Echo City Confessions Chapter 3 (Includes Images)
The furry and non-furry residents of Echo City confess their frustrations, desires, identity and hearts with one another through intimate conversations. Includes both human and furry nudity with images. A Drama and Slice of Life novel exploring themes of Enjoyment, Family, Relationships, Identity etc
Maya walked into the fortune teller’s hut. She gazed at the cat lady and the shimmering crystal ball in front. Her eyes glowed from the fire lanterns and candle light placed on the walls.
It would feel ominous to the average person. But Maya was sick of what an “average person” would do, for she needed something truly bizarre if she was going to move forward. For those who seek the bizarre are rewarded in strange ways.
“Come in, sit, you must be Maya. The cat pointed at the empty seat in front of her. "
“Madelia? Right? "
"Yes."
"Have you ever experienced fortune telling before?" queried Madelia.
"No."
"First time is generally fun. What would you like to ask the ball? ”
Maya gulped, she was more eager than she had realised. " I've been making sculptures in my free time. A lot of professionals have advised that I should post pictures of them, put them into contests or galleries. Unfortunately, nothing I make fits with what they're asking. Very often, what I make tends to not have anyone witnessing it. I question if there's any point to creation without impact. It makes me sad because lately it's been really fun too. Which makes it all the sadder. So, I'm here for some advice on where I should take my craft."
The fortune teller closed her eyes.
"Hmmm....".
Then patted the crystal ball and took some deep breaths.
"Hmm...."
She opened them, her eyes now sharp slit pupils.
Maya leaned forward, "What..what is it?"
“I’m sorry. "
"What?"
Madelia's eyebrows furrowed, "I'm sorry, the ball doesn’t have anything to say to you. ”
“Nothing!?”
Sharp eyes normally mean that something peculiar should have occurred and yet, fate had different plans. The two sat in silence. Maya didn’t consider that her query could be rejected. At worst she expected some sort of bogus answer that sounded completely illogical, but nothing at all? What a waste. Maya counted herself lucky she hadn’t paid for her services just yet.
"Do not worry, I will not charge you for this."
Perhaps Madelia should do mind reading instead of fortune telling. Maya began to get up to leave but the sorcerer spoke.
“Does art have to be witnessed?”
It halted Maya's movements. She wanted to say "no, of course not", but Maya's phase of lying to herself ended a while back. She knew that she wanted some level of attention.
"I do want attention."
"Of course."
If Madelia agreed, then why ask the question? Knowing there was more to this, Maya continued.
“But wanting attention isn’t bad right? We’re social creatures after all. Is it really that horrible to want what I make to be witnessed? It's not like I want just anyone to see them, just those who need to see it. "
Madelia nodded, “Hmmm, well I don’t think that at all. “
Maya pointed at the blue sphere, “So then why did the ball deny my request?”
“It’s not my choice. That isn’t how my powers work. See I’m merely a vessel for what comes through. I don’t get to choose whether it wants to show you something about your future. Seems like in this case, the power, wherever it comes from, whomever it comes from, does not want to show you anything. But fret not, that only means you have the answers within you, already in the grasp of your palms.”
Maya looked down at her palms. It was these very hands that allowed the magic to happen. It was these very palms, that were creating her sculptures. Despite all of that, she couldn't just make something people would want. No contests nor galleries would accepted her. None of the world had space for her art and so the question was obvious. Was it just for her? Was Madelia right? Should she just give up on being witnessed?
Madelia placed her hand at her chest. “Is it so wrong to make something with yourself in mind first and foremost?”
“I don’t think so. I feel like that’s what I do.”
Maya paused and then continued. “But I really try my best towards the end of the piece to make it something that others can enjoy as well. So I put in some extra effort to make it more presentable. But once again, all that extra effort feels like it’s in vain because the world doesn’t want me.”
Madelia tilted and scratched her head, “Extra effort. Why put that in? "
"It's just to make it higher in quality."
Higher quality, it’s interesting, who decides what is quality and who decides what isn’t? Is it completely subjective? Probably not, but everyone seems to believe it matters.
"High quality huh…What if putting in that extra effort is what’s making you frustrated? ”
“Hm?”
“If you truly made sculptures just for yourself and didn’t put in the extra effort, don’t you think you’d be making art for yourself?”
Before Maya could respond, Madelia continued, "When we put in extra effort, we subconsciously believe that we deserve something back for it. Have you tried making something imperfect?"
Maya leaned back and observed the lanterns. And how beautifully they shimmered. How could she make something imperfect if perfect things existed? Her muse was beauty after all and she wanted to capture the essence of it. But Maya couldn’t just reject Madelia, for she had a point. Those words flung around in Maya’s mind like a tornado. Could something of “quality” be imperfect? Could something of “quality” be imperfect?
The answer is obviously yes, but let’s see if she finds it.
“I guess I could try to not fix everything. I can release something that my eyes does not perceive as finished.”
Madelia nodded.
“But that doesn’t solve my problem. There’s still no place for me in this world.”
“Oh? but there is. Where does imperfect art thrive?”
A great question sorceress. C’mon Maya, you got this.
“Imperfect art…”
“Let me reframe the question. Where do you currently find your favourite sculptures?”
“Oh!…online.”
“That’s right, the internet, and all of its rabbit holes, is the place in which originality can thrive. I think the reason you never found a place in the contests and galleries is because you’re not supposed to be there. What else is originality but something imperfect? Something foreign. Something less molded. Something where “quality” is not defined at all. "
You could almost see the luminescent light shimmering out Maya’s eyes from the light bulb that had just lit up.
“A place where quality isn’t defined… that’s it.”
Maya thought back to the sculptures she made, the ones she thought were incomplete. They always had a place; she just had to carve one out for them. Believe in what she made at all cost, no matter how it looked. Maya continued thinking about her other works, those she condemned as lowly or half-assed. How could she say that to things she poured her heart and soul into? Rejecting her own children because they aren’t what she wanted them to be.
The great tragedy of any artist is the damage done to themselves in pursuit of someone else’s destiny.