Lovely Summer Smoke Deluged by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Chapter 17

In her room, Posie felt extremely comfortable, though lackluster and jaded, surrounded by the furry tapestries on the wall and Kale on the floor. She whined; “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

Kale was challenged. His former attempts at avant-garde art were now commonplace. The easy and inevitable duplication, well highlighted by Warhol posed a problem for the self-styled perennial outsider. In this age everything quickly becomes inside. What to do? What to do? Further out? Further in? Stasis?

He decided to attempt a resurrection, going back to the very beginning, when color was added to the black and white depictions. He said; “Blue.”

Posie was unsure of the inference. A light, pastel blue was cheery though conventional and unrefined, while a deep blue was depression, hiding underground, at the edge, or contemplative.

She said; “Shade?”

Kale said; “Sky, on a cloudless, summer day.”

“So romantic.”

“How about red?”

“Fire, blood, passion, anger, destruction. A very dangerous color.

“Fire is actually red mixed with yellow. Blood can be red when fresh, but blue when not. This is debatable, but I think

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anger is actually white heat and destruction blackness in the sense of no color whatsoever. Red is a passion, undeterred by a fall into pastel at one extreme and the combining with blue, producing purple at the other.”

“Is there something wrong with purple?”

“Not if you can stand extreme passion.”

Posie smiled and said; “Yellow throws me. At one level it is the radiance of the sun and at the other it is the color of bile, cowardice or piss.” She giggled at her rude choice of words.

“You are not considering the wisdom of the ancients.

Alchemy, the attempt at converting base metal to GOLD. The radiance of the sun is illumination for the few, but blinding, drying or terrifying to the many. Bile, piss and cowardice repel. Think GOLD.”

Posie said; “Green?”

“Difficult color for me. I see new growth, living seeds, temporary existence, naiveté, exuberance and folly.”

“Like us?”

Kale laughed as he had not previously had that thought, but considered it apropos. He said; “I think so.” He rocked her back on the bed and joined her, thinking; “There is plenty of time to get into the derivative colors. Now is for naïve folly.” Posie agreed, but did so without the burden of reflection.

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The family formal dinner was an event which received mixed reviews from the children, ranging all the way from the

“astoundingly tuned” of Arthur and Amber to the “unrealized promise“ of Kale and Posie, with Otis and Tory rather non-committal, if they were paying any attention at all. At this weeks’ affair Hi asked the children to discuss painters’ who had piqued their interest.

Arthur strongly enunciated; “Caravaggio was as clear as a photograph and added exquisite texture.”

Hi responded; “That’s very true, Arthur. However, it does not take subject matter into account. Are you suggesting that he was the best?”

Arthur riotously blinked his eyes at the question he found surprising and offered; “Of course not.”

Bee asked; “Do you have a favorite?”

Posie rudely answered for him, saying; “The closest thing to a ‘favorite’ Arthur has would best be described as that which afforded the highest profit, spelled P-R-O-F-I-T. His sense of feeling is well superseded by his elevated level of characterization skills.”

Hi scolded her, saying; “That is quite enough, Posie. I believe an apology is in order.”

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As Posie shuffled in her chair, evincing more than a slight hint of a grimace, Arthur beat her to the verbal discipline.

Dripping with sarcasm, he said; “Please do, my beautiful sister.

I’m devastated by your cruel classification. I might say characterization.” He forced a closed mouth grin in her direction.

Hi said; “Apology apparently accepted. I am happy with neither of you. Arthur, you would do well to develop more intimate contact and Posie, your outlook might change if you saw more people, that is to say ‘spread yourself around.’”

Arthur took the commentary with a blasé mindset, thinking;

“Yet another opinion. When I meet someone suitable, that will be done. In the meantime I see no reason to suffer idiocy.”

Posie took the words to heart, fearfully thinking that the suggestion was another pointed remark about her exclusivity with Kale. Much more significantly, it came from an authority figure.

While this unnerved her, she was also shocked at the possible interpretation of suggested promiscuity.

Kale inferred the invective to be something more than mere, inadvertent innuendo and wondered if his “real father” would have dispensed the same thought. He visualized his fantasy of Marian and Posie’s fantasy of Mellow and pondered if they should be realities. He pictured Hi with other women and Bee with other men, deciding that it was beneficial to dismiss the thought. For

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the first time he strongly considered Posie and himself rebels.

He rubbed his leg against hers, happy that she didn’t move and melancholy that she would not look in his direction.

The other children became reasonably certain of full knowledge of the Posie-Kale affair. Otis and Tory fretted of their own situation. Amber was encouraged.

Bee broke the bizarre, byzantine break by bidding broadened badinage. She said; “Amber, who is one of your favorite painters?”

Amber’s mind was focused on classical realism, in her case making an unconscious, personal value judgment, and coming up with female nudity. She said; “Without a shadow of a doubt; Titian. I especially like the Danae and the Shower of Gold Series.” She turned to Posie, who suddenly had to re-adjust her shoes. “Venus of Urbino titillates.” Her eyebrows reached new heights as she again looked toward Posie, who was now busy inspecting her fingernails.

Arthur was compelled to say; “Showers of gold have always had their place, but ample women have gone the way of the triceratops. Twiggy is now.”

Hi observed his beefsteak while he calmly and slowly said;

“Arthur, your evaluations will immediately cease. Comprende?”

Arthur’s first thought was erroneously something to do with censorship. His second was that Dad, in speaking Spanish,

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however limited, was violating his own rule. But he merely said;

“Yes,” with a puzzled look on his face.

Bee called on Otis, who matter-of-factly stated that he liked Warhol’s “Campbell’s Soup Cans.”

With no following commentary the process was repeated with Tory, who grinned seductively in responding; “Thiebaud’s ‘Three Machines.’”

Kale mentioned Tanguy’s “Reply to Red.”

Bee said; “And you, Posie?”

Posie could not answer. Her mind was still occupied with thoughts of worry, which seemed to be coming from all directions.

After a few pregnant seconds Bee repeated; “Posie?”

Posie only thought of her view of her current situation and said; “I really do not know the names, but whoever put Kafka in oil would be my choice today.”

Arthur couldn’t control himself ant longer and said; “Try Edward Hopper, for one.”

Hi was beside himself, raising his voice to say; “Arthur, you will leave this table at once.”

Arthur stood and loudly replied; “You spoke in Spanish. If you can break the rules, so can I.”

Hi, too, got on his hind legs and said; “I will not be disobeyed. You will exit now.”

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Arthur’s response was not heard as everyone started talking at once. Kale and Posie smiled at each other, grateful for the upheaval. They thought anything which diverted attention from them was good news.

Only audible to Kale, Posie said; “I’ve changed my mind. I think I prefer ‘The Persistence of Memory’ by Dali.”

Kale squeezed her thigh and whispered; “Surrealism is the only way.”

Posie nodded and demurely grinned for a fraction of a second.

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