I had taken to creating sculptures. I worked the stone, physically willing it into shapes that had not existed previously. It required concentration and hours of labor.
On the day, I had formed a strange woman. She was a winged creature built in angles. She was not exactly as I had seen in my mind's eye, but sometimes, what is formed in reality --as imperfect as it is --is better than the dream because you can touch it. Her eyes were askew, but they were beautiful. Her wings drooped, but there they were. She was a monument on the tabletop, and I loved her.
I called her Confidence.
The Critic stopped by the atelier unannounced.
"It was on my way," he sniffed. "I hear you've been doing sculpture. Is this one of yours? I'd be happy to give you some feedback." He eyed my Confidence with some suspicion.
"You see, here you lack balance. If you look at the wings of birds in nature, they are symmetrical. These aren't." He picked up the chisel I had put down to answer the door when he knocked. "If you just remove a bit here, then it will be closer to symmetrical."
"But ...I ...," I started but couldn't get the words out fast enough. I loved the asymmetry.
He gave the stone a tap. Her left wing fell off.
"Hmm. That won't do." He tapped at the other wing and it fell to join its fraternal twin in a heap on the floor.
"There. Now it looks a bit more ladylike." He scratched his head. "But she does have a bit too much belly and her nose is too big. If you look at the statues of antiquity, you will notice the lines and proportions. If we just address those, perhaps ..."
He lifted the chisel again.
"But ...," I started again. This time, my voice sounded as crumpled as the wings down below.
The tap of the chisel removed the nose.
"Oh, it was only supposed to remove the excess. I have seen Greek statues where the nose has fallen off with time. Perhaps this can be a reference to that. And now, about that belly ..."
Tap.
He continued his tapping. I stopped trying to intervene after she lost her right arm. By the end of his tapping, Confidence lay in pieces at his feet. He dusted the rubble off his shiny black shoes.
"I don't think you were using very good material," the Critic remarked on his way out the door. "You might try working with metal next time. It was a good attempt, though. Keep it up. I'd be happy to give you feedback on whatever you come up with next time. Something in metal ..."