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Title: Pygmalion Has Left The Building
Fandom: Highlander
Characters: Tessa
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keerawa: Tessa, breakfast; here
Two blobs of clay, and one smaller one, around a large lump of the same substance. Tessa looks at the sculpture-to-be, and sees it complete.
Hiding in the wet mud, she sees a man, a woman, a child; they sit by a breakfast table. They are laughing, maybe sharing an anecdote. They'll seem so vibrant, so full of life. The woman has hair down to her shoulders. The man has longer hair than that. The artist already sees where she'll want to put the statue, on the grass in the middle of an open field, where they will have the sunlight almost all day long.
She starts working on the details of the child. Will it be a boy or a girl? She's not sure. Odd, she always sees her art so clearly, always working with a picture in mind, but the more she works on this small mass of clay, the more it blurs. It becomes murky, ambiguous. She can't figure out what kind of hair the child will have, or what it will wear. The more she tries to position its arms, the less she's sure; is the child holding a spoon? Is it holding hands with one, or both, of the larger figures? Or maybe just letting its arms rest on the table, like all kids do, like her own mother always told her not to - elbows don't belong on the table, Tessa!
She tries some more, but the more she works on it, the less like a child the statue appears. She's overworked the clay, ruined her own sculpture. There's only the man and the woman, and nothing more is left of the family breakfast.
Tessa chokes back a cry. She smashes the clay, squashing all the bits together until there is just one large mass, and no figures, no vision. She punches the clay until it is only clay. Breathless, she only looks at it for a long time.
Then she catches her breath. She adds water to the clay, and starts molding it again. This time, it's a statue of a woman, one single woman; Tessa sees in her mind's eye an amazon, standing solitary and proud.
Fandom: Highlander
Characters: Tessa
From
keerawa: Tessa, breakfast; hereTwo blobs of clay, and one smaller one, around a large lump of the same substance. Tessa looks at the sculpture-to-be, and sees it complete.
Hiding in the wet mud, she sees a man, a woman, a child; they sit by a breakfast table. They are laughing, maybe sharing an anecdote. They'll seem so vibrant, so full of life. The woman has hair down to her shoulders. The man has longer hair than that. The artist already sees where she'll want to put the statue, on the grass in the middle of an open field, where they will have the sunlight almost all day long.
She starts working on the details of the child. Will it be a boy or a girl? She's not sure. Odd, she always sees her art so clearly, always working with a picture in mind, but the more she works on this small mass of clay, the more it blurs. It becomes murky, ambiguous. She can't figure out what kind of hair the child will have, or what it will wear. The more she tries to position its arms, the less she's sure; is the child holding a spoon? Is it holding hands with one, or both, of the larger figures? Or maybe just letting its arms rest on the table, like all kids do, like her own mother always told her not to - elbows don't belong on the table, Tessa!
She tries some more, but the more she works on it, the less like a child the statue appears. She's overworked the clay, ruined her own sculpture. There's only the man and the woman, and nothing more is left of the family breakfast.
Tessa chokes back a cry. She smashes the clay, squashing all the bits together until there is just one large mass, and no figures, no vision. She punches the clay until it is only clay. Breathless, she only looks at it for a long time.
Then she catches her breath. She adds water to the clay, and starts molding it again. This time, it's a statue of a woman, one single woman; Tessa sees in her mind's eye an amazon, standing solitary and proud.
