@reframeds » starter call » frankie
“So how d’you make money outta this?” Frankie is feeling very out of his depth and trying not to let that show. It’s not going very well. ‘Underground’ as a modifier for ‘art’ might seem like it’s more his style, but he feels even more unmoored here than he would in the Met. At least when you’re in an upscale art gallery looking at paintings from three hundred years ago it’s like, well, they didn’t have cameras, so here’s how we know what Lord Bigfucks of Worcestershire looked like. All of this, it’s going way over his head. Regardless of that, he’s somehow managing to sound pretty earnest, rather than disparaging. It’s not for any lack of interest in art, since he’d actually really like to Get It. It’s just that, well —
“I mean, you gotta scrub it all off, right? All the paint, once you’re done with your, uh, performin’. And then it’s just gone forever, right?” Frankie’s supposed to be meeting someone here for a package drop, but this is more important. He won’t be able to sleep tonight if he doesn’t figure this out. “If you’re good at paintin’ why don’cha just... paint a picture? Insteada,” his hands swoop around his face, it’s supposed to be miming painting himself but it really just looks like a brief, half-hearted attempt at a fusion of jazz hands and voguing, “alla that.”
