Cool Down

So that last entry got a lot of hits, but it had some steamier tags. I’m thinking I might start writing erotica on the side, I could make some money. Anyway, I figured this time I could cool it down. I like this moment. I find it interesting when two characters meet. I think perhaps some of the phrasing after the dialogue is strangely placed, but it does work. I think I could turn this into a longer story.

10 Minutes:

I dipped my hands into the cold thick plaster and began again. It was the fourth night in a row I had worked on my art project, but finally some things were starting to take the shape I wanted. I had seen it in a dream when I was ten, the face of a pig wearing a top hat. In my dream I was wandering around in my backyard, but then it became an enchanted forest, and my family, who had come with me, all turned into pigs wearing fancy attire like they were going to a storybook ball. I never forgot their faces, it was so ridiculous that it didn’t make me lose sleep, but it was so nuts that it haunted me. I figured if I could make it a reality, it might leave my brain. Then it would just have been something in the world, and not only in my head.

The fact I was turning a childhood nightmare into an art project made me think I was immature. Other art students were making sculptures out of common place objects which symbolized some emotion that was so raw, they wanted sculpture to “contain” it. I couldn’t say I’ve ever felt that strongly about any emotion. I just wanted to make something that had personal meaning, which could pass for ‘art’.

Since I never felt up to par with my fellow students, I preferred to work late. I wanted to be alone with this piece, I couldn’t finish it with people watching me, and so I’d come into the studio around 10:00 p.m. and wait for people to go. Thankfully the students think of the night as time to drink, and not time to work.

I had been working on the snout for an hour, when I heard a strange noise over the music I was playing. The door opened, and there was some kid I’d never seen before. He was skinny, like most art students, with floppy hair in his eyes, and a posture which expressed more confidence than a person of his frame would normally have. He circled the room, and I tried to get back into my work. I was so close to getting some real progress done, and this kid wasn’t in my class. What did he know?

“That’s an interesting piece.” He said. Interesting is such an uninteresting word. It has no meaning except that it is in some way thought provoking, which if you think about it, everything is.

“Yeah.” I was hoping my equally bland statement would give him the clue to get out.

“So…what is it?” He didn’t get the hint.

“What do you think it is?” I asked.

“It’s a snout?”

“Yes, that is correct. Why is that interesting to you?” One thing about being a senior, is that when little kids like this decide to annoy me, I tend to pretend to be my professor. I guess, because I think he is unapproachable, and so if I make myself that way, people will leave me alone.

“Well…it’s not in real proportion. It is exaggerated.” He was right.

“So?” being right doesn’t answer my question

“So….that is interesting. I am wondering if you did that on purpose?” Well that was part of my goal I guess.

“Yeah, I did. I’m going for a Grimm’s fairytale pig, not a real one.” I figured he had the right to know.

“Oh? I guess I never thought about how fairytale animals were exaggerated.”

“They are. It makes them seem more human. So when they talk, it seems normal.”

“Is your pig the talking sort?” another question

“Yes and No.” In truth, my family had begun to squeal once they turned into pigs, except one. My father, he retained his low voice and southern accent.

“Oh. Well…I like it. Fairytales are a big source of inspiration for me.”

“And what kind of art do you do?”

“I’m a writer. I write a lot of fantasy stuff.” Why is a non-sculpture student in this studio?

“Ok. So…why are you here?” And when are you leaving?

“I come in here most nights. Except, you’ve been in here for four nights in a row. I can’t write in my room, so I come here. I find the textures of unfinished work good sources for descriptive detail. Like your plaster. It’s thick, but liquid. It’s not just white, it’s alabaster.”

“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.

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