Autumn in the Abyss

Author:Smith, John Claude [Smith, John Claude]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Omnium Gatherum
Published: 2014-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

La mia immortalità

“Why don’t you speak to me?” Samuel yelled, as the hammer smashed into the marble with a dull thump. He let the hammer drop out of his moist fingers. He released the chisel from his straining grip as well. As the dead weight of the hammer clunked onto the concrete floor, the tinny intonations of the chisel echoed weakly, a call and response wrought in frustration.

He wandered to a window, its panes sweating with condensation. The dreary, late summer chill outside unable to chip away at the heat inside the studio, or his veins.

“I thought you’d be well into the heart of this one by now, Sam.” Claire’s firm, polished glass timbres filtered into his ears, out of the blue— more so, the gray black overcast— not even knocking.

Samuel sighed, the weight of it all a burden Atlas would fail in lifting.

At forty-five years old, Samuel Nisi was a successful artist, first as a photographer, and then with oil paintings, old school by today’s deluge of digital dregs, and embraced by a world stepping back to appreciate genuine artistry. Yet the fickle aspect of his desire for everlasting fame— in spite of his quality work with skills apparent yet not harnessed to maximum results— kept him searching for something more, something to really leave his imprint on the world.

He found his way to a studio near Rome, Italy— to be near the masters, his only true Gods, Michelangelo and Bernini. The solitude was necessary for more reasons than would seem obvious. His aspirations had grown cunning. He would attain his goals at any cost, which had cost him friends, colleagues, personal relationships— not that they mattered to him. Anything that got in the way of his life’s purpose, as whittled to spear sharp intensity as the years tolled, was easily discarded.

Seven years ago he’d taken up sculpting. The sculptures he created combined the power and majesty of mythical gods, goddesses and monsters with dirt-under-the-fingernails modern sensibilities. He had a love of those who lived by tooth, nail, and brass knuckles. The wealth of critical applause he garnered validated his personal artistic progression, but for Samuel, it was not enough. All art came easy to him, yet no art satisfied his lust for immortality. Sure, some of the sculptures may last forever, but none struck him as extraordinary. He still felt emotionally distanced from them, as if something, some scrap of magic, was missing— which irked him to no end.

Hence, he found his latest commission especially intriguing.

He was desperately in need of inspiration that took him beyond the norm, beyond anything he’d ever conceived. As if answering his wishes, the letter had come to him via the post, not even electronically, as most communication was conducted nowadays.

A new client by the name of Mr. Liu had requested a decidedly atypical commission, one whose ambiguity intrigued Samuel. It was simple, direct, the essence relayed in measured lines, as if Mr. Liu was a man of few words, yet knew exactly what he wanted… yet what he wanted, because of the vagueness of the details, inspired.

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