Movies about artists are never about art. You won’t learn about Abstract Expressionism from Pollock, or Surrealism from Frida. Artist biopics are about fame, addiction, money, sex, prejudice, freedom, and the curse of being ahead of your time.
The titles of these movies will always be one name—Modigliani, Renoir—serious, timeless, just like on a museum poster. They’ll be a story of rags to riches, a struggle against great odds. The artist will be flawed, rebellious, romantic, tragic. An asshole, even. Never, as most artists are, ordinary, holding down day jobs.
