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“Delighted to be here, Will.”
I cringe. That’s not going to land well. He’s “Mr. Power” to guests. She knows that. We joked about it. What is she up to?
The camera changes to have them both in frame. “Ms. Clay,” Will drawls her name, “you have a fascinating origin story. Tell us about that and how it’s influenced your art and career.”
Catherine talks about growing up in rural Texas and some of the books she read that inspired her to take the art-meet-politics path she’s chosen to walk. She’s engaging and comfortable. She makes me proud to be the man who gets to walk down the street with my arm around her.
When she pauses, Will jumps in.
“All very interesting, but I was hoping you’d talk about your discovery at twenty-one and how that’s influenced your career.”
The close-up camera switches to Catherine and the emotion on her face seems to vacillate between fear and rage. She doesn’t smile or begin to answer.
“Ms. Clay?” Will asks.
“I … I don’t want to talk about that, actually.”
“That’s fascinating since the art piece I believe you’re most well-known for is Twenty-one Paths, which is highly autobiographical.”
“Why would you assume that?” Catherine asks, shooting daggers from her eyes.
“No assumption. In one of the articles my research team found from your early days, you tell the story of how, at twenty-one years old, you found out that you were adopted and that your birth parents had left you a trust that had over one million dollars in it—one point two six million US dollars, to be exact. Is that not right? It’s rather a clunky title if it wasn’t meant to be autobiographical.”
What the fuck is Will doing? He’s railroading her. Without thinking, I start dialing the number at the bottom of the livestream. I have no idea what question I’ll ask if I’m put through, but I need to do something.
Catherine hadn’t told me that she was adopted or about the trust. I’m hurt that in all the stories we’ve shared she never mentioned that, but I’m more angry that Will thought it was okay to drop this bomb with an audience of hundreds of thousands of strangers.
“You know what, Will? Screw it. You want to ride on my media coattails? Fine. Jump on. Yes, it’s true. My parents never told me I was adopted, and probably never would have, were it not for the trust. But there was no way to explain it other than with the truth. So yeah, at twenty-one I finally understood why I’d always felt like a raven, loud and confident, being raised by a family of sparrows who were always telling me to dial it back. It also explained why I was so much taller than everyone else in the family.
“Once it was said, it seemed so obvious I felt like a fool for never having questioned.”
Catherine is sitting forward in her chair, a posture that feels like she’s challenging Will to bring on more questions. Which he does.
“Must have been a nice birthday present. Surprise! You’re a millionaire. The story I read was from that year you turned twenty-one. I’d love to know how that infusion of cash helped you kick-start your career in a field where ‘starving’ is the most common adjective used to describe its members.”
Catherine is shaking her head, her anger radiating like heat waves.
“Mr. Power, if you’d done as good a job understanding the articles you’ve read about me, you’d know that although I create public art and delight in sharing the messages of my pieces, that my personal life is not up for discussion. I’m sure you, as a public figure who also has a private life, can appreciate and respect that.”
“But this is different,” Will challenges. “Your work is based on passion. And this topic, this experience from your formative years, is, I believe, at the heart of every successful art piece you’ve created. It’s one hundred percent relevant to a conversation meant to inspire and educate other entrepreneurial artists who aspire to have success like yours.”
The camera switches from having both Will and Catherine in frame, back to a close-up of Catherine, who is looking down and slowly nodding. When she tilts her head up to face the camera, I see rage, but her voice is calm.
“OK, fine. You want to know where my inspiration comes from? You want me to share my secret and help spur a new wave of artists to create meaningful art? You got it.
“But this message isn’t for the artists listening. It’s for the people who’ve yet to have children. This is a generational process, not a decision that a person makes on a Thursday morning watching a livestream or while they’re jogging, listening to a podcast.
“If you want to create a human whose passion drives them, start by lying to your child for their entire life. Big lies, small lies, all lies. Love them and lie to them. Treat them like family, then tell them, after they’re already an adult, that nothing they understand about themselves is true.
“Then, give them something that nobody else in the family—or better yet, that nobody in their community—has. Do that to make it painfully clear that they’re different from everyone they’ve ever known. Make it something that’s coveted so where there was once love, now there’s resentment. Where there was once equality, now there are demands and expectations.
“But make sure you raised that child to know that her voice is important. And that her beliefs matter. And that her values are the hill to die on.
“So when her sister insists she deserves half the money, but the artist-in-the-making says she needs to think about this and leave it in the trust for now—and that sister deserts her—she stands fast in her decision.
“And when her boyfriend of less than a year intentionally gets her pregnant by poking holes in his own condoms, so that she’ll marry him, she walks away. Because she already knows a marriage to this man would never last and that she’d be legally obliged to give him half her wealth if they were to marry and divorce. So she becomes a single mom in college with a promise to herself to never trust again.
“And when—”
