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Story 5: THE ARTIST AT WORK

#50: June - July 2008 (Fiction)
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Chris OConnor

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Story 5: THE ARTIST AT WORK

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Story 5: THE ARTIST AT WORK

Please use this thread for discussing the short story "The Artist at Work." :smile:
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yodha
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I'm reading from the English translation by Justin O'Brien ... the final word left on the artist's canvas as mentioned in this book is solitary or solidary. I had some difficulty finding the meaning of solidary. Finally, I found it in the Oxford English Dictionary which describes it as "Characterized by or having solidarity or community of interests."

The usage of this word made more sense after reading the Wikipedia article of this story. The actual French words from the story are solitaire ou solidaire? and the respective meanings secluded or interdependent? made more sense to me. I can understand that Justin chose the English words to keep the voice as close as possible to that in French.
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That's interesting to know, Yodha
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GILBERT JONAS, the painter, believed in his star. Indeed, he believed solely in it, although he felt respect, and even a sort of admiration, for other people's religion. His own faith, however, was not lacking in virtues since it consisted in acknowledging obscurely that he would be granted much without ever deserving anything. Consequently when, around his thirty-fifth year, a dozen critics suddenly disputed as to which had discovered his talent, he showed no surprise. But his serenity, attributed by some to smugness, resulted, on the contrary, from a trusting modesty. Jonas credited everything to his star rather than to his own merits.

So in what way was this 'religion'? And what was his 'own faith'?

It consisted in acknowledging obscurely that he would be granted much without ever deserving anything? That's a 'faith'?

Heh! Heh!

Serenity
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He was somewhat more astonished when a picture dealer offered him a monthly remittance that freed him from all care. The architect Rateau, who had loved Jonas and his star since their school days, vainly pointed out to him that the remittance would provide only a bare living and that the dealer was taking no risk. "All the same..." Jonas said. Rateau
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In reality he thought: "It's the same old luck." As far back as he could remember, he found the same luck at work. He felt, for instance, an affectionate gratitude toward his parents, first because they had brought him up carelessly and this had given free rein to his daydreaming, secondly because they had separated, on grounds of adultery. At least that was the pretext given by his father, who forgot to specify that it was a rather peculiar adultery: he could not endure the good works indulged in by his wife, who, a veritable lay saint, had, without seeing any wrong in it, given herself body and soul to suffering humanity. But the husband intended to be the master of his wife's virtues. "I'm sick and tired," that Othello used to say, "of sharing her with the poor."

Know anybody like that? Jealous of the spouse's 'work'; wants to be 'master' of his wife's virtues . . . doesn't really have anything against what she does, but he wants to be the one behind it.

I'm pleased to see he appreciates his parents for allowing him to pursue 'dreams', his art.

And here's 'adultery' again . . . Camus must have thought about this a lot
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This misunderstanding was profitable to Jonas. His parents, having read or heard about the many cases of sadistic murderers who were children of divorced parents, vied with each other in pampering him with a view to stamping out the spark of such an unfortunate evolution. The less obvious were the effects of the trauma experienced, according to them, by the child's psyche, the more worried they were, for invisible havoc must be deepest. Jonas had merely to announce that he was pleased with himself or his day for his parents' ordinary anxiety to become panic. Their attentions multiplied and the child wanted for nothing.

So the parents, in fear of the child being affected in a negative way over their separation, do everything they can to make him feel good about himself. As often happens, the child got everything he wanted.

But why would they panic over the child announcing that he was 'pleased with himself or his day'?
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His alleged misfortune finally won Jonas a devoted brother in the person of his friend Rateau. Rateau's parents often entertained his little schoolmate because they pitied his hapless state. Their commiserating remarks inspired their strong and athletic son with the desire to take under his protection the child whose nonchalant successes he already admired. Admiration and condescension mixed well to form a friendship that Jonas received, like everything else, with encouraging simplicity.

Some kids are better off when their parents separate
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When without any special effort Jonas had finished his formal studies, he again had the luck to get into his father's publishing-house, to find a job there and, indirectly, his vocation as a painter. As the leading publisher in France, Jonas's father was of the opinion that books, because of the very slump in culture, represented the future. "History shows," he would say, "that the less people read, the more books they buy." Consequently, he but rarely read the manuscripts submitted to him and decided to publish them solely on the basis of the author's personality or the subject's topical interest (from this point of view, sex being the only subject always topical, the publisher had eventually gone in for specialization) and spent his time looking for novel formats and free publicity. Hence at the same time he took over the manuscript-reading department, Jonas also took over considerable leisure time that had to be filled up. Thus it was that he made the acquaintance of painting.

Isn't that odd? 'History shows that the less people read, the more books they buy.' Ha ha! Methinks he was wrong about that.

Could you imagine if some of the drivel that's written these days, by people who don't even read, got published in books? Would they sell? If given enough promotion they would
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For the first time he discovered in himself an unsuspected and tireless enthusiasm, soon devoted his days to painting, and, still without effort, excelled in that exercise. Nothing else seemed to interest him, and he was barely able to get married at the suitable age, since painting consumed him wholly. For human beings and the ordinary circumstances of life he merely reserved a kindly smile, which dispensed him from paying attention to them. It took a motorcycle accident when Rateau was riding too exuberantly with his friend on the rear seat to interest Jonas
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