There is no abstract art. You must always start with something.

Host: The morning light creeps through the half-open window, casting a soft, golden hue across the wooden floor. Outside, the hum of the city is barely audible, as if holding its breath, waiting for something. The room is quiet, save for the occasional clink of a coffee cup being set down on the table. Jack sits in his usual chair, one hand absently running through his hair, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance, lost in thought. Jeeny stands by the easel, her fingers gently touching the edges of the canvas, her eyes focused on the blank space before her. There’s a quiet tension between them, as if something unsaid hangs in the air.

Jeeny breaks the silence, her voice soft, but certain.

Jeeny: “I was thinking about something Picasso once said. He said, ‘There is no abstract art. You must always start with something. Afterward, you can remove all traces of reality.’” She glances at Jack, her eyes searching his. “What do you think that means?”

Jack: He raises an eyebrow, his tone dry and almost dismissive. “It means Picasso was a genius with a flair for saying things that sound profound but don’t actually make much sense.” He leans forward, his voice steady but skeptical. “There’s no such thing as a completely abstract creation? That’s pushing it. Look at modern art — people create things that don’t resemble anything in the world we know. That’s what makes it abstract.”

Jeeny: Her lips curl into a small, thoughtful smile as she takes in his words, but her eyes remain intense. “But maybe what Picasso meant is that even in the most abstract work, there’s always something that anchors it. A spark of reality, a memory, a feeling. You can’t just create something out of nothing. There’s always a starting point. Maybe the abstract comes from the removal, the stripping away of everything that’s familiar.”

Host: The light flickers slightly as if in response to her words. Jack shifts, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest, as though weighing her idea.

Jack: “I’m not sure I buy it. Art is supposed to be about expression, right? The freedom to let go of all those constraints. Abstract art is about creating without boundaries, not being tied to reality. Picasso was just defending his own style. He started with what he knew, moved it around, and made it unrecognizable. That’s creation — not some restricted starting point.”

Jeeny: She steps closer to the canvas, her fingers tracing an invisible line in the air as if sketching her thoughts. “But isn’t all creation based on what we know? Even the most experimental or abstract forms of art are born from the world around us — from our experiences, our emotions, our memories. You can take something simple, like a line, and through repetition, color, and form, you can make it something that doesn’t look like the world anymore. But at the heart of it, there’s still something that remains.”

Jack: “So you’re saying that no matter how far you go, everything always comes back to the same place? That the real world is always at the core of it?” His voice takes on a challenging tone, his arms now crossed in defiance. “That feels like a contradiction. If it’s truly abstract, how can it be connected to reality?”

Jeeny: She pauses, her gaze never leaving the empty canvas. “Because abstract doesn’t mean detached from reality. It means transformed. Think about how a single emotion can drive a whole piece of art. You don’t paint the emotion directly — you represent it, you pull it out of the mundane world, give it form, and in the process, it becomes something else entirely. But it’s still rooted in what’s real to the artist. Reality is the first layer. Without it, there’s nothing to abstract.”

Host: The air seems to thicken around them, the stillness of the moment accentuating the weight of their words. Jack watches her closely, his fingers now still, betraying the slight tension in his jaw.

Jack: “But isn’t that just a fancy way of justifying the process? You can say it’s rooted in something real, but in the end, it’s still about tearing it down, breaking it apart until it doesn’t resemble anything familiar. What’s left once you strip it of all the realities?”

Jeeny: “What’s left is the essence. The feeling. The truth behind the abstraction. The reality might be gone, but the emotion it sparked remains, even if it’s no longer recognizable.” She meets his eyes now, her voice soft but firm. “And that’s the magic of it. Art doesn’t always have to look like the world to tell the truth of it.”

Jack: He exhales sharply, sitting back and glancing at the canvas, then back to her. “So, you’re saying the abstract is just a reflection of the real world, even when it’s not obvious?” His voice softens, almost as if he’s reconsidering his previous stance. “I get it. But how can something so confusing and disorienting still hold meaning?”

Jeeny: She smiles gently, her fingers brushing the edge of the canvas. “Because abstract art doesn’t need to be understood in the traditional sense. It invites the viewer to create their own meaning, to find their own connection. It challenges us to see the world in a new way, to reimagine what’s possible. It’s like a conversation that starts with one idea but evolves, depending on the person listening.”

Host: The room grows even quieter, the only sound now the soft ticking of a clock on the wall. The shadows cast by the early morning light stretch long, as if time itself is pausing, waiting for the next thought to be spoken.

Jack: “So, it’s not about whether something’s abstract or real. It’s about how it makes you feel?” His voice has lost some of its earlier sharpness, now more reflective.

Jeeny: “Exactly.” She steps back from the canvas, her hands folded in front of her, a quiet contentment settling in her expression. “It’s about connecting with the emotion behind the image, not the literal representation. Picasso understood that. He didn’t create abstract art by removing everything. He started with something real, and then he removed what wasn’t necessary to communicate the feeling.”

Host: The light from the window now bathes the room in a gentle, warm glow. The tension between them has eased, and in its place, a new understanding has taken root. Jack sits still, his thoughts now swirling with the implications of what they’ve discussed. Jeeny stands near the canvas, a slight smile on her face, as if the conversation itself was its own form of creation.

The morning moves on, but something has shifted, as though the abstract nature of their exchange has redefined the space between them, making the ordinary world outside seem a little less concrete, a little more open to possibility.