NOVEL NEXT chapter 16
16: Twisted Art
I want to keep a slime as a pet.
A pet is a partner that only those with leisure can afford.
Leisure means not only economic freedom but also mental freedom and having time to spare.
After all, a pet is a form of therapy――therapy is a luxury that only the upper class can afford. Therapy. It’s a precious gem that I’ve always longed for but never obtained, something that can’t be given to those who truly need it.
When I look back on my current life, I can’t say that I have leisure.
I attend kindergarten. I attend it enthusiastically. I exercise. I study. My dad is a teacher, so education is taken very seriously at home.
Recently, I’ve started cooking. I want to make delicious sweets, so I’m learning from Mom.
On weekends, Milim and Anna come to my house, and we play together. No, it’s not just that they come to my house. Sometimes I go to their houses, and we play. We play with toy cars. If I call Anna’s stuffed animal a “giant monster,” she gets really angry. Because it’s a monster, after all…
So, I’m busy, and I don’t have any leisure to take care of a pet.
That’s why I decided to submit a clay sculpture of a slime at the cultural festival.
I think art is born from longing. Longing. The thing that I desire the most but can’t obtain appears in the shape of clay the moment I see it.
Clay sculpting is a process of projecting my desires onto the clay. I can see it. The shape of the slime…
I gaze intently at the clay lump. The kids in the slime club are playing around me, throwing clay or stabbing it with a spatula. It’s gruesome. But I’m not disturbed. If I just focus a little more, the shape of the slime that my heart desires will appear…
Seira asks me, “Rex-kun, are you sleeping?” I’m not sleeping. I’m concentrating on projecting the shape of my heart’s longing. It’s art. A five-year-old might not understand, but this is necessary work.
Someone’s thrown a clay ball that hit my lump of clay at just the right moment. I eagerly projected the shape of a slime onto the clay, tore off a piece, and threw it back, saying, “Gotcha!” It’s an art. When clay is thrown, clay is thrown back.
Hmph. Those foolish boys. While they’re just enjoying throwing clay balls back and forth, I’m still projecting the shape of a longing slime in my heart. The clay catch-ball gains momentum. Idiots! The catch-ball has already turned into dodgeball! I rolled a large piece of clay into a fastball. Of course, it’s art.
The boys in the class are throwing clay at each other, getting their smocks sticky. I may look the same, but I’m creating art.
Sheila and her friends are shouting, “Stop it! You’ll make the teacher angry!” Good kids! How will the teacher, who’s in the staff room for some business, scold us? Pranks are essential! Art!
My art-filled clay ball artistically hits a kindergartener, and I artistically and artfully created art. As a result, art happens. I suddenly understood. Yes, art is chaos. This commotion is precisely art.
I’ve learned about art. How small-minded I was to try to shape the clay just because it’s clay crafting! This situation is truly art.
“Hey! Don’t play by throwing clay!”
The teacher who’s returned says. But I want to proudly appeal to the teacher. This state is my work— but I can’t express it well.
Five-year-olds have a wide vocabulary. However, it was insufficient to express this artistic nature. As a result, I shouted, Art!
“It’s not art! Learn from the girls and behave properly. Okay?”
I was scolded normally.
I groaned.
A-Art…