Every artist was once an amateur; some stayed that way, others were mediocre, and few were brilliant.1
Harrison Taylor drew back from the tableau, critically examining the scene before him, at first from one angle, and then another.2
Almost perfect, he thought, adjusting the position of the sculpture.3
He shuffled to one side, tilting his head; the light caught the subject well, shadows contrasted nicely, and the subtle feathering in between emphasized the varying roundness of parts of the work.4
Wiping his hands on his frock, he thought about the first time he had attempted such an undertaking. He had been barely out of school; the model he had selected had been flawless. Rather, it had been he that proved imperfect; the implements foreign in his hands, the execution careless, the outcome dissatisfying.5
Over the years, he had progressed; each subject chosen with care, he made sure to use high quality tools, and the final step embarked on with precision. When he considered the journey he had taken to arrive at where he was today, it was really a continual study of expert artisanship.6
His gaze was drawn again to the timeless beauty portrayed in front of him; the hues of soft peachy pink complemented by sharp lines of crimson. A splash of cerulean blue clashed brilliantly with the sunset orange hibiscus. A sheet of licorice black cascaded from the higher plane, a wisp trailed artfully across the midline.7
His examination now focused on the props around his sculpture; at the foot lay an angel card – ‘prosperity’- its addition the unique moniker Harrison had cultivated for himself. All great artists had a style, or a signature, that made them distinctive. After nearly twenty years, and a great many reviews in the media, Harrison considered himself to be, not only a great, but also a master.8
The creation of his art transcended all other things, and without it, his life lacked depth and passion. Everything he experienced, after completing each distinct artwork, was extraordinary; a mere sandwich was the food of gods, a simple sunset the blazing gates to hell itself, even water tasted of dewed nectar.9
He ran a finger lovingly over his sculpture; the delicate textures captured truthfully in every inch, every curve, and every tone. As he lifted his hand away, a tiny amount of damp cerise came away; evidently, it was necessary that he allow further time for his masterpiece to dry.10
He retreated, collected the implements of execution, and, after cleaning them reverently, placed them inside his worn canvas bag. He gave his sculpture one, last, appreciative look. 11
Showcased against a flawless cream wall the sculpture, though lifeless, radiated the charisma of life captured in a moment. It was an ideal all artists sought; the ability to capture the essence of life and reveal its intricacies.12
Harrison bid his sculpture farewell, and departing from the display, shut the door behind him silently. He smiled with eager expectation; tomorrow his critics would rave about the recent addition to his series. 13
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The next day, Harrison retrieved his early edition newspaper with breathless anticipation. Ever since he started his journey of continual improvement, he always enjoyed reading the reviews that his critics gave him.15
Spreading the newspaper out in front of him, he grinned as he read the headline. Clearly, his sculpture had been received in the way he expected - this new work would be the talk of the city for many days to come.16
Taking a slow sip from his coffee, he relished the moment, before pushing the paper to one side. He had another sculpture to plan - another perfect artwork, another perfect murder.17
He glanced at the satisfying headline again as the morning sun streamed through his window;18
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“Angel Killer Strikes Again: City Outraged”20
21
He smiled; he was, indeed, a Master.22
*23
*24
25
Gold trophy winner
Silver trophy winner
Honorable winner
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