For tonight's writing group prompt I brought in three objects: A wooden, hand-carved Bob Marley, a tiny angel figurine, and a soft pink scarf. I wanted to offer them an exercise in description. I told them to think of it like a still life in words. We wrote for 25 minutes. Here's my piece on the figurine (pictured):
Round- and I feel that’s important- when I hold it in my hands it is the round portions of the figurine that draw my touch again, again. The soft, almost blushing colors also move me. And there are wings, these white, hard, jagged things that seem to me the least novel of its design, though perhaps that’s just a remnant of the deconstructed portions of my spiritual life. It’s small- I feel that’s important, too- it fits in my palm, is easy, much too easy to misplace or lose. Yet, despite it’s size and lightness, it manages not to feel too fragile. In fact, I feel it could handle being dropped- could hold up against a few clumsy tosses, would not break unless intended to.
I remember when I got it the presentation was impressive. A scroll rolled paper, blue-inked, hand-written, and tied in yellow ribbon, clutching the angel in its loop. And the giver- this tall, dark creature with long, ringed hair and a magnetic smile that beamed of warmth and inclusion, but made especially me feel special. I did not expect the gift, did not know what to think of it- that it would hold any romantic meaning was not immediately clear to me. I was not prepared, had not yet given words to the subconscious longings in my heart- and then, suddenly, there they were defined, obvious, and tangible.
Now- I pull the object to my nose and slide it down the ridge to my lips. I kiss it and feel the cool, soothing quality of its literal and metaphysical fibers. It’s now- these 10 years later- bitter-sweetly that I realize the metaphor of this figurine and the love it stands for. Flying just out of reach, gentle and soft, blushing in its naivety, delicate but solid, and so incredibly kind. It’s perfect in all ways but one- it is no longer mine.
Round- and I feel that’s important- when I hold it in my hands it is the round portions of the figurine that draw my touch again, again. The soft, almost blushing colors also move me. And there are wings, these white, hard, jagged things that seem to me the least novel of its design, though perhaps that’s just a remnant of the deconstructed portions of my spiritual life. It’s small- I feel that’s important, too- it fits in my palm, is easy, much too easy to misplace or lose. Yet, despite it’s size and lightness, it manages not to feel too fragile. In fact, I feel it could handle being dropped- could hold up against a few clumsy tosses, would not break unless intended to.
I remember when I got it the presentation was impressive. A scroll rolled paper, blue-inked, hand-written, and tied in yellow ribbon, clutching the angel in its loop. And the giver- this tall, dark creature with long, ringed hair and a magnetic smile that beamed of warmth and inclusion, but made especially me feel special. I did not expect the gift, did not know what to think of it- that it would hold any romantic meaning was not immediately clear to me. I was not prepared, had not yet given words to the subconscious longings in my heart- and then, suddenly, there they were defined, obvious, and tangible.
Now- I pull the object to my nose and slide it down the ridge to my lips. I kiss it and feel the cool, soothing quality of its literal and metaphysical fibers. It’s now- these 10 years later- bitter-sweetly that I realize the metaphor of this figurine and the love it stands for. Flying just out of reach, gentle and soft, blushing in its naivety, delicate but solid, and so incredibly kind. It’s perfect in all ways but one- it is no longer mine.
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