Re: Sam/Eames: art class
"Like POPULAR. Are you gonna argue against popularity?? It means he's like acclaimed and sold a bunch of shit." Yeah, ok, so that wasn't a hella thoughtful answer, but it was how Sam understood it. She didn't like sit around and try to figure out why she liked what she liked, and she didn't like try to figure out who liked HER shit. She knew rich people did, but that wasn't out of interest or anything. Nah, it was just collector shit, huh? Like they wanted to have what their friends had. But, Gauguin: "I like Suzanne sewing. I have a print of it in the bathroom."
She grinned. "Your eyeball IS old. It's not like the spring chicken of eyeballs." But there was more than physical age in the eyeball on the canvas. It was a concept, yeah?? Remember?? "You can pretend it's your eyeball in like a decade, huh? If being old bugs you or whatever." Sam was just fucking around. She wasn't sure how old he was, but she was pretty sure Cris was older, but not by much or whatever.
"I'm just saying. I'm not sure if you're loaded or flat fucking broke. Clothes doesn't give that shit away anymore." It didn't. Sometimes rich fuckers donated all their clothes to Goodwill, huh? Like Versace and Tom Ford shit that had been worn once. Nah, the once-poor girl in the cheap duds knew better than to judge a book by its cover. "It's a big city. I bet there's other Eames." In the Capital, yeah? Not in Repose. Repose was too small for more than one fucking chair.
She looked back at the painting. "I'll finish him, and then we'll see or whatever. I have some show space for the new year, but I'm not sure Murphy makes the cut thematically. He has competition."