My little Short Stories

by Paradise Oasis

Picture Perfect

Picture Perfect

Picture Perfect

another interruption from my main narrative, this is the story of a pony who will soon be appearing in one of my historical treatiesies.

I sit at my potter's wheel, hooves carefully molding the clay, shaping the raw and crude material from the earth into a new form. What shall it be this time? a statue? An urn? Ah, no. This shall be a vase, which some earth pony can put her flowers in. As I turn the wheel with a push of my leg on the pedal, I slowly push and smooth the spinning clay into a circular form, hollowing out the interior with the the tenderest care my hooves can manage. This pottery is no great masterpiece, to be sure. Just a simple routine that I have performed many times before. But there is a simple pleasure even in making a simple vessel such as this. A symmetry to the handles on each side, a small joy in the pony I barter it to who will get many fine years of use out of my work.

As I look around my studio, I see the various paintings hanging upon my walls. Flowers, animals, scenes from both nature and domestic pony life. Every sight in Fort Rainbow Dash seems to carry a burst of life and color in every moment for me to see, and all I am capable of doing is capturing a wisp of the beauty of that fleeting moment forever in my art. For my art is the vice through which I speak to the world the song which I sing to express myself. Like the great artists Ponycasso and Toola Roola before me, I am sharing my own creative vision with the world.

A knock comes at the door, and I adjust my glasses with a sigh. I already know who it is, and my heart grows sick at the thought of what I must now endure. Trotting over to the door of my small and humble studio, I open it to find A yellow earth pony Stallion with a white and blue striped mane.

"Hello, Acheron Golden." I tell him, bowing politely. "I have been anticipating your arrival. Please your Excellency, do come in."

I can only imagine how I must look right now- my blue mane a scruffy mess, my dark obsidian coat is all splattered with paint. Still, he's never been one to judge me on my appearance, his only concern is the quality of my work. Golden Gladiator is a piece of art work unto himself, the grizzled survivor of Rainbow Valley Goblin uprisings, the only stallion to ever reach the exalted position of Acheron in his Patrician family. His body bears many tribal markings resembling the elements, burned into his coat by a goblin tribe that had captured him. He reminds me of a classical bronze god, the scars only accentuating the magnificent sculpt of his- ahem, erm, anyway....

As he gazes around at my various commissions, my patron nods his head with approval. "Very good, very good, as always." He tells me admiringly. "You have once again outdone yourself, and proven your worth in why I have brought you here."

"Thank you, exalted Acheron." I bow to him again, unsure if he is genuinely impressed. Golden is a very hard pony to read, and sometimes I'm really not sure if what he's telling the truth or not. "Tell me, have you given any consideration to my ideas for the new art on Fort Dash's hall of Justice?"

It was one of my greatest hopes- the hall of justice, Fort Rainbow Dash's highest court, had been damaged in the last skirmish of the uprising. Many artists had been in competition to create the new designs, and I was hoping my ideas would be presented by my patron before the senate as a possible design for the new edifice. I had long dream of working my wonders on the great Doric and ionic columns of Fort Dash's magnificent buildings. As a little filly, it was the beauty of these beautiful buildings that first awoke the desire to speak to the world through my artwork.

But Golden Gladiator shook his head in the negative, causing all of my aspiring hopes and dreams to again be dashed. Again I felt the disappointment I had when my parents disapproved of my special talent. Again I felt the sting of all the peers from my fillyhood who didn't understand my message. A lifetime of disappointment of growing up in Fort Rainbow, a regimented herd whose heart beats to the song of the marching hoof and strong discipline.

"Your visions of what Fort Dash represents, I feel they are not compatible with the Senate's vision." He tell me in a patronizing manner. "I have some different projects I'd like you to work on."

And so, he gives me a new string of commissions to work on... of Battles and bloodbath, of the great Stallion Army of Fort Rainbow Dash, punishing goblins gruesomely gutting dragons by the sword. Can he not see my vision goes against all these severed heads and limbs he's having me decorate his home with? It goes against my very artistic sensibilities and training to draw, paint and sculpt the gory scenes of the army's triumph. But still Gladiator foists his unrealistic proportions and warped poses upon me. Can't he see how miserable all this drek is making me? But he is the patron, I am the artist. My opinions and tastes must take a back seat to the reality of the situation.

The great Toola Roola once said whenever we make a piece of art, we put a piece of ourselves into it. As my guest makes his departure, I look at all the untraded works I've made, and put my very heart and soul into, that nobody seems to want. Will the world never see the song of light and color that I've created with my special talent? Will my great symphony of self expression become merely a footnote, whist I am only remembered for art I never wanted to create in the first place?

I can only wonder....

Comments

[mbpony 512]

Whoa, kind of bloody for a battle to be describe as art. I mean, I know art is expression, but isn't that a bit too much to put into an art piece ?