1st of Ymiden, Arc 716
The tournament in Warrick was coming up, and like most other nobles Tristan would be there. He wouldn’t participate in the tournament though even though this parents would be overjoyed if he did because he had always been a little too soft and weird for their taste, and they considered fighting and similarly unpleasant activities to be important parts of life as a noble. No, he had just come to the decision that it would be a prime opportunity to show off his works of art and find buyers or maybe a gallery owner that wanted to exhibit them.
Of course he would have to produce a few works of art in order to show them off, unless that painting over which Daliane’s pig had walked counted as a work of art (which it did, in his opinion). That was why he had decided to lock himself into his appartment, as if he were some sort of antisocial hermit and spread his supplies all over the large table at which he normally ate.
He already knew exactly what he wanted to make. He was pretty sure that every other sculptor would sculpt people – normal people that wore normal clothes and did normal things – and thus he would do something totally different to ensure that he received a sufficient amount of attention. The people that visited the tournament would probably be overjoyed to see his creations after having been confronted with nothing but noble knights and pretty ladies.
He had learned from experience that working with clay could be a somewhat messy affair. Since he wasn’t particularly keen on scraping bits of clay off his table after he was done (or buying a new table because he was too lazy to clean it), he placed a mat in front of him before he took the lump of clay he had bought at that shop that sold artist’s supplies. He grabbed a random sculpting tool, but after he had given the matter some thought he put it away again and started pushing the clay around with his fingers instead.
He could envision the end result better if he could feel what he was doing.
Some sculptors drew a sketch that they could use as a reference first, but Tristan preferred to work without one and just make whatever he felt like making. And at the moment he felt like making a sculpture of a woman, a woman with a square head to be exact because in his opinion art didn’t always have to replicate reality. As he walked around the table so that he could reach every part of his work of art in progress it occured to him that he should probably buy one of those fancy turntables that they used in the workshop at the university.
But he’d have to buy a bigger appartment first. His little one room appartment in the center of Andaris was already rather cramped as it was. If he put another table and another chair into it, he’d probably have to remove his bed and sleep on the kitchen table instead. So he continued to walk around his table and pushed the clay around and removed pieces here and there until the lump began to look a little more like a human being.
At this point he stopped to take a swig from the bottle of wine that stood on the table next to his tools because he was getting rather thirsty (and he had a hard time being creative when he was thirsty) before he grabbed the tool he had previously discarded and began to carve out smaller details such as the woman’s hands, her dress, her hair and the angles of her face. Next he added some texture to his sculpture, one section at a time, using a variety of tools with different tips until he was content.
While he waited for the sculpture to dry he moved on to the next lump of clay because he needed more than one sculpture for the tournament. He expected to get lots of customers, and wouldn’t they be disappointed if he only had a single (albeit magnificent) sculpture to sell?
The tournament in Warrick was coming up, and like most other nobles Tristan would be there. He wouldn’t participate in the tournament though even though this parents would be overjoyed if he did because he had always been a little too soft and weird for their taste, and they considered fighting and similarly unpleasant activities to be important parts of life as a noble. No, he had just come to the decision that it would be a prime opportunity to show off his works of art and find buyers or maybe a gallery owner that wanted to exhibit them.
Of course he would have to produce a few works of art in order to show them off, unless that painting over which Daliane’s pig had walked counted as a work of art (which it did, in his opinion). That was why he had decided to lock himself into his appartment, as if he were some sort of antisocial hermit and spread his supplies all over the large table at which he normally ate.
He already knew exactly what he wanted to make. He was pretty sure that every other sculptor would sculpt people – normal people that wore normal clothes and did normal things – and thus he would do something totally different to ensure that he received a sufficient amount of attention. The people that visited the tournament would probably be overjoyed to see his creations after having been confronted with nothing but noble knights and pretty ladies.
He had learned from experience that working with clay could be a somewhat messy affair. Since he wasn’t particularly keen on scraping bits of clay off his table after he was done (or buying a new table because he was too lazy to clean it), he placed a mat in front of him before he took the lump of clay he had bought at that shop that sold artist’s supplies. He grabbed a random sculpting tool, but after he had given the matter some thought he put it away again and started pushing the clay around with his fingers instead.
He could envision the end result better if he could feel what he was doing.
Some sculptors drew a sketch that they could use as a reference first, but Tristan preferred to work without one and just make whatever he felt like making. And at the moment he felt like making a sculpture of a woman, a woman with a square head to be exact because in his opinion art didn’t always have to replicate reality. As he walked around the table so that he could reach every part of his work of art in progress it occured to him that he should probably buy one of those fancy turntables that they used in the workshop at the university.
But he’d have to buy a bigger appartment first. His little one room appartment in the center of Andaris was already rather cramped as it was. If he put another table and another chair into it, he’d probably have to remove his bed and sleep on the kitchen table instead. So he continued to walk around his table and pushed the clay around and removed pieces here and there until the lump began to look a little more like a human being.
At this point he stopped to take a swig from the bottle of wine that stood on the table next to his tools because he was getting rather thirsty (and he had a hard time being creative when he was thirsty) before he grabbed the tool he had previously discarded and began to carve out smaller details such as the woman’s hands, her dress, her hair and the angles of her face. Next he added some texture to his sculpture, one section at a time, using a variety of tools with different tips until he was content.
While he waited for the sculpture to dry he moved on to the next lump of clay because he needed more than one sculpture for the tournament. He expected to get lots of customers, and wouldn’t they be disappointed if he only had a single (albeit magnificent) sculpture to sell?