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Vandal |
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fractal007 Senior Member
since 2000-06-01
Posts 1958 |
You have to get to know the stone, he says. We're standing at the foot of one of the ancient dwellings, now reclaimed by nature. I've known many who'd spend years getting to know a stone before drawing upon it. This is not just a stone now. The ancients have turned it into a family. That was progress. I turn a look behind me. The old road arcs its way past us; it's indifferent, not caring who or what it bears. There are cracks in that surface now, an old, parched skin. You have to get to know the land. Are you paying attention? The artist draws my mind away from the reverie. He's holding a paint canister now, shaking it and beholding the canvas. He knows the stone now. I never got the chance to get to know her. She's been standing there forever, and I've been indifferent to her. Now the time has come. She will be my spirit guide, my mom, my dad, my beggar, my wise man, my fool. The mist sprays from the can, touching the surface, clinging onto her. Your turn. He hands me the can and I start to paint. A circle, a ring, a globe, a sphere. You never can tell what it will be till it's finished. You have to get to know it as it comes, you have to learn to love what you've done. When the limb is complete, and the sun gently caresses it, the rock supporting them both. I turn to my mentor. His gray hair slowly tosses in the breeze as he stares at it. His eyes twinkle with the appreciation you get when you've molded something to your liking. You've learned well, my friend. I can see that you've gotten to know the rock. I haven't gotten to know her. She's been standing there all these years and all I've paid attention to is the master, the artisan who, with God-like finesse and precision, can make the rock do whatever he wants it to do. I never knew her, I swear it. It was all innocent painting. She's passive, slowly crumbling. I've given her back her dignity, the crowning sparkle of solar diamond atop the silent view of a world from space. He rests his hand on my shoulder. He's getting frail now, I can feel it. There's a gentle squeeze and he says something to me. You're in the kiln now. He falls dead with a thud to the ground. I step back a few metres, back from the building and from the man. There's a body there under the stars. The ring glistens with new life, as the crescent world hangs above my teacher. Any idiot can see that the result is true. |
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Marge Tindal 
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
Kevin~ A touching render ... tenderly portrayed~ *Huglets*  ~*Marge*~ ~*No matter what I search for ... |
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