Surviving Picasso Page #5

the reservation time.

Kahnweiler, what are you doing here?

No one told me you...

why didn't you tell me

Mr. Kahnweiler was here?

He's my old friend.

How are you?

Do you like my tie? Kootz gave it to me.

It's from New York.

I think it looks nice on you.

Saks fifth aven... is it saks?

Yes. Mm-hmm.

How are... why didn't you tell

me he was here, you silly...

so, s... listen...

I'll show you something.

Uh, you have a good journey.

Well, thank you...

good. You happy?

Well, I hope to be. I...

good.

Bad.

Think he'll sell him anything?

Did he sell you anything?

He told me

to come back tomorrow.

Why did you give

him your necktie?

He said he liked it.

What could I do?

I've got such a pain right here.

I... have you?

...can change my reservation,

because he told me

they were all booked.

Don't you get tired

standing all that time?

You've been working

for nearly 9 hours.

While I work, I leave my

body outside the door,

the way muslims

take off their shoes

before they enter the mosque.

I love these spotlights.

I even prefer them

to natural light.

They set off every object.

There.

You'll find the deep

shadows they make

in most of my still lifes,

because they were

painted at night.

Painting is stronger than I am.

It makes me do what it wants.

It holds the brush.

It doesn't seem

to obey my brain,

but something else over

which I have no control.

Now, look at this.

Obviously, it's a woman.

It's you in

your long black dress.

But you seem to be

turning into a...

A bouquet of flowers

or a lilac bush.

Very mysterious...

I think I've painted one

thing, and it's another.

I've become so fatalistic,

I think, well, if it's

blue, it must be a woman,

if it has a beard,

it must be a man.

I make a lot of mistakes,

and so does God.

He makes a dachshund and then an

elephant and a squirrel and a whale.

Like me.

He's tried everything, like me.

We have no style.

Style only comes

after you're dead.

There are painters who make

themselves a little cake mold,

and then they bake cakes.

Always the same cakes.

You can try anything

in painting,

provided you never do it again.

Don't sell yourself anything.

Don't become

your own connoisseur.

Now!

What are you going

to call him? Pablo?

Or Paulo, like your other son?

How old is Paulo now?

Uh, why not Pablo?

Another Pablo Picasso.

Mmm.

Ah. Doesn't he look

exactly like me?

An authentic Picasso.

He certainly has the same hair.

What ugly flowers.

Aren't they?

Prime example of my

taste for bad taste.

I have excellent taste

in women and children.

Let me see him.

Hold his head!

Francoise:
Every Thursday and

Sunday, he would disappear.

Those were the days he spent

with his other family,

Marie-therese and Maya.

She was the only person

allowed to cut his nails,

a dangerous procedure,

because if the parings

were to fall

into the wrong hands,

they could be used

against him as black magic.

The same with

his hair clippings.

All of these were kept

and dated carefully,

just like every scrap

he ever drew.

Do you want me to

cut your hair today?

Is there anything left to cut?

Yes. Look at this.

Hmm, so soft. Beautiful.

No, it's... look,

do you like this?

Mm-hmm.

Shall I cut it?

Want to see me bald?

Give me the scissors. No.

Come on, give me the scissors.

Right, hold it there.

Good.

Finished?

There, papa's

a bald old man now, hmm?

Do you like it? Huh?

Kiss me on the head.

You like it?

Yes.

You like it? And another.

I've had such trouble

with the electricity bill.

They say you have

to pay it first,

and then they'll investigate

and give you a refund.

Come here.

Maya and I will have to go

shopping for a new coat for her.

She's growing so fast.

Shh.

Money is such a worry for you,

and Maya and I try not

to spend too much.

Without you and Maya,

my life would be...

A desert waste.

And from now on,

I want you to write

me twice a day.

Every day, you understand?

Mm-hmm.

Twice a day, because I'm sick

if I don't hear from you.

Really sick.

Miserable and lonely.

After our son was born

we spent less

and less time in Paris.

Picasso decided that

children need sea air,

and as soon as it was spring,

we went to golfe Juan and stayed

right through the autumn.

But, of course,

wherever Picasso went,

his assorted families

went, too,

why don't you let me

teach you how to swim?

I swim very well

up to my knees.

I can make love

underwater, remember?

Are you cold?

Yes, I'm freezing.

You know what

I think would be nice?

What?

If you would let Marie-therese

and Maya come and visit us.

Why?

Why not? Give me

one good reason.

You don't understand

these things yourself.

I understand that

Claude has a half-sister,

and I would like him

to meet her.

For a middle-class girl,

you have very little

sense of propriety.

You were very badly brought up.

Very badly. Go away.

Claude was saying

whole sentences

by the time he was 18 months.

Picasso:
Yeah.

When did he start walking?

He must've been...

3 days.

15 months.

Oh, I shouldn't.

Maya walked before

she was a year old.

Girls are usually

quicker than boys.

But I didn't wean

her till 14 months.

Oh, I started Claude on

solid food at 4 months.

4 months? Imagine.

He did very well

with bananas and cereal.

And beef steaks.

Beef steaks?

Before he had teeth?

He was born with teeth.

Strong teeth, like mine.

I used to mash the yolk of

an egg for him in milk.

Mm-hmm.

You haven't finished your tea.

It will get cold.

Oh.

Thank you.

Don't hope that you can

ever take my place.

Of course not.

Others have tried and failed.

I shall always be the first

and most important with him.

That is all I wanted to say.

Francoise:
He was very

disappointed with this meeting.

"You're not a real

woman," he accused me.

A real woman would have fought

over him, physically fought,

like dora maar did

with Marie-therese.

It happened while

he was painting guernica,

that great human cry

against aggression

and hate between man and man...

And woman and woman.

This man is the

father of my child.

You have no right to be here.

It's true

I haven't got a child,

but I think he finds me

equally, if not more amusing,

without one.

Make up your mind.

Which one of us do you want?

I like you both. I have

no complaints at all.

You must fight it out

between yourselves.

Oh!

Ow! Ow!

And this.

And this.

Hey!

Garbageman!

Don't look at her.

Who's that?

Completely crazy.

When I was married to you,

you were an artist.

What are you doing now?

Collecting garbage. Oh!

Who is that?

A garbageman.

Artist to garbageman.

Olga my wife.

That's Olga?

They call you "king

of the rubbish dump."

King of the rubbish dump.

That's the only kind

of king you are.

Who is this one

he has got with him?

Who is she?

Where did he find her?

Go away. Go home.

I'm his wife.

His wife.

I am the only madame Picasso.

Where's your son?

My son? Yeah.

He's your son.

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