You're My Muse
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Reducio  |
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Art. What really is art? What constitutes art? Can art be abstract? Does art have to have a meaning? These were simply snippets of the musings in which she frequently ruminated upon -- seemingly deep, but only leading into spirals upon spirals of endless pondering. By no means was Ebony Vetra the brightest witch in Ravenclaw academically, but perhaps it were these curious little musings that classified her as a seeker of knowledge.
For Ebony, art was but a channel for her emotions. Given her aversion -- or inability -- to let out the tears and the snot and everything else that came with it, she had a tendency of repressing her feelings to the point of outbreak. Art helped alleviate some of it; some form of catharsis, to a certain extent. Meaning in her art was arbitrary as well. To her, it wasn't that art necessarily had to have meaning to be art. It was simply that art inherently, in its creation, holds a meaning. A release of emotion. An illuminated moment of inspiration. Years of hard work and honing of skills. Mindless doodling signifying boredom. The intention behind the creation of the art was meaning enough in itself.
It was morning; a nice, clear morning with a crisp breeze that didn't match the moroseness that she had decided to wake up with. The exact cause for this glum mood could not be pinned down, but perhaps it was due to the lack of inspiration. The exact reason for her loitering down at the lake was not clear either, but perhaps she was searching for some inspiration. What inspiration? She wasn't sure either. Ebony traipsed to the edge of the lake, her mind yet again clamouring with thoughts that had no end. She watched as the sun encased the surface of the water, creating a layer of blinding shimmer. But the shimmer was deceiving -- beneath it lay the murky depth, hidden by a layer of false glow. She found that some folks were just like the lake. They hid a plethora of secrets under a mirage of charm and deceit.
She reached for parchment and a quill to capture her thoughts, but the inspiration was fleeting. Her quill touched the parchment, but soon thereafter she found her strokes lost and confused.
A line --
A circle --
Some strange swirly shape.
But it all seemed incoherent. She turned the parchment over and stared at the blankness, void of inspiration. Typically, she would draw the environment around her, or maybe something to do with Quidditch (in which she had @Aly Salinger and her trusty bludgers to thank for), but those ideas were already so heavily exhausted. Ebony simply lacked an artistic muse.
| iNPC: Luuk Tjin-A-Wing | sta 7 | eva 12 | str 15 | wis 9 | arc 8 | acc 15 𝐓𝐏 • 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 • 𝐨𝐛𝐧𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 • 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 • 𝐄𝐌 |
You're My Muse
ANNA BLACKBERRY!
HOGWARTS | YEAR 2 | HUFFLEPUFF | Daytime | ANNA'S SPEECH: "#SPEECH" | WC: 510
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A R T I S T I C |
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I N S P I R A T I O N |
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You're My Muse
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♡
Reducio |
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The clamouring silence that surrounded her seemed almost overwhelming, flooding her mind with a state of emptiness that matched the blankness of her parchment. It wasn't completely void of noise, of course, given that it was nature after all -- but the occasional chirps from the birds and the swishing grass and the rippling water seemed oddly disharmonised. That was, until a crunch sounded behind her -- a light footstep; not so loud that it was disrupting, but just the right timbre so that it shattered the silent cacophony.
Ebony slowly turned around, her eyes falling onto a girl who's gaze trailed a fluttering flower. The girl exuded the air of a butterfly, the wind coursing through her flowing locks of hair, giving her a majestic quality. What really entranced the Ravenclaw, however, was the girl's ostentatiously accessorised and grand outfit. She was draped in an almost victorian-esque gown with satin, midnight coloured layers and ruffles of pink flowers that accentuated her figure. The lace that decorated the gown's corset and hems made her seem like someone of nobility -- what was it those Muggles called it? Princesses? Her curled hair was adorned with whimsical flowers, entwined in an intricately braided hairstyle. The girl seemed almost... out of a fantasy. In a world where magical was the norm, there was nothing very much impressive to Ebony. Those spells and charms and transfigurations? The same old. This, though? This... regality and grandeur? This was truly magical.
The sun was positioned just above the lake, casting a glowing sheer of light upon its surface that illuminated the girl such that she appeared almost mystical. Her face was lit in such a way that highlighted her luscious eyelashes and piercing blue eyes. Struck by inspiration almost suddenly, unprecedented, Ebony scrambled to again lift the quill to her parchment and capture this fleeting moment before it slid away. Actually, scratch that -- she threw her quill and parchment to a side and pulled out her notebook, reverting to the Muggle artefacts (pencils and coloured pencils) as to illustrate the elegant colours of the gown and the glow of the girl's visage more accurately.
It occurred to her then, however, that she might have seemed a bit strange, as she appeared to be staring intently at the girl. She sheepishly turned back around towards the lake as to avoid coming off as a creep -- because who wouldn't be creeped out if somebody was just staring at them? Although the scene she had wanted to capture was already imprinted into her mind, Ebony still occasionally stole a glance or two towards her majestic source of inspiration.
| iNPC: Luuk Tjin-A-Wing | sta 7 | eva 12 | str 15 | wis 9 | arc 8 | acc 15 𝐓𝐏 • 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 • 𝐨𝐛𝐧𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 • 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 • 𝐄𝐌 |
You're My Muse
ANNA BLACKBERRY!
HOGWARTS | YEAR 2 | HUFFLEPUFF | Daytime | ANNA'S SPEECH: "#SPEECH" | WC: 677
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A R T I S T I C |
|
I N S P I R A T I O N |
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You're My Muse
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♡
Reducio |
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Well -- not really perfect. Art could never be rendered perfect. It was nigh impossible, it was, for the definition itself of "perfect" was so unclear. So subjective. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and naturally so is perfection. She found herself yet again sinking back into the musings that had carried her here, to the shore of the Great Lake. Perfection in art was... the accuracy? The "beauty", whatever that was defined as? The adherence to the meaning behind it? Whatever it was, it was impossible to achieve. So "perfect" wasn't the word. Good enough? The blue coloured pencil failed to capture the somehow vibrant yet sunken midnight blue and the soft velvet sheen of the fabric. The limited range of colours -- and perhaps the artist's lack of skill -- meant that the glow of the sunrise was not adequately captured. Not perfect, but good enough it was.
The Ravenclaw dug through her bag of pencils attempting to find a shade of ivory, attempting to replicate the almost yellowing, antiquated yet elegant lace on the girl's dress. She froze, however, coloured pencil hovering above the page, as she heard the soft crunch of footsteps sounding from behind her; the sound of grass being flattened; the sound of rocks being lodged under the shoe; the sound of soil compressing; the sound of human.
"What's that...?"
A gentle, raspy voice echoed from behind her. It was the voice of somebody who hadn't spoken since the day before -- understandable, given it was so early in the morning. Such a thought caused her to steal another glance at the rising sun. How beautiful. Bringing herself back to the matter at hand, however; sh-t. I got caught staring. She cursed herself inwardly for being so indiscreet. It would have served her well to be more inconspicuous. She would have to face the embarrassment now, wouldn't she? It wasn't often that her subjects became aware of her illustrations of them. It was never a pleasant conversation to have; terribly mortifying, in fact.
Slowly (and not very steadily), the fifth year rotated her gaze towards the girl who had served as her muse, slightly surprised to find the girl standing right behind her. At closer examination, the girl seemed to be shorter and younger than Ebony -- perhaps a second or third year -- but the position in which the Ravenclaw was seated and where the girl was standing made it seem as though the younger student was towering over her, fabricating a somewhat reversed power dynamic.
"Uh, hi..." the brunette stuttered rather sheepishly, her own voice somewhat raspy. She cleared her throat inelegantly and tilted her head upward to look into the eyes that complemented the girl's trailing dress. Her eyes were a few shades lighter than the midnight that overwhelmed her outfit, a stunning indigo that glowed ever so softly.
"So," Ebony chuckled awkwardly, not quite knowing how to address the elephant in the room, "I- I really like your dress, so... I was drawing it. I was drawing you." Surely the girl wouldn't find that strange, right? Perhaps she was an artist too -- perhaps the girl knew where she was coming from, perhaps she knew that feeling artists get upon finding such a mesmerising inspiration.
| iNPC: Luuk Tjin-A-Wing | sta 7 | eva 12 | str 15 | wis 9 | arc 8 | acc 15 𝐓𝐏 • 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 • 𝐨𝐛𝐧𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 • 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 • 𝐄𝐌 |