| Picasso goes into a waterfront bar in the old port of Golfe Juan just west of Antibes. |
| P: |
Morning, Jean. |
| J: |
Morning, Pablo. You're in early. Anything wrong? |
| P: |
On the contrary, I'm celebrating. |
| J: |
What's the occasion? |
| P: |
I'm 80 today. |
| J: |
Congratulations! A glass of champagne, don't you think? |
| P: |
Go on, then. |
| J: |
Doing anything nice? With the lovely Jacqueline, I imagine. |
| P: |
Maybe later. She's gone swimming. As usual. |
| J: |
Hmm, what do you mean? |
| P: |
I worry about the way she looks at the handsome young beasts down there. All tanned muscle and oiled limbs. |
| J: |
Well, Pablo my friend, you married her. How does the saying go? Make your bed and ... |
| P: |
I suppose you're right. |
| J: |
Yes, I am. So, what will you do with your day? |
| P: |
I'm giving an interview this afternoon to one of those fancy Parisian art journals. They want me to pick out and discuss three or four of my favourite paintings as a kind of retrospective. In fact, it's one of the reasons I'm here. I'd appreciate your advice. |
| J: |
I'm honoured, Pablo. |
| Picasso takes out a folder from a large canvas bag and places it on the bar. He opens it to reveal prints of his work. |
| P: |
Right, let's have a go. No particular order. |
| J: |
What's that? |
| P: |
It's a still life. |
| J: |
Of what, for heaven's sake? That could easily drive you to drink. What about a nice daiquiri right now? |
| P: |
The champagne's fine, thanks. Come on, Jean, help me out. Try this one. What do you see? |
| J: |
I see three blokes, the odd moustache, teeth, masks, musical notes, a violin bow, maybe a keyboard. It's a bit weird, Pablo. |
| P: |
Next. Now what do you think? |
| J: |
Well, it's a woman. But what's that mess on her face? |
| P: |
She's crying. |
| J: |
Crying? It looks like she's been in a terrible road accident. |
| P |
Jean, you are so ... literal. |
| J: |
I know what I like. Pablo, are these really the best you can do? |
| P: |
What about this then? |
| J: |
That's better. I see a naked woman, sitting, facing away, head resting on her knees. Lovely back. Why is her skin blue? |
| P: |
If you like my nudes, try this one. |
| J: |
Aha! I know ... it's that brothel. I thought we were going to keep that quiet. I don't remember them having such odd faces. |
| P: |
Last one. |
| J: |
It's you! Good grief, you look young. But a very good likeness - you've worn well. Yes, I like that. |
| P: |
I give up. |
|
