Burnaway

[cont.]
Barbara pointed the camera at Lori who was rolling her eyes as she poured herself another glass of wine. “For me, it was kindergarten, right before Thanksgiving. The teacher had just shown us how to draw turkeys by tracing our fingers and my mom put the pictures I brought home up on the side of the refrigerator. A bunch of her friends came over and they all thought the pictures were great. So while they were having coffee together in the dining room, I got out the magic markers and drew the battle of the turkeys on the longest wall in the living room. I thought I did a great job and most of the women laughed so I was surprised at how angry my mom got. The odd thing was that I didn’t care what Mom thought – I knew I had done a great job.”
“And Lori’s still painting fighting turkeys.” Hondo pretended to be horrified when she stood up with the wine bottle in her hand. “No, don’t hit me!”
Tommy broke back into the conversation, “You have to watch out for Lori. She goes crazy when she drinks. We were in Paris at a bar and she leaps on top of a table, rips off her shirt, showing off her tattoos, and starts belting out La Marseillaise at the top of her lungs. Everyone in the bar stands up and starts singing with people joining in off the streets. When the Gendarmes by the door came in, they sang along for the final bit and then made us leave.”
“That was one fun night. You’ve probably seen the pix I took of it all, didn’t you? Some really good stuff. Anyway,” Hondo said, “back to your question, I don’t even know that what I’m doing is really Art. I dropped out of college and started taking the snaps of my friends. We were all wasted and everyone had these funny expressions but no one remembered much of anything the next day. They couldn’t remember, and I couldn’t remember so I got a button hole camera at a spy store and let the camera remember what we were up to. I mean, if you’re doing cool stuff and you don’t remember, did you really do it? So I had the snaps and everyone loved them and they started selling and then next thing I knew, my accountant told me I had to list Artist as my occupation.”
“Are your drugs tax deductions now?” Barbara asked.
“Yeah, shit. As long as I get receipts.” Everyone was laughing.
She shifted the camera toward Alex. “For me it was early too. In Sunday school, the other kids would have me draw pictures in their Bibles, Jesus as an action figure, brandishing a sword to kill the Devil. And the gang in the project where I lived had me design their tattoos. I had power because of this skill. I had respect.”
Tommy started laughing. “Bro, you were raised outside of Fresno. Your dad’s employees might have distant cousins in gangs but you were solid silver spoon.”
“And Tommy’s mother taught in Montessori. No way she’s putting her precious son into anything remedial.”
“Guilty. Ok, Barbara. I’ll come clean. Truth is with me and Lori, our parents discouraged us from studying fine art. I was supposed to do something practical and Lori was supposed to go into the family landscape design business when she graduated. Making a living was kind of drilled into us. Alex’s family gave up on him when he came out as gay. What was that in? The first grade? His mother is still trying to find a minister to cure him. Hondo had it easy in a hard way. Hondo’s family wanted him to be an artist so he spent high school avoiding art. He wanted to work on cars. His family practically owns the Fortune 500 and he wanted to repair cars. We’re a sick bunch.”
Hondo shook his head, the long blond hair flipping around. “Nah, we’re not sick at all. Alex can tell you about what sick means. We won’t let him go see his family any more. The last time he went home for a holiday, we had to drive to Ohio in a hailstorm and spring him from one of those queer cures. You know, ‘pray the gay away.’ Those guys were sickos, starving and punching him and praying over him until he saw the light and promised to go straight – those guys, those assholes were seriously perverted. I had to bop one of them to get him to let go of Alex. If Tommy hadn’t gone Rambo driving his truck through a fucking field, we’d still be in jail for assault.”
“It’s really therapeutic breaking down a door and threatening people with baseball bats. God, violence really is such a rush.” Lori’s mouth was full of brie and her pupils were a bit dilated.
Barbara stared at Lori. “Do you really believe that violence is a good thing?”
“I don’t know about good or bad. It’s just an animal survival thing. And it was an ok animal thing in this country until recently. I guess the Second World War convinced people that we’ve become a bit too effective at slaughter. But violence is built into us, just like our sex drive.”
“And what’s your source for that? Vanity Fair?” Tommy teased her.
“I read books, especially now that I don’t have to and it’s not art speak.”
Hondo was slouched about as far back in the chair as he could be without sliding out. “Yeah, I had lunch with this dude writing an article on me who asked me if I classified my snaps as documentaries or as mediated experiences. Crap like that is why college is toxic.”
Alex looked up from inhaling fumes from his wine glass to add, “Hondo thinks academics are vampires sucking the life out of making art.”
“Yeah,” Hondo nodded. His sweet face was going to jowl, Barbara observed with a bit of satisfaction. “People who talk about art think it’s an intellectual activity. It’s experiential, man. You gotta live it or it’s dead on the walls.”
“How about you, Alex? What do you think about academics?”
“Barbara, if you aren’t a trust fund baby and you aren’t selling everything you make, what you do around here to pay the bills is teach. Most artists will tell you that teaching’s not so bad because they get summers off, but it pays a pittance. And as any artist will tell you, all full time jobs ultimately drag you in and suck you dry.”
“And you, Lori? What do you think about academics?”
“Since I’m selling a ton more than my teachers ever did, I’d say it’s dumb to train the competition if you don’t have to.”
“That’s one way of looking at it. Do you have a trust fund? No? So in this group only Hondo has family backing? Well, let me ask you how you intend to stay an artist. The economic crash has really hurt sales, hasn’t it?”
They all nodded in unison, even Hondo with the enormous trust fund.