Creative Sanctity

The artist has what she hopes will be a good meeting tomorrow. (As indeed have I, though another.) Presently she is watching a drama about a brother and sister and their two different ways of dealing with a perceived major injustice, the brother smartly trying to keep the peace and the sister reckless on havoc as revenge. I know a part of the artist's thoughts, the parts you cannot skim over, such as are deployed within and not on top of the brain, will also be thinking about what she is going to say tomorrow, as well as what and indeed which in terms of the reproductions she will show. (The soundtrack on the TV grows tensely cross-cultural.) This meeting is with an old friend of mine, a man I like, whom she was going to meet a few weeks ago. He is the one arranging for a gallery the artist likes to see her. Observing the back of her head, I am obliged to consider it must be frustrating to be expected to represent your work in discussions without the work being there. The reproductions are good - the colours intense and the printing on matt, which enhances the medium. But the artist's work requires being seen in the flesh, far more perhaps than most people's, as the experience of seeing it is as physical as it is cerebral. One idea is to arrange for a vehicle to take the work to the man's gallery. This may happen, in a week or so, after the initial meeting, as the artist has a friend with a large vehicle who has said she will help. I don't have a vehicle but don't like anyway being seen at such meetings or deliveries as I feel a husband can be an impediment in such situations and can apply sometimes unintentional pressure on otherwise working situations. It's not a man-woman thing, more about what I'd call the creative sanctity of the artist. Someone who knows the artist better than the person meeting her will inevitably make that person feel self-conscious. No, this is all about the artist. Not, despite this blog, the artist's husband.