So….I kept thinking about a piece I wrote last week. I wanted to continue to explore it. If I ever go back and write it, here are some things I would probably add:
1. I think that the sculptor, who we find out is named Parker, might make some remark about how he is on a deadline to finish this piece.
2. I think I might make Jared more aware that Parker is being rude. In this section we see that he is aware, but I don’t think I really thought Jared knew before this section.
TO READERS: If you make it to the end of this section. I’ve got some questions.
“Yes, and it dries quickly. So, I kind of need to finish.” Sorry kid. This is my space.
“Oh, well I won’t bother you. I’ll just go over there.” I guess it is our space.
He was true to his word. He didn’t speak again. The only sounds were his even breathing, the sound of his pen dragging across the page, and the short acute snap when he quickly turned to a new blank page. It wasn’t as distracting as I thought it would be, and the idea that he was able to get so much writing done, stoked a competitive fire I had never known was in me. I closed my eyes, saw the pig my father had become in my dreams, and went about bringing him out of my mind and into this world. I felt like I was under some sort of spell, like I was in a trance. The walls of the studio faded away to black; nothing existed but me, my sculpture, and the image in my mind. I had never worked this fast before, never abandoned my constant second guessing, and as the sky grew light, and the first rays of dawn flooded the studio I was finished.
I sat on a small stool, wishing it had a back to support my full weight, and let out a large sigh. I had worked through the entire night, but it was done. The spell broke, and my perfect concentration lifted. The walls of the studio returned to my sight, and as I found myself back in the room I saw that the kid was no longer writing. He was just standing there, looking at me. I felt strange, had I done something strange while in that trance? Why was he just staring at me?
“You okay?” maybe he was just day dreaming.
“Huh?” or maybe he had a brain aneurism.
“Are you okay?” I said waving my hand in front of his face.
“Oh! Yeah, sorry. I was somewhere else.” He blinked and then dropped his head hiding his face.
“Yeah, I’d say so.”
“What time is it?” he asked.
“I’d say close to six. I can’t believe I worked all night.” Or that he had stayed that long.
“Yeah, I normally don’t make it to morning.”
“Well…there is a class here soon. I better get going.” I needed to sleep. The fatigue of my all nighter was quickly setting in.
“Oh…yeah. I guess I better get ready for class.” He grabbed his stuff, and headed toward the door.
“Wait!” my voice was louder than I had expected.
“What’s your name?” I felt I needed to know. This kid had made me work. I’d never worked this hard in my life, and the idea that I might never see him again made my artistic heart pump faster. I could feel blood pulsing in my ears.
“Oh…I’m Jared.” He extended his hand to me.
“Nice to meet you Jared. I’m Parker.”
“Yeah, nice to meet ya.” We shook hands.
“Jared can you come back tonight?” what in the hell was I saying? Why am I asking this kid to come back?
“Ummm….why?” I wasn’t sure I knew why I was asking myself. Now it was my turn to answer hard questions.
“Well….you see…ummm…well…I’ve just never worked like that in my life. Something happened to me tonight, and I think…I think it was because you were here. You see…your kind of annoying.”
“I’m what?” he said with exasperation.
“No…not annoying. Well…you’re the kind of kid…er…person who would normally annoy me, but you don’t. I think you made me work better, and I need to get this piece done. I need to get this done, and I think if you’re here. It will happen.” The second I said it, I knew how stupid it sounded. Stupid and mildly psychotic.
“Oh? Well….I don’t know. I mean I’ve got class every morning, but maybe. I mean I got a lot of good stuff down last night too. You’re really strange when you work.” I did do strange things.
“Oh yeah? Like what?” now I was curious.
“Hhhmmm….let me see. How did I put it?” Jared flipped through his notebook.
“You wrote it down?” What did I do that was noteworthy?
“Yeah…here it is. ‘His hands moved in a wild and erratic way, there could be no pattern. He made complex crosses of hand over hand which were completely unnecessary. He was like a prodigy, creating beauty that no one could make, but his technique was not of the masters of his craft.’” He read aloud.
“Really? Wow…that’s really interesting.” I said.
“Oh yeah? Why is that interesting to you?” he said, imitating me from before.
“Alright touché. Sorry I was a bitch. I just didn’t know I did that. I wasn’t thinking about what I was doing, I don’t know how to describe it. I’m normally all about technique.”
“It’s alright. It was ‘interesting’ to see you work.” He said making little quote fingers to emphasize the word I had been so rude to him about.
“So will you come?” I felt like a boy asking a girl to prom.
“Yeah. I can skip tomorrow’s class, but only if you promise to do me favor in return.” At this point I’d do just about anything. This piece was no longer about the class, it was more. This piece might be the first piece I ever cared about. It was personal sure, but it would also serve as a reminder. A physical testament to memorialize this strange time where I sacrificed technique for art under some sort of artist spell.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“I want you to explain it afterwards. I want to know what it means to you. I want to know why you made it.” His face was serious.
“Umm…alright, but it’s not that good of a story.” It really wasn’t.
“Maybe not to you. I’ll see you here tonight.” He said, and walked out of the studio.
***TO BE CONTINUED
Questions: So I’m wondering. Do you feel a sense of place with the studio? Do you wish you had more descriptors?
Do Jared and Parker sound different in your head?
Do you have a hard time telling who is talking?