excerpt
believe me. You think we’re in some pub, in some little village in Ireland,
and we’re spouting off after we’ve got ourselves two-thirds cut. I suggest
you come to my studio and take a look for yourself.”
Stevenson was waiting for him outside the door the next morning. Ken
opened it and flicked the light switch. Stevenson took one step forward
and stopped, his eyes sweeping the room. “Holy Mother of Mary! Jesus!”
he breathed.
Ken leaned back and whispered to Diane, “Get a pad of foolscap paper
and a clipboard. Drive a nail in the wall here and hang it up, with a
pencil, and every time someone comes in, write down the first comments
they make – with the date and the name. Let’s keep track of how this hits
people.”
Stevenson tried to estimate how much paint Ken would need. For such
quantities he would need the paint in tubs. Ken shook his head. Tubs of
old paint formed a skin that reminded him of custard and he couldn’t
bear the sight of it. He wanted the paint in the factory’s largest tubes. And
what would he do with such enormous quantities of empty tubes? That
also was not a problem. He would place several eight-foot-tall Plexiglas
cylinders in his studio. Every discarded tube and used brush would be
tossed into the tubes and the tubes themselves would be part of a travelling
exhibition – part of the quantification process.
“Everyone is trying to mystify art,” he said. “I’m trying to demystify
it. I want people to understand. This art jargon is all about people being
self-important. I don’t need to be self-important. I am important. I
want people to understand what we as painters do – or at least what this
painter does.”
How much would two tons of paint cost? Stevenson had no idea. He
had never sold paint by the ton.
“Think about it,” Ken said. “Keep in mind that by the time we’re halfway
through this, this will be the most famous project in the world.”
“You’re confident of that, are you?”
“Of course I am. Do you think I’m leaving it to the gods to figure this
out? This is an engineering process. My uncle was Machiavelli.”
“You sound more like a warrior than a painter.”
“I was born in a war. It comes naturally to me. In this hand I have a
paintbrush and in this hand I have a sword. I’m good with both. I enjoy
both. You choose. Remember, you make the paint, I make the magic.”
“You think highly of yourself.”
“Yes. There are three things that are consistent: gravity, human stupidity
and my high opinion of myself.”
During the next week, Stevenson called daily, not so much for more
specifics to help him with his quotation as for details of Ken’s story. On
each call, he said the price would probably come down a bit more.
Libros Libertad 