I have been listening to the audio book of Arianna Huffington’s book, Picasso: Creator and Destroyer and it has blackened my mood considerably. I had accepted, long ago, that Picasso was not a very nice man. I even accepted the fact that he was a misogynist. What I did not realize was, that he was a demon.
The audio book is 19 hours of not-so easy listening. It is not in how the story of Picasso’s life has been told via Huffington’s writings and Wanda McCaddon’s narration, but it is the the sheer monstrosity of Picasso’s behavior that has put a black cloud over my cheery disposition. I have come to want to throw things when McCaddon falls into the Picasso voice she verbalizes the artist with. I have, over the course of the audiobook, come to hate that voice, deeply.
And so I have reached the last 10 years of Picasso’s life… and just barely has he landed on his final conquest and I am glad to be near the end. YET… there is something that still fascinates me about this monster. Yes, monster. It, whatever IT is… is probably why the women of his life stayed with him in the face of his brazen cruelty and manipulation… there was a fascination. And what perplexes ME is… there is this insanely brilliant quality of Picasso’s work that is undeniable… and it leads me to the conundrum I have been struggling with since I started this book… can one love the oeuvre of an artist and HATE the artist himself? Is it a package deal? (I thought so at first)… BUT then… can you abhor demonism and yet like the work the demon produces? … NOW knowing how the demon produced the work…? It is really harder than you might think. The struggle continues.
