Re: Sam/Eames: art class
She just lifted her shoulders in a shrug when he said he didn't begin arguments he would lose. She didn't actually give enough of a shit about popularity versus talent to argue about it. She did her thing, and if she made money that was good, and if she didn't that was good. If people decided her shit was worth something in 200 years, then that was good too. She knew she'd made bank at her show because her fellowship came with a BIG name attached. Whatever. Like all the Alexanders, she was opportunistic, huh? She didn't turn down charity, and she didn't turn away rich fuckers who wanted to hang her shit in an entry way because so-and-so had a piece by her. The way he pointed out that Suzanne was a nude did make her laugh. "Yeah, because that's the most important thing about it, huh?" She obviously didn't think so, but she wasn't surprised that it was how he chose to describe the painting.
"I don't paint beautiful shit. If you want someone to paint a beauty portrait of you, or to tell you you're hot shit, you better wait for Paintint 101. I think the class starts in like fifteen." She was unapologetic, huh? As she sat back and regarded the eyeball. She put her brush down and she considered the canvas and the story that eye was telling. It was only KINDA Eames' story, and it was KINDA a concept, and it was KINDA just what Sam felt like painting in that moment and on that day.
Sam added a dab of white to scelra. "Yeah, IDK about tailoring. Tailoring isn't a THING in my world. Sorry, baby." Sam wouldn't know if a suit fit someone good, not if her life depended on it. Yeah, nah, even when she'd carried a Black card in her pocket she hadn't known that shit. It was another world and another language, and she just rolled her eyes when he said there was no one like him. "Yeah, I bet that shit works on someone. I think you sound fucking ridic, baby. And I already told you about my art, huh? If you were listening." Needless to say, she didn't answer his question, huh?