Edna's lack of true artistry is further depicted in this chapter. On her bad days, "when life appeared to her like a grotesque pandemonium," she is not inspired by the darkness of human experience and emotion, as the great painters are. Instead she paints when she is happy, reveling in the sensuality of existence when "her whole being seemed to be one with the sunlight, the colors, the odors" of her world.
These extremes of emotion do satisfy her newly insistent desire for a life passionately lived. In that respect, Edna has gotten what she wants.
Edna admits her lack of artistry to Léonce, agreeing with his assessment that she is not in fact a true painter. Yet Léonce's insight ends there; he feels she is possibly losing her mind when she is, in reality, finding her true self, a self that rejects the role of housewife and the pro-forma socializing that accompanies her role in society.
