Monday December 17th, 2012

The exercise:

Write about: the sculpture.

Feeling somewhat better today. Still best to call it an early night.

Mine:

"What in the world are you doing?"

"Creating my masterpiece!"

"Is that right?"

"Some people might say that I am, in fact, simply revealing the masterpiece that waits within."

"I'm not sure I'm one of those people."

"Oh come on, show a little faith!"

"Faith?"

"Yeah, I bet you'll want this hanging... or sitting... or whatever'ing in your living room when I'm done!"

"Right. Just promise me one thing, okay?"

"What's that?"

"I need to get the girls to soccer practice in the morning, so make sure you can put the car back together when you're done."

5 Comments:

Greg said...

That sounds like a pretty severe migraine... I hope tomorrow is better still for you :)
Heh, your fourth line is an elegant reworking of the classic claims about sculpture, and I do like both how the speakers gradually reveal themselves through the dialogue and the punchline at the end.
And "whatever'ing" is totally a word now!

The sculpture
Master Licko never sculpted without his lawyer-at-arms present. He claimed that it was for the feeling of security it provided him with, while his critics whispered that he just liked to show off that his sculptures sold for so much money he could afford to own a lawyer-at-arms. As his lawyer-at-arms, I knew the truth: my job was to shoot the sculpture if it tried to get away before it was complete.
He was working on a new piece for an old client – literally an old client, she was in her late three-hundreds and was very old-fashioned in her outlook – and was trying to decide how many limbs were aesthetic.
He bent the woman-form over again, and something cracked. A thunderous look crossed his face, and he waved at an assistant to clear it away and bring a new one. Then he turned to me.
"Can't we pick up some better specimens?" he said, huffing through two voice-boxes and trilling the third. "These ones break far too easily."
I checked the delivery roster.
"Well," I said. "The toughest specimens seem to come from somewhere the natives call 'Texas' and there's a shipment due in two days."
Master Licko pouted, his fluorescent patches flickering pink-purple. "I suppose I can wait," he said. "The sculpture's only due in two weeks."

Anonymous said...

For so long I thought I was an actual person – made of flesh with a soul residing somewhere inside. I’d feel things and even thought I was capable of making others feel something, too. It’s embarrassing how long this delusion persisted, but I am content now that I know that I’m a sculpture, tucked in the corner and noticed on occasion by strangers while being just a part of the background to the man of the house.

Marc said...

Greg - oh yes, totally a word :)

These two are quite the interesting pair. I do believe they're growing on me!

Anonymous - some excellent writing there. Lots of characterization and atmosphere in such a small space.

Could even see this expanding into something longer, but it definitely works well on its own.

Adam Clayton said...

Marc - I like the idea of revealing the masterpiece.

Greg - Well written.

Went to Canide Gardens in Guernsey today and saw, as I have done throughout my life, Victor Hugo's statue there, so this, my snap response is based on that:


Hugo’s stood there still. It rains constantly but he never moves. I wish it on him, this movement, but the power of imagination is just a finger against the cliff. The whole world around him gives in, is swept wherever the wind sends it, but his scarf, arched up as if moved by the same force, has been like that all along.

I crouch down to wish this movement on him. Stand up straight, Victor. Stride your way up the hill, Victor. Live on this weather, soaked in rain and almost knocked down by the wind.

Marc said...

Adam - thanks!

'... but the power of imagination is just a finger against the cliff' is a fantastic line. Some great writing in there, but that one really stood out for me.