Joseph locked the door against the din.
Under the weight of exhaustion, Mari’s impossibly light frame sunk deep into her sofa. As her friends filed in, she forced a brave smile.
Champagne corks fired the opening salvo of alcohol; cheers of “Welcome home!” and words of encouragement stoked the banter and booze. Statios, Jack and Hideki picked up stashed instruments, Kate and Joseph were generous bartenders, even Mari’s Assistant served snacks between sips of his Pisco Sour.
Around two or three, long after the protesters had slinked into their subways and sewers, Hideki and Joseph began tidying up. Seeking a little background noise, Hideki flipped on the news. At the mention of Marianna’s name, Joseph snatched the remote away.
“It’s okay Joseph.” Mari lazily opened her eyes.
Hideki muttered an apology, cheeks flushed.
A drowsy Kate sat up. “Don’t listen to them, you’re amazing! Sure, you don’t have to worry about mechanics anymore, but that just means you’re free to truly express yourself more deeply!”
Seeing the trajectory of the conversation, Joseph opened a bottle of something stronger and sat down. Kate lounged across him, and he moved back from her with a drawn expression. Jack, who had been snoring a moment ago, detangled Kate from Joseph and served as a human barricade for the second time that day.
Kate continued, “We’re personifying and expressing emotions and ideas; being downloaded doesn’t change that.”
Jack took Joseph’s bottle and drowned a retort then passed it on. “Art is just a bridge between creator, creation, and observer.”
Hideki contemplated the bottle, falling into the familiar ritual. “Why does art have to have an audience?”
Kate nudged Statios awake; he bolted upright, resembling a startled owl. “Huh?”
“Sim-Art debate,” muttered Joseph.
“So you work up the poet? Have you finally gone mad?” He chuckled, taking the proffered bottle. “The fact that art is hard to define is just as important as any art itself.”
“Art is ineffable?” mused Hideki. “If so, as a poet, musician, and a psychologist, you’re thrice damned.”
Kate lifted her chin, that she could properly look down her sculpted nose at Hideki. “That’s not right! We’re forming connections; an artist needs expression and an audience needs beauty.”
All the guys cracked up. Mari offered a weary smirk.
Kate just rolled her eyes. “Not literal beauty.”
The group descended into a thrum of idle chatter.
Joseph cleared his throat. Everyone instantly fell silent, eyes fixed on him, like pilgrims shocked by an apparition.
“I don’t need an audience. My best work never sees the light of day.”
Jack’s enchantment broke. “Then your art is nothing more than masturbation.”
Hideki laughed. “Two problems. First, I think in such cases, Joseph is both the artist and the audience.”
Joseph scowled, but didn’t rush to refute him.
“Second, being a major advocate for, and personal fan of masturbation, I think you’re selling both art and masturbation short.”
Kate giggled. Jack fiddled with a vaporizer. Mari took a hummingbird sip of alcohol. Her assistant replaced the bottle with a long stem water glass.
Statios inspected the violently colored label, his eyebrows tented in amusement. “I like what I cannot do.”
Hideki grinned. “You could program your body to do anything, does that cheapen art?”
A pop, a crunch– everyone’s gaze focused on Mari; she was doubled over, broken glass lay in her lap.
“Sorry, I’m still getting used to this.” Tears streamed down her face, but her brow was contorted up in confusion, not down in pain. Pale pink gel coated the shards and her eyes were locked on to the alien substance coursing through her graphite veins.
Like a flock of birds, everyone but Hideki moved in a flurry, cleaning her up and treating her synthetic skin.
“She’s not hurt.” Hideki mumbled into the bottle. “Bunch of sentimental idiots.”
Joseph, fists clenched, took a step towards him.
Hideki waved him off and ducked out onto the antique fire escape.
He watched everyone leave over the next hour. Even Mari’s assistant. A moment later, the window opened and she slipped through with more grace than he had ever seen.
“Mari?”
“What is it Hideki? You’re the odd one out. Everyone else is classically trained, but you only started after you were downloaded.” Ghostless eyes over-focused on him as she dangled her legs over the edge. “What is art?”
“Forget beauty, or god, or frustrated emotions. Forget about connecting people. That kind of sentimentality is the enemy of art, because those feelings are ancient, and that makes them repetitive. Humanity has been painting the same picture, writing the same poem, playing the same tune since the dawn of civilization.”
He looked out at the city lights, at the sweeping giants that became his generation’s homes. “Art is forever beyond the artists’ grasp, real art is the transformation that takes place when we reach for the brass ring and miss every single fucking time.”