take your husband seriously. I want him to be better than he is.” Her voice was earnest, sweet. “Oh, please. You say that as if he’s sick,” Mathilde said. “He is. Great American Artistitis,” Phoebe Delmar said. “Ever bigger. Ever louder. Jostling for the highest perch in the hegemony. You don’t think that’s some sort of sickness that befalls men when they try to do art in this country?
