5 April, 1894 — Live Sculpting Salon
One thing Emrys had always enjoyed: finding new and interesting ways to make genteel society uncomfortable. The contortionists at the Sonata several years ago had been his doing; he used his position as a patron in some art circles to advocate for the inclusion of some more risque pieces. It delighted him to imply that any hesitation they had about it stemmed from a lack of appreciation for high art. There was nothing wealthy people liked less than to be accused of not having good taste (Emrys included), and so it was generally an argument that carried the day.
This was one of his ideas, as well. The people who hadn't objected during the planning probably hadn't realized what sculpting live clay was really like. The sculptor who was in the center of the ring at the moment had his once loose white shirt slicked down with greyish clay water, clinging to his torso most delightfully as he wrestled with the half-formed leg of a sculpture he was working on. Exquisite.
He accepted a drink from one of the footmen and turned to make conversation with the nearest guest. "And are you an artist? I find so many people dabble." Though he doubted most of the people in the audience had done anything quite like this.
This was one of his ideas, as well. The people who hadn't objected during the planning probably hadn't realized what sculpting live clay was really like. The sculptor who was in the center of the ring at the moment had his once loose white shirt slicked down with greyish clay water, clinging to his torso most delightfully as he wrestled with the half-formed leg of a sculpture he was working on. Exquisite.
He accepted a drink from one of the footmen and turned to make conversation with the nearest guest. "And are you an artist? I find so many people dabble." Though he doubted most of the people in the audience had done anything quite like this.
Lou made this! <3