He traces the relief on her face with his smudgy, waxy fingers. She is immobile and yet he is afraid. With each motion of his knife, he raises her features into being. She will soon be under scrutiny by hundreds of visitors, each walking within a capsule of experiences different from any other in the room. He is afraid. Will they view her with eyebrows raised to hold back a rain of scorn – out of polite reserve? He passes his fingertips across her waxy brow line. A scattering of flakes flutter down on to the mud floor.
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Nice! I love how you capture the artist, whereas it’s usually the artist that captures others.
By: Asmaa on April 30, 2007
at 2:06 am
Do artists really think this way? My romanticized impression of the artist is that of a being so driven by the soulful need to create and so wrapped up in her own craft that she cares little of what others might think of it afterwards. This is wonderfully written though. Your first entry on DV!
By: safiyyah on April 30, 2007
at 3:37 am
I think it is how artists think. They’re just as affected by others’ remarks and opinions as the rest of us.
By: Asmaa on April 30, 2007
at 1:23 pm
I’d like to think the masters are not so insecure.
By: safiyyah on May 1, 2007
at 5:45 am