TWO NUDES
PABLO PICASSO, 1906
Okay, here's a weird one. Picasso can paint anything. Anything. And he sits down and makes this. Two naked women, crammed into a space about a foot too small for them. They're not hugging. Elbows out, shoulders locked. It's the body language of two people who've been stuck in the same room way too long. Both eyeing the door. And it looks heavy. Clumsy, almost. Like he forgot how to be Picasso. He didn't, though. He'd just come down from Gósol, the mountain summer, and he brought the mountain down with him. Heavy bodies. They look carved, not painted. Terracotta, gray, weight. And he's doing it on purpose. The art historian Leo Steinberg read it the same way. Picasso, taking everything away, stripping himself down to almost nothing. Look, this is a guy who can dazzle you in his sleep. The flash, the speed, everything that comes easy to him. And here? He just shuts it all off. Why? To see what's left when he quits performing. What's left is awkward. That "can you scoot over" feeling, except there's nowhere to scoot. And there's probably a reason that's in here. He's living with Fernande in one room at the Bateau-Lavoir. One room. No privacy, no space, no second chair. If these two look like they could really use a bigger apartment, yeah, not a coincidence. Feels like a painting about sharing one room with someone you're not totally sure you still want to be sharing it with.