The Paris Review: How Picasso Bled the Women in His Life for Art.

He submitted them to his animal sexuality, tamed them, bewitched them, ingested them, and crushed them onto his canvas. After he had spent many nights extracting their essence, once they were bled dry, he would dispose of them.

I'm watching, with our new #metoo/harrassment filters on, how past 'genius' will be cast. The politically-correct are exercising strong moral objectivism at the moment; if it follows past patterns, it will eventually relax into a warm soup of moral relativism. Cued for your outrage-pleasure: Jimi Hendrix, Hey Joe.