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TWO MONTHS LATER; 1966
Perspective was a fascinating concept. It was a multitude of angles and slants, a shift in the consideration of life that could be just as momentous as it was disastrous. Take a tree, for example. A tree sees the world at a different height than anyone else could experience. Different but enigmatic.
"How does this one make you feel?"
Perspective was a chance to pour your heart out and make it yours. It was a spectrum of rarities, individual, and unique.
For Virginia Curtis, individuality was everything. It set her apart from conformity. She was the rose in a field of grass, the scarlet in a black-and-white picture.
So as she stood in the small room, illuminated by a lamp tucked away in the organized clutter, she had to concoct her own thoughts and cultivate her mind. Ms. Tanner stood next to her, staring at the sculpture upon a clothed stand in which her student was studying.
"It..." she sighed, biting her lip in thought. This was difficult but so easy, it made her want to shout.
"Take your time," Ms. Tanner assured, giving her a small shoulder rub.
"It... makes me feel not so alone," Virginia said carefully.
She stared at the face of the small man hunched over, his carved leg propped over a knee with his cleft chin resting on his fingers. The fingers... They could've been real flesh and blood coated in clay with how perfectly shaped they are from the veins to the knuckle wrinkles. She focused on the way the dim light made the fine lines of the sculpture gleam. The shiny dark clay almost looked like a trace of sunlight in a dark sea.
A glimmer of hope! Epiphanies came out of the blue for her.
"Whoever made it understands the depths of sorrow and-and the calamity of loss," Virginia finished. She unfolded her arms, feeling a sudden relief when the tension in her elbows had loosened and the air cooled her clammy palms.
Ms. Tanner hummed, gazing wistfully at the statue. "I suppose I do."
Virginia couldn't have turned to the woman faster. Her eyes were wide in realization and utter surprise. "Ms. Tanner, this is yours?" She exhaled and sputtered in disbelief, "I- oh, it's wonderful! The elegance of the composition—"
"That's the wonderful thing about art," Ms. Tanner chuckled as her student continued to praise the piece. "Moments of hardship and heartbreak are channeled into something that makes a sad young girl feel less alone at a huge school that really ought to catch up with her mind."
Virginia was quiet, her eyes reconnecting with the very thinly defined irises of the man. She knew exactly what her teacher was trying to get at.
"Art gives meaning to sorrow in a way that many can not experience," Ms. Tanner continued. "Sometime's you won't find the path to where you're supposed to go and you must break down walls and cut your way through the branches to get where you need to go."
