Linda did not have any idea what she was going to do with her spare time. She had already cleaned her entire apartment; and she finished the book she was working on the night before. The itch inside of her soul made it impossible for her to sit still. For some undeniable yet indescribable reason, Linda felt the need to create art. Her favorite thing to do was to fashion masterpieces from found objects.
Now that she was done with all of her domestic duties and her backup recreation was through , she decided that she would go on and create something beautiful . Recently , she had been witness to so much ugliness in the world . She felt as though this was her chance to brighten the dark spot to which she was incessantly exposed . Linda sat on a stool that was placed between her kitchen and living room , looking around the room for something to use .
The hard part was in the fact that Linda had only recently moved into this one bedroom apartment, having gotten divorced just months prior. She had the stool she was sitting on, a television set, her bed and dressers, and a bookshelf. This was one of the main reasons why it didn't take her long to clean the entire place. Nevertheless, Linda studied her surroundings with a keen, creative eye. Seeing nothing in the living room, she turned her attention to the kitchen.
Her mother had always told her to keep the butter out so that it stayed soft
and malleable . Upon her kitchen counter was a butter boat , seemingly calling out to her . After all , her mother did say that warmed butter was easily manipulated . Linda leaned over and lifted the lid to the butter boat , sticking her finger into the butter with confident realization .
She noticed that the butter was a bit too soft, so she got the idea to put it into the refrigerator. While it cooled, she took out a couple utensils from the silverware drawer: a knife, a spatula, a spoon, and a vegetable peeler. She planned to use all of these things to make a sculpture out of butter. In fact, as she gathered her items she thought to herself, "Why hadn't I thought of this earlier?"
Next , she laid out some wax paper on the counter in her kitchen . She then turned around and flipped on the switch to the overhead light . Linda knew she was going to need ample lighting to work the finer details of her sculpture . Because of this realization , she also turned on the light above the sink , the living room lights , and a small lamp that she had picked up from aPage 4 of 5
rummage sale the week before . " I'll have to paint that thing next ," she said aloud to herself .
Linda grabbed the butter that was cooling in the refrigerator and placed the boat next to the wax paper, removing the butter from the boat with her bare hands. She sat the wad of butter on the wax paper and took a step back. Looking at the lump, she began to mold it with her imagination. She envisioned a ballerina on one toe, twirling to the sounds of beautiful music. It reminded her of the music box that her mother gave her when she was a child; a music box that was destroyed in the family fire just a few years back. Linda knew what she was going to do.
She pulled up her stool to the counter and began to work . She fiddled with that butter mass all night until she fell asleep right there on that uncomfortable stool . She woke to the morning sun coming in from the small window in her kitchen hitting her directly in the eye . She sat up, wiped the sleep from her eyes , and focused her attention on the mess she had made of
her apartment . Linda began to get upset with herself , remembering that she had spent the last night cleaning the place up. Then it hit her ; she had made art .
Looking down at the counter where her head once was she saw it: a beautiful ballerina, up on one toe, gracefully twinkling in the sun beam. It was as if her soul melted like butter into that stool. In an instant, Linda was neither angry nor lonely anymore.
Linda did not have any idea what she was going to do with her spare time. She had already cleaned her entire apartment; and she finished the book she was working on the night before. The itch inside of her soul made it impossible for her to sit still. For some undeniable yet indescribable reason, Linda felt the need to create art. Her favorite thing to do was to fashion masterpieces from found objects.Now that she was done with all of her domestic duties and her backup recreation was through , she decided that she would go on and create something beautiful . Recently , she had been witness to so much ugliness in the world . She felt as though this was her chance to brighten the dark spot to which she was incessantly exposed . Linda sat on a stool that was placed between her kitchen and living room , looking around the room for something to use .The hard part was in the fact that Linda had only recently moved into this one bedroom apartment, having gotten divorced just months prior. She had the stool she was sitting on, a television set, her bed and dressers, and a bookshelf. This was one of the main reasons why it didn't take her long to clean the entire place. Nevertheless, Linda studied her surroundings with a keen, creative eye. Seeing nothing in the living room, she turned her attention to the kitchen.Her mother had always told her to keep the butter out so that it stayed softand malleable . Upon her kitchen counter was a butter boat , seemingly calling out to her . After all , her mother did say that warmed butter was easily manipulated . Linda leaned over and lifted the lid to the butter boat , sticking her finger into the butter with confident realization .
She noticed that the butter was a bit too soft, so she got the idea to put it into the refrigerator. While it cooled, she took out a couple utensils from the silverware drawer: a knife, a spatula, a spoon, and a vegetable peeler. She planned to use all of these things to make a sculpture out of butter. In fact, as she gathered her items she thought to herself, "Why hadn't I thought of this earlier?"
Next , she laid out some wax paper on the counter in her kitchen . She then turned around and flipped on the switch to the overhead light . Linda knew she was going to need ample lighting to work the finer details of her sculpture . Because of this realization , she also turned on the light above the sink , the living room lights , and a small lamp that she had picked up from aPage 4 of 5
rummage sale the week before . " I'll have to paint that thing next ," she said aloud to herself .
Linda grabbed the butter that was cooling in the refrigerator and placed the boat next to the wax paper, removing the butter from the boat with her bare hands. She sat the wad of butter on the wax paper and took a step back. Looking at the lump, she began to mold it with her imagination. She envisioned a ballerina on one toe, twirling to the sounds of beautiful music. It reminded her of the music box that her mother gave her when she was a child; a music box that was destroyed in the family fire just a few years back. Linda knew what she was going to do.
She pulled up her stool to the counter and began to work . She fiddled with that butter mass all night until she fell asleep right there on that uncomfortable stool . She woke to the morning sun coming in from the small window in her kitchen hitting her directly in the eye . She sat up, wiped the sleep from her eyes , and focused her attention on the mess she had made of
her apartment . Linda began to get upset with herself , remembering that she had spent the last night cleaning the place up. Then it hit her ; she had made art .
Looking down at the counter where her head once was she saw it: a beautiful ballerina, up on one toe, gracefully twinkling in the sun beam. It was as if her soul melted like butter into that stool. In an instant, Linda was neither angry nor lonely anymore.
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