for free and permanently?  I mean, that's what you believe isn't it?  Everything comes with a price tag and must be exchanged for money... In order to be an artist, I must sell my paintings... 'straight from the horses mouth?..."

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