item:text:confession_of_imperfection
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| item:text:confession_of_imperfection [2024/01/17 13:57] – ↷ Links adapted because of a move operation shyriath | item:text:confession_of_imperfection [2024/12/17 09:08] (current) – shyriath | ||
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| ====== Confession of Imperfection ====== | ====== Confession of Imperfection ====== | ||
| - | The **// | + | The **// |
| It purports to describe - or, by the author' | It purports to describe - or, by the author' | ||
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| - | In my art there are few strangers to the pursuit of perfection. An uneven cut, a lazy polish, can turn what could have been a brilliant gem into a stone little better than colored glass. Care, patience, and meticulousness are a necessity, backed by practice and training and a steady hand. For cycles I have cultivated these traits in myself, and grown skilled in their exercise. And I have benefitted; I have wrought emeralds that glittered like the morning dew among the leaves of the [[avishraa:geography: | + | In my art there are few strangers to the pursuit of perfection. An uneven cut, a lazy polish, can turn what could have been a brilliant gem into a stone little better than colored glass. Care, patience, and meticulousness are a necessity, backed by practice and training and a steady hand. For cycles I have cultivated these traits in myself, and grown skilled in their exercise. And I have benefitted; I have wrought emeralds that glittered like the morning dew among the leaves of the [[geography: |
| For my friends and fellow jewelers who might read this, I ask: is it not natural, having developed a thing to a high point, to wonder how much higher one can go? How finely the skill can be honed, how straight the edge can be made, how flat and mirror-like the facet can be polished? Where is the point beyond which there is no improvement? | For my friends and fellow jewelers who might read this, I ask: is it not natural, having developed a thing to a high point, to wonder how much higher one can go? How finely the skill can be honed, how straight the edge can be made, how flat and mirror-like the facet can be polished? Where is the point beyond which there is no improvement? | ||
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| And I was not alone in the chamber. For all around me were [[takma: | And I was not alone in the chamber. For all around me were [[takma: | ||
| - | As my eyes followed the movements of these beings, they were drawn to what seemed to me to be the center and focus of this place, to which the silent beings went and from which they came, and from which I found it hard to look away. And as my eyes were drawn, so too were my feet, so that I might more clearly see; for it seemed that the more directly I looked upon in, the more my eyes failed me, or perhaps it was the mind that lay behind them. The nearer to it I looked, the less I could interpret what I saw, for it seemed that there the light was greatest, and all the color and edges and the strange inhabitants merged together in a great harmony. | + | As my eyes followed the movements of these beings, they were drawn to what seemed to me to be the center and focus of this place, to which the silent beings went and from which they came, and from which I found it hard to look away. And as my eyes were drawn, so too were my feet, so that I might more clearly see; for it seemed that the more directly I looked upon it, the more my eyes failed me, or perhaps it was the mind that lay behind them. The nearer to it I looked, the less I could interpret what I saw, for it seemed that there the light was greatest, and all the color and edges and the strange inhabitants merged together in a great harmony. |
| Was this, then, not the perfection I sought? Could I not partake of it - become one with it, as all else here was? Yet the closer I came, the more out of place I felt. I was a discordant note in a symphony, a blot in a written work, a chip in a gem's surface. And the very weight of divergence slowed my shuffling gait, and at last brought me to a stop. | Was this, then, not the perfection I sought? Could I not partake of it - become one with it, as all else here was? Yet the closer I came, the more out of place I felt. I was a discordant note in a symphony, a blot in a written work, a chip in a gem's surface. And the very weight of divergence slowed my shuffling gait, and at last brought me to a stop. | ||
item/text/confession_of_imperfection.1705517869.txt.gz · Last modified: by shyriath
