This is attempt number 2 of the same experiment that I tried in my previous post. I wrote whatever sentence came to my mind. No editing, absolutely. I did not plan on any plot, no ending in mind. This is just to see what I can come up with by letting my mind go free. This is fun!
Artists are said to be miserable people. Angry, anti-social, unhappy and all those sad adjectives. Are miserable people capable of producing art? Are they angry because of their art or are they angry in general? I don't know but this post is not about that.
Michelangelo woke up one morning. He decided he is going to make a statue. He took his mallet and started chipping away a block of marble. He did not use any miniature model for reference. He wanted spontaneity. His hands were used to the pressure of holding a mallet and hitting it against the hard marble for hours. His eyes were acclimatized to seeing only white color for most part of the day...and night. After all, white has all the colors in it, right? His eyes were technically not missing out on anything.
He was trying to shape the curly hair of the man..err..woman..err he had not decided that yet. Spontaneity remember?
That is when it happened. *Thud* He turned just in time to miss the heavy object falling from above. It just missed his elbow and crashed down. It was a piece of the ceiling. One more piece fell down. Another. And another. More and more. He then looked up. The building was collapsing. He saw this huge building crumbling down.
A terrorist attack, he thought.
No no, that is not until a few centuries later.
What now, then?
Oh, the other "family". The enemies of the Medici. (I would like to point out to the readers, it is spelled like Medikki but pronounced like Medichi. Remember Rachel's interview scene in Friends? Gukki...Goochi...Gucci..he he!)
He picks up the statue and runs with the mallet and chisel in his other hand. The stone is heavy. Thankfully, he had picked a relatively small piece of marble to experiment on spontaneity.
After a few days, the carnage had subsided. His patrons were alive, which guaranteed his life too. He decided to resume his experiment. He had shaped the nose rather bluntly. So he decided to make it a baby's statue. He was just going to give it finishing touches.
One of his assistants came along hesitantly and asked Michelangelo to check his progress on a boring piece of work commissioned by a wealthy merchant who always paid in time and had the worst taste in Florence social circles. Michelangelo said, "don't bother me, idiot! Don't you see I am doing something?"
His assitant got flustered and dropped his pallet. It hit Michelangelo's right leg by mistake before hitting the ground. Michelangelo's face turned the color of the blood that was spilled a few days ago in the city. He said "Idiot!" and banged his mallet with irritation.
*Bang*
The statue cracked in the middle. The blunt nose was now two tiny tunnels with one curved side and one flat side. So much for spontaneity.
"Well", Michelangelo shrugged. "What did you expect from me other than anger? Aarrgh!"
