(no subject)
I promised this scene from WYWM to hiki_chan after chapter 4 of TTW came out, and she and I had a debate over whether or not the bicycle wheel counts as art. Although I couldn't convince either Mal or Kiran that it was, I agreed that to make up for it, I would put in a scene with Ethan and Isaac discussing it.
Writing this was very interesting, because I've never before had to write a character arguing for something I didn't really believe in... so I basically used Hiki-chan's emails to write three quarters of Isaac's dialogue. ^_~ Hope you don't mind, Hiki darling. If you have any suggestions, just let me know.
And... erm... mild spoilers for the Titanic movie. ^^;;;;
“There are no words for how stupid I feel,” Ethan complained, shifting position slightly. “Remind me again why I agreed to do this.”
Isaac looked over at him and grinned, taking the paintbrush out of his mouth long enough to answer. “You agreed because I waxed eloquent about how beautiful you are and how much I wanted to paint you, and because I agreed I’d take you out to dinner once for every hour that you had to model. And don’t feel stupid. You look wonderful. Are you embarrassed?”
“A little,” Ethan admitted.
“Don’t be. Being naked just makes it more artistic.”
“I feel,” Ethan said succinctly, “like I’m in The Titantic.”
Isaac choked, and nearly ruined the painting with an untimely streak of turquoise across Ethan’s face. When he recovered, he said, “Well, you’re much prettier than what’s-her-name. And I’m not making you wear any strange jewelry. Besides, with the way that sheet is positioned, I can barely see anything of you at all.”
Ethan disagreed. Although there was in fact a sheet draped over him, it was twined around him and revealed more than it covered. His position was not seductive - it was actually anything but. He was lying on his side with one hand underneath his cheek, as if he were about to go to sleep. Isaac had told him to lie down and find a comfortable position.
Isaac began to whistle as he painted. After a few moments, Ethan realized he was whistling ‘My Heart Will Go On.’ He began to sputter, then narrowed his eyes and said, “You know, if I’m Kate Winslet, that means you’re Leonardo. And that means you’re going to die at the end of the movie if you don’t shape up.”
“Well worth every second,” Isaac said, still whistling. “Leo would have said the same.”
“Jack.”
“Whatever. You ever notice the way the chick says ‘I’ll never let go’ just before shoving him off the door she was floating on?”
There was a long pause.
“You’re sick, Isaac.”
“I’m sick? I didn’t write the movie.”
Ethan giggled and shifted again. The sheet slid down another inch and he resisted the urge to pull it back up. Although he trusted Isaac immensely and had never been body shy in the slightest, it was extremely strange to be lying there ninety-five percent exposed, with Isaac staring alternately between his body and the canvas.
“Relax,” Isaac said. “You’re gorgeous. That’s why I wanted to paint you. Besides, it’s not like I’ve never seen you naked before. Hundreds of times when we were kids.”
“That’s different,” Ethan protested. “You just wanted to get me naked, that’s why you did this. I’m on to you. Why is that naked equals artistic?”
“It doesn’t, really. I just said that to get you to take your pants off.”
Ethan spluttered helplessly for a few seconds, then saw that Isaac was grinning. He grumbled and subsided. “I wouldn’t know art if it bit my ass and stole my wallet,” he admitted, chagrined. “Bren took me to the modern art museum once. There was a bicycle wheel on a pedestal. I mean, what the Christ is that?”
“That bicycle wheel,” Isaac said severely, “is incredible.”
“It’s a bicycle wheel on a stand, Isaac. It’s not art.”
“It’s from around the same time as the first world war.”
“Then it should be in a history museum, not an art museum.”
Isaac cracked a smile at this comment. “You know, the first thing that guy did was actually a bidet? A pissoir, to be technical. He just put it on a stand and declared it art. They’re called ‘ready-mades.’ Everyone was totally shocked by it. Duchamp - that’s the artist - was in the jury and he just about laughed his ass off as everyone’s going around discussing this toilet in a very offended, but perfectly serious tone, like it was something real.”
“He just put it on a stand,” Ethan said skeptically. “I could do that.”
“Sure you could. But you didn’t. And neither did I. And neither did anyone else.”
Ethan pondered this for a few long minutes. “But lots of people do now. I saw this one article about a guy who took a couch from the dump and sold it as art. It still had the ‘free, take me home’ sign on it. So what’s that?”
“That,” Isaac said, “is a copycat.”
“So it’s not art?”
Isaac shrugged. “There’s no real way to draw a line. As long as someone somewhere thinks it’s art, I guess you have to say it is.”
“That’s stupid,” Ethan said. “So I could do it.”
“You could copy it.”
“But that’s not the same?”
“Now you’ve got it.”
There were a few long minutes while Ethan thought about this, and Isaac painted.
“Take Yves Klein, for example,” Isaac said. “He did the monochrome paintings. Don’t make that face at me, I see you over there,” he added, laughing. “But those paintings are great. They look . . . they look alive somehow. Everyone does them now, but Klein invented them . . . and his are way cooler than everyone else’s. He copyrighted his color blue.”
“He copyrighted the color blue?” Ethan asked skeptically.
“No, not the color blue,” Isaac said patiently. “His color blue.”
“Pardon me for failing to see the difference.”
“Well, that’s because you haven’t seen the painting.”
Ethan laughed. “You’re going to drag me to every art museum ever made, aren’t you.”
“Of course.” There was a brief pause. “Hey, you said you saw the wheel? That’s in the MOMA.”
“The who-huh-what-now?”
“The MOMA. Museum of modern art. It’s in New York City, not Boston.”
“Well, yeah.” Ethan let out a bit of an embarrassed laugh. “Bren took me while we were on the book tour. We were in New York for nearly a week, and I got really bored, so we did some sight-seeing and stuff. I enjoyed most of it. He said I was uncultured, so he dragged me there.”
“I’d love to see it,” Isaac said wistfully.
Ethan looked at him. “Isaac. You have money now. You can go to New York City.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Isaac said, clearly startled. “I forgot.”
Ethan laughed. “Let’s quit for a while,” he said. “My arm is cramping.” He sat up, spilling the sheet to the floor. Now that Isaac was no longer examining and painting him, he was totally casual in his nudity. Of course, this only led to more staring on Isaac’s part. He shook himself a little.
“One more month,” he muttered to himself.
Ethan heard him, and laughed, picking up his pants and pulling them on. “You can do it,” he said. “I have total faith in you.”
Isaac walked over and kissed him, a long, full kiss. “I’m glad one of us does,” he said. “Because my hormones are trying to take control over my body every day.” He saw the uncertainty flicker in Ethan’s eyes. “No,” he said firmly. “I’m fine. I will last another month. Besides, it’ll only be that much better when I finally get you.”
Ethan relaxed. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” Ethan kissed him.
Writing this was very interesting, because I've never before had to write a character arguing for something I didn't really believe in... so I basically used Hiki-chan's emails to write three quarters of Isaac's dialogue. ^_~ Hope you don't mind, Hiki darling. If you have any suggestions, just let me know.
And... erm... mild spoilers for the Titanic movie. ^^;;;;
“There are no words for how stupid I feel,” Ethan complained, shifting position slightly. “Remind me again why I agreed to do this.”
Isaac looked over at him and grinned, taking the paintbrush out of his mouth long enough to answer. “You agreed because I waxed eloquent about how beautiful you are and how much I wanted to paint you, and because I agreed I’d take you out to dinner once for every hour that you had to model. And don’t feel stupid. You look wonderful. Are you embarrassed?”
“A little,” Ethan admitted.
“Don’t be. Being naked just makes it more artistic.”
“I feel,” Ethan said succinctly, “like I’m in The Titantic.”
Isaac choked, and nearly ruined the painting with an untimely streak of turquoise across Ethan’s face. When he recovered, he said, “Well, you’re much prettier than what’s-her-name. And I’m not making you wear any strange jewelry. Besides, with the way that sheet is positioned, I can barely see anything of you at all.”
Ethan disagreed. Although there was in fact a sheet draped over him, it was twined around him and revealed more than it covered. His position was not seductive - it was actually anything but. He was lying on his side with one hand underneath his cheek, as if he were about to go to sleep. Isaac had told him to lie down and find a comfortable position.
Isaac began to whistle as he painted. After a few moments, Ethan realized he was whistling ‘My Heart Will Go On.’ He began to sputter, then narrowed his eyes and said, “You know, if I’m Kate Winslet, that means you’re Leonardo. And that means you’re going to die at the end of the movie if you don’t shape up.”
“Well worth every second,” Isaac said, still whistling. “Leo would have said the same.”
“Jack.”
“Whatever. You ever notice the way the chick says ‘I’ll never let go’ just before shoving him off the door she was floating on?”
There was a long pause.
“You’re sick, Isaac.”
“I’m sick? I didn’t write the movie.”
Ethan giggled and shifted again. The sheet slid down another inch and he resisted the urge to pull it back up. Although he trusted Isaac immensely and had never been body shy in the slightest, it was extremely strange to be lying there ninety-five percent exposed, with Isaac staring alternately between his body and the canvas.
“Relax,” Isaac said. “You’re gorgeous. That’s why I wanted to paint you. Besides, it’s not like I’ve never seen you naked before. Hundreds of times when we were kids.”
“That’s different,” Ethan protested. “You just wanted to get me naked, that’s why you did this. I’m on to you. Why is that naked equals artistic?”
“It doesn’t, really. I just said that to get you to take your pants off.”
Ethan spluttered helplessly for a few seconds, then saw that Isaac was grinning. He grumbled and subsided. “I wouldn’t know art if it bit my ass and stole my wallet,” he admitted, chagrined. “Bren took me to the modern art museum once. There was a bicycle wheel on a pedestal. I mean, what the Christ is that?”
“That bicycle wheel,” Isaac said severely, “is incredible.”
“It’s a bicycle wheel on a stand, Isaac. It’s not art.”
“It’s from around the same time as the first world war.”
“Then it should be in a history museum, not an art museum.”
Isaac cracked a smile at this comment. “You know, the first thing that guy did was actually a bidet? A pissoir, to be technical. He just put it on a stand and declared it art. They’re called ‘ready-mades.’ Everyone was totally shocked by it. Duchamp - that’s the artist - was in the jury and he just about laughed his ass off as everyone’s going around discussing this toilet in a very offended, but perfectly serious tone, like it was something real.”
“He just put it on a stand,” Ethan said skeptically. “I could do that.”
“Sure you could. But you didn’t. And neither did I. And neither did anyone else.”
Ethan pondered this for a few long minutes. “But lots of people do now. I saw this one article about a guy who took a couch from the dump and sold it as art. It still had the ‘free, take me home’ sign on it. So what’s that?”
“That,” Isaac said, “is a copycat.”
“So it’s not art?”
Isaac shrugged. “There’s no real way to draw a line. As long as someone somewhere thinks it’s art, I guess you have to say it is.”
“That’s stupid,” Ethan said. “So I could do it.”
“You could copy it.”
“But that’s not the same?”
“Now you’ve got it.”
There were a few long minutes while Ethan thought about this, and Isaac painted.
“Take Yves Klein, for example,” Isaac said. “He did the monochrome paintings. Don’t make that face at me, I see you over there,” he added, laughing. “But those paintings are great. They look . . . they look alive somehow. Everyone does them now, but Klein invented them . . . and his are way cooler than everyone else’s. He copyrighted his color blue.”
“He copyrighted the color blue?” Ethan asked skeptically.
“No, not the color blue,” Isaac said patiently. “His color blue.”
“Pardon me for failing to see the difference.”
“Well, that’s because you haven’t seen the painting.”
Ethan laughed. “You’re going to drag me to every art museum ever made, aren’t you.”
“Of course.” There was a brief pause. “Hey, you said you saw the wheel? That’s in the MOMA.”
“The who-huh-what-now?”
“The MOMA. Museum of modern art. It’s in New York City, not Boston.”
“Well, yeah.” Ethan let out a bit of an embarrassed laugh. “Bren took me while we were on the book tour. We were in New York for nearly a week, and I got really bored, so we did some sight-seeing and stuff. I enjoyed most of it. He said I was uncultured, so he dragged me there.”
“I’d love to see it,” Isaac said wistfully.
Ethan looked at him. “Isaac. You have money now. You can go to New York City.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Isaac said, clearly startled. “I forgot.”
Ethan laughed. “Let’s quit for a while,” he said. “My arm is cramping.” He sat up, spilling the sheet to the floor. Now that Isaac was no longer examining and painting him, he was totally casual in his nudity. Of course, this only led to more staring on Isaac’s part. He shook himself a little.
“One more month,” he muttered to himself.
Ethan heard him, and laughed, picking up his pants and pulling them on. “You can do it,” he said. “I have total faith in you.”
Isaac walked over and kissed him, a long, full kiss. “I’m glad one of us does,” he said. “Because my hormones are trying to take control over my body every day.” He saw the uncertainty flicker in Ethan’s eyes. “No,” he said firmly. “I’m fine. I will last another month. Besides, it’ll only be that much better when I finally get you.”
Ethan relaxed. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” Ethan kissed him.