Stained Glass Sorrow
The pieces lay before her. They held no order and gave no sign to what they would make. Yet her hand hovered above them waiting for inspiration to strike. Wires and clippers sat to her side, the solder was cold but wouldn’t be for much longer. The knife sat in the brazier warming even now.
The colors were not what she wanted. They were what was left. This piece was not one for the temple. It was her own practice, her own inspiration, her own payment for the hours she’d spent highlighting the pious and the brave - men all who did little more than fight.
This would be different. She didn’t know how, but she had a sense that whatever she made from the remainders before her would have to be. Arrayed before her were the cuttings and shards from larger more strenuously planned works. There were shades of orange and green, turquoise and brown, silver and bronze. None of them were perfect, their coloring had run or there were chips along the edges. Some had even warped from the heat.
But they were hers and no others and she knew from them she could extract something beautiful. All she had to do was wait.
Today’s art is courtesy of kiD Chan from Petaling Jaya, Malaysia