fancyfleurish:
Fleur chuckled at the unexpected question and even more unexpected admission of uncertainty from the woman who looked so perfectly at home in this environment. “Indeed, madame, I’m sure you’ve asked the advice of the very least qualified person here!” she confessed cheerfully. She leaned down a little conspiratorially and continued slightly sotto voice, “A delightfully generous friend brought me and then got into a heated argument with their friends about things that quite flew over my uneducated head so I’ve been wandering around amusing myself… For what it’s worth, I like it very much – they look like fay beings cavorting in some lush park. But I believe–” she turned her attention to the little placard on the wall, “Yes! My friend says Mme. Laurencin is very good.” She frowned thoughtfully, “What did she say? Something something about a quintessentially feminine cubism, you know? And she actually does know something about art.” She shot another appraising glance sidelong and asked, “So, are you an art collector? I hope I won’t offend you if I say you don’t have quite the air of a grand lady but you surely must be to be casually shopping for new decor here!”
“To be completely honest, dear,” Vivienne said, her attention now split between the person beside her and the object of their discussion, “I’m beginning to think an untrained eye might be just what I need.” The last time she’d been in here, her perfectly nice, everyday stroll through the portraits had been interrupted by a loud debate between two young men over the finer points of the “sheer, heartrending power” of what she was quite positive was simply a rather abused-looking shovel. Apparently, what the piece actually was was a meditation on the nature of injury and the futility of humanity.
Or, at least, something like that. She had much to learn, clearly.
“That does tend to happen, doesn’t it? All the better, though, in some ways.” Her voice fell into a barely-audible whisper. “No one to judge you if you stare at the same little work for an undignified amount of time. Or skip by a masterpiece just a bit too fast.”
She turned her head back to the cavorting green and pink creatures, tilting one way, then the next, trying to weigh up her thoughts. “Yes, that’s it, exactly. Such nice movement and energy . . .” Even if they did look a tiny bit off-kilter, it was in a charming sort of way. “Oh, yes, Mme. Laurencin, of course.” She had certainly heard the name, though for reasons other than her artistic output. “I think I might have come across her - draped around some very well-dressed gentleman . . .or, wait. No. A lady, I think it was. Regardless, she certainly didn’t look like a dry, buttoned up sort of person. Just the kind of energy my sitting room needs, come to think of it.”
“Me?” At this suggestion, she let out a slight giggle. “Only a budding one, I’m afraid,” she said, a slight smile crossing her face. “All of this new, abstract business is . . .enticing, but some of it is a bit terrifying isn’t it? All these noses where they’re not supposed to be.”
She paused, caught herself, and cringed a little. “That sounds awfully old and . ..grand, doesn’t it? I got up today, sick of still lifes on my walls and needing a change, and now look. What about you? Anything vying for a place on your personal walls?”
