Genius

Previously on Genius...

Picaso and I, we are the future.

I wish I had a place like this.

But you can work here if you want.

I could give you 150 francs every month.

In return, I own everything you produce.

To Picasso.

To Picasso!

I am in love with Germaine.

I'm not in love with you.

Why, why not?

Because you cannot satisfy me!

Carles, wait!

You cannot go back to Paris.

No, I'm going back to Barcelona.

Carles, no, no...

It's my fault. I should never have believed him.

She's his mistress?

How many does he have?

How many women has he painted?

So you're finished with Dora?

Of course not. She's brilliant.

I can't remember the last time she made me want to pick up a brush.

I need something new.

I want to be a painter.

You will become a lawyer.

Matisse is the greatest painter in the world.

But Picasso is much better-looking.

We're having a joint exhibition at a very

well-respected gallery.

You must come and visit me sometime. To see some of my work.

You are going to paint her, aren't you?

You are my wife, you will do what I tell you to...

Get away from me!

No...

That's all I have.

Is it enough to get me to Paris?

Bastards.

Yes, charming, aren't they?

Well, no one can charm you, Francoise.

Except perhaps a certain Spanish painter.

He probably won't even remember us.

Maybe not me, but he certainly hasn't forgotten you.

Good afternoon.

We've come to see Monsieur Picasso.

Of course you have.

Oh. What a surprise.

We thought you would be expecting us.

Yes. Days ago.

We've been busy with our show. You should come.

You mentioned you might show us some of your art.

It would be a thrill for us.

Uh, no.

I, if you want to see art, you go to a gallery,

an exhibition, a museum.

Mm, you go to the Louvre.

Well, it seems we've disturbed you after all.

Ah.

Thank you for the invitation.

You're welcome to return, of course.

But if you do, don't come like the worshipers to the Holy Land.

Come because you want to see me.

Apparently they are having some kind of a show.

Find out where it is.

The artist's name is Francoise Gilot.

She's a most intriguing young discovery.

Don't you agree, Monsieur Picasso?

Thank you for allowing me to work here.

No money for models?

No, but the real world is a better subject for art, anyway.

Christ is the only real subject for art.

What you do they sell in alleys to perverts.

But it is not my business.

I must warn you.

The whores wearing the bonnets...

Have syphilis. I know.

Yes, well.

Best to keep your distance.

Will you paint me without the bonnet?

I don't want anyone seeing me like this.

What if I paint you in a beautiful white veil?

No one wants to buy pictures of dying whores!

I make the art, you sell it.

If you can't, that's your problem.

I thought you were headed for greatness.

Why else would I dole out money to you every month?

I'm painting, aren't I?

Blue hags and corpses!

Van Gogh and Lautrec...

Paint flowers, show girls,

anything people can eat dinner under without losing their appetite.

I can only paint what I feel.

No one else wants to feel like that.

You look like you're the one who died, for Christ's sake.

My closest friend put a bullet in his brain.

Yes. It's terrible.

But you must learn to separate your life from your art.

I can't!

Then find someone else to tell your sad stories to

because I'm done with it.

Germaine.

Pablo.

I should have tried harder.

It wasn't your fault.

I shouldn't have believed him.

I knew he hadn't really let you go.

But I never thought he'd...

It was horrible.

Blood all over the walls.

Manuel told me that Carles...

I moved just the second before the bullet hit.

Now I feel like his ghost is following me.

I know.

I've tried to paint other things, other people,

but every face...

Every face becomes his.

You are the only one who understands.

You don't have to run off.

I can't go back to Manach.

I need to find new lodgings.

You're welcome to stay here as long as you want.

It's nice not to feel so lonely.

How could we have done this?

It's what we both needed.

What about what Carles needed?

He adored you.

But it was so suffocating...

Because he worshipped you!

Why couldn't you just have loved him?

You think I don't ask myself that every day?

Germaine I, I...

You've said enough.

You should go.

Another coffee, Mademoiselle?

No.

Put it on my bill, Lucien.

And bring her a bowl of soup.

Thank you. I'm not hungry.

Oh, well, next you're gonna tell me you're not cold,

but I've been watching you shiver for half an hour.

May I join you?

My husband would not approve.

Ah.

Is he the one who gave you that charming little memento?

Please.

I don't accept charity.

Are you looking for work, then.

Yes.

As it happens, I could offer you work.

As a model. I'm a sculptor.

I don't do that sort of thing.

What don't you do?

Sit on a stool while someone stares at you?

You're doing it right now.

Perhaps.

But I have my clothes on.

My name is Laurent.

In case you reconsider.

Paris gets, uh, horribly cold in the winter.

It is fascinating.

Who is the artist?

He calls himself Picasso.

He had his own show here a few months ago.

Do you have more of his paintings?

Unfortunately, he has not brought

me anything worth showing in months.

But I can offer you a good price on this one.

Well, I'm not usually inclined to, uh,

begin collecting an artist until I am more familiar with his work.

Do you know where I might find him?

Pardon me.

I am looking for Monsieur Picasso.

If I owe you money...

No, no!

Uh, nothing of the sort, uh, Monsieur Vollard only had one

of your paintings in his gallery,

and I was hoping that you might show me some more.

I am Max Jacob.

Uh, please, come in.

I shipped several of my paintings back to Barcelona

but I do have many works here.

Um, give me a moment, I, I wasn't expecting a collector.

Oh, no, I. No, no, no. No, no, no...

I am afraid you've misunderstood.

I am not a collector.

What are you, then?

Well, m-most days, I am a poet.

A poet?

Ouais.

Oh, that's even worse than being a painter.

So, why are you here?

To retreat from the banal.

To bask in the brutal beauty of existence...

mortality.

Everyone hates them.

I think they are extraordinary.

I may not be able to afford a painting,

but at least let me buy you a meal.

What if Vollard is right?

I had one chance to make something of myself.