P&G were not at a park.
P and G are in a meeting with 15 people – on each side. A giant hall but no one is talking to anyone. People are sitting with closed eyes. And buddhist chants are playing in the background? P and G are sitting side by side. P is busy doodling and G is chewing nails.
G: What are we waiting for? (Looking into his laptop to avoid addressing her)
P: For the CEOs – ours and theirs. (Doodling away to avoid addressing him)
G: Aah of course.
P: Of course.
P: There’s something so calming about art – wouldn’t you agree? (She doesn’t want to engage intellectually – she just means, oh common look – look at me, I am not looking at you. see.)
Obviously G isn’t listening either, he just wants to lose himself, more and less, always as she commands. Look at her, too long, look away, nod, tilt, shrug, smile on the outside, look at her again, look away again. Smile some more. Pretend that your heart beat is normal. Her face is a miracle. Never let this slip, ever. This will not end soon, this will not end well.
G: Of course. G says with a straight face, pretending to respond to this fastidious, out of context and random conscious- subconscious engagement.
Art pushes us to confront our truth - and in those moments, what we are really doing is letting go and holding on – all at the same time. (Looking directly at her) A tear falls off his eye and screams in its dying moments….sire, you need to blink. We are losing men here….
P: Head nod, Yeah...like a sneeze. (Shutting the floodgates to prevent all and any intellectual pursuit)
G: Yeah, sure. What are you doodling? (Now looking at her, sideways. Always. He doesn’t want to not look but he wants her not to know but he doesn’t know, she knows. Oh yes, she knows)
P: It’s an aubergine farm with over-watered rounded leaves. (She is genuinely trying very hard to not look at him, she is winning fabulously - but she wants to lose, oh so badly. She wants to lose embarrassingly, hands down, pinned to the wall, wet to the core.)
(Also, Ummm, no. That’s not an aubergine farm – it’s a cock farm – and don’t tell me she can’t see that! Bloody subconscious – it beats the best of us.) A girl with gawky teeth and long hair - standing with elbows on the table – drawing and looking up and giggling.)
G: Of course. (He is still on ground floor, strewing pearl bracelet)
P: Yeah. (She is now slightly pissed at him…. because he can’t read her mind.)
G: I like to art - myself. Sort of. I specialize in body anatomy. I’ll show you some of my work if you have time. (I don't know whether this is something specific to him or possibly symptomatic of a wider societal problem. This boy is not on the same floor as that girl, mentally.)
(Chews his nail and throws the bits off – they are landing on the wall and it is shaping up – like………an artwork ----ummm, that looks like a vagina! Subconscious, is that you again? A boy with oversized glasses picking up the bits and rearranging the chewed up nails on the wall. YEAH (In a squeaky voice, the kid answers). Faaak man you are good.)
P is looking at G’s artwork which he isn’t aware of yet. G is looking at her, IN THAT SPLIT SECOND – HE AND SHE ARE BOTH LOOKING AT EACH OTHER. Dazed with the chin pointing towards each other and the head bent 30 degrees away. (I don’t understand what is the point of such cinemagraphs.) They look away, they want to be defeated - embarrassingly, hands down, pinned to the wall, wet to the core.)
Cut to the 2 kids, who are now, together, holding a single giant black marker and vigorously sketching a giant black heart in massive strokes.