Burnaway

[cont.]
Odessa left the table to bring out the roasted root vegetables and spicy chick peas from the oven. From the kitchen, she yelled out, “Creativity and boredom should never be allowed in the same room.”
The chick peas were remarkably good. Barbara complimented Odessa on them.
“Oh, thank you. I’ll let my daughter-in-law know. It’s her recipe.”
“I’d really like your thoughts on Lori for my documentary. Whatever you tell me may get plagiarized.” She always gave fair warning.
Odessa laughed. “Oh, that’s so very sweet of you to say. I’d love to be profound or original enough to merit plagiarism but my observation is rather commonplace. You have to understand that Lori’s abrupt departure from making art is a loss but it’s really not a remarkable situation.”
“So,” Barbara asked Odessa, “you’re not going to try to convince her to continue painting?”
“No, I’m not.”
“But you admire her work. I admire her work. Don’t you think we should do something?”
“I told her that I loved her work and hated that she was quitting. I told her three times that if she changed her mind, come talk with me. My door’s always open to her. There’s really nothing else I can do. The sad reality is that some people just don’t have it in them to struggle without external rewards. She told me she realized that now that Hondo’s dead, she doesn’t want to paint any more. If she doesn’t want and need to do art, then what’s the point? She’d just be making stuff and lord knows there’s enough stuff being passed off as art already.”
“But she’s so talented. There must be something you can do.”
“If she isn’t devoted to making art, if it isn’t what she dreams about at night, if it doesn’t inform every breath she takes, she shouldn’t do it. Art isn’t a part-time job. I know you’re part of the snowflake generation and have been told all your life how special you are. You’ve been cushioned from scary mean judgments and told everyone is a winner. That’s a great strategy for elementary school kids to bolster their self esteem but in real life some people don’t succeed.”
“But all of her creativity…”
“…will get funneled into other activities. Look, she’s hit a sluggish patch in her career. When that happens, women often decide to have children. It provides an excuse to step back from the art world; and motherhood, unlike art, is a rewarding expenditure of time, both personally and societally. Men, poor dears, don’t have that clear option,” Odessa took a sip of wine and continued. “They can quit making art and get jobs to take care of their families but then they too often think of themselves as quitters. That’s hard on a man. On the other hand, success is really very rare for anyone in the arts. The men who do stick it out often become angry when they don’t get enough recognition and sink into a spiteful mediocrity. I know one artist in Laguna Beach who did these amazing drawings in his twenties, so full of life and energy. Then in his mid thirties, we all realized he was stuck doing the same two drawings over and over, not progressing one iota. For some artists that can be seen as consistency, a kind of rigorous exploration of nuance, particularly if you’re a really cerebral artist. But if you aren’t wildly successful and tend to be more slapdash and spontaneous like he was, it’s usually a better tack to evolve. And LA in particular is besotted with this constant progression of the next new, young thing. When his sales petered off, his gallery suggested that he might should think about experimenting a little bit more. His response was to start doing cartoons, deliberately corny, crude cartoons which weren’t funny or sexy or well drawn. They were just dumb. Just plain dumb. The gallery had no choice but to drop him and he sold the awful things for five dollars each on the internet. I was so embarrassed for him. Women often drop out of art to become mommies but men, bless their hearts, go more for burning down bridges. Mind you, both sexes do both, just not in the same percentages. I certainly don’t mean to promote stereotypes but I’ve seen those behaviors break down that way far too often not to be honest about it.”
“Lori is not a stereotype, at least she wasn’t until she fell in love with that guy.” Barbara noticed that when she said “guy” with such contempt, both Odessa and Maggie winced.
“I’m sorry, Barbara. I don’t look on love as a negative thing in anyone’s life. Lori is a strong young woman. Her decisions are definitely her own.” Odessa fussed with her napkin again as she talked to Barbara.
“He certainly seems like the classic definition of an anchor weighing her down to me.”
“Barbara, you don’t really know Lori and you’ve never even met him,” Maggie told her. Barbara wasn’t accustomed to Maggie contradicting her. She usually had more tact than that.
“Speaking of weight, are either of you two ready for dessert? No, no, let me get it for y’all.”
While Odessa was in the kitchen spooning ice cream on top of the apple pie she had baked, Barbara watched Maggie fiddle with the forks, much as Odessa had done a minute ago with the napkin. They both were obviously uncomfortable with Barbara’s vehemence. That often happened. Well, Barbara thought to herself, I am who I am. If they don’t like it, that’s their problem.
“I filmed a segment on Tommy last week,” Barbara told Odessa as they ate the pie. The crust was a bit leathery but at least it wasn’t too sweet. “He’s visibly depressed and his work shows it and not in a good way. Between Hondo’s death, Alex’s defection to New York and Lori’s marriage, he’s lost his support network. To top it off, his antidepressants aren’t working anymore and he has no money for doctors. It was a horrible visit. It’s like somebody unplugged him and he’s become one of the living dead.”
“I may be able to help him find a doctor. I’ll make some calls,” Odessa volunteered.