Daub

There was only a single stroke left – one streak of paint that drew the line between a finished project and a hazy concept.

And then could they go home.

But, as it was, she was seated on a stool in the middle of the museum with a thin stick of wood balanced precariously on the tip of her hoof. With a slow but deliberate tilt of her leg, she sent it falling to the floor where it clattered on the marble tiles.

Lily was surrounded by art, but she also longed to be part of it; it was in her opinion that art could never be considered as such without a viewer, and a viewer was part of what made it whole. She had spent enough time looking at the paintings and sculptures in this building that she now felt artistic enough to try to paint something of her own.

‘Art begets art begets art’ was something she had always said. Closing her eyes, she reaffirmed this to herself viciously with no fewer than eighteen rapid nods. It was a philosophy she had adopted since nine fifteen last Wednesday, and she lived by it.

The canvas that was set up in front of her held a diluted mess of colours, shapes, and thoughts all running down the face of it in rivers of blue and wafts of green. No one understood it. Then again, no one could.

At least, not yet.

Lily looked down at the piece of wood on the floor – a brush handle. All its bristles had worn themselves down in the painting of her masterpiece, and the last traces of stubble had been rubbed away. All that was left now was a polished wand that asked nicely for a kind consideration.

All across the museum floor, echoes reigned. They were the majority population of the building, outnumbering the ponies five to one. They lived in the cracks between the marble tiles, within the domed ceilings, and in the hoofsteps of every single guest. They called out even when no one made a sound, always whispering their intent to whoever would stand still enough to listen.

Lily always stood still enough.

She didn’t mind the ponies that passed her by, giving her curious looks. She didn’t mind the grumbles of the janitor as he complained for two days straight about not being able to clean the spot where Lily was. She didn’t mind that Daisy had sat by her for both these days, watching over her and putting a little thick-weave blanket over her head when Daisy deemed it necessary.

It was never necessary; Daisy was just being silly, of course. Lily had always pulled the blanket off and thrown it aside. It was the right thing to do in the face of utter silliness.

Lily gave the little wooden handle a kick, swinging her legs off the bottom rung of her stool. It rolled across the lavish floors and extravagant carpeting and finally hit the intricately gilded walls, where it came to an sudden rest.

Two staff members of the museum swept over to the handle from the rooms far away, from beyond the marble arches that linked the wings of this magnificent palace, carrying a multitude of items and, as Lily and Daisy watched, affixed a small metal plaque to the wall with drills and glue and other such things.

It was all over in a minute.

One of them cleared his throat in a remarkably official manner as his colleague lay down a small section of red carpet that led from the center of the hallway to where they stood. It was clear that he was the one in charge – of their two official hats, his was larger.

It was a bit difficult to compare their relative hat-sizes, however, since his colleague had left his hat at home that day, and was wearing a stand-in made out of a folded bit of looseleaf paper upon which was a crude drawing of the actual hat itself.

But Lily was certain that it was larger.

Two spotlights flickered on from somewhere above, casting a bright circle of light over the handle. The shade was ‘Bourgeoisie Lace’ – Lily recognized it from a tube of paint that she never used.

“Ladies and Gentlestallions,” the curator announced, “we are proud to present our latest exhibit.”

The crowd, as if appearing from the cracks behind the walls, gathered in droves, pouring through every entrance like ants ravaging a dying caterpillar. The heavy patter of hooves drowned out the Museum’s aforementioned echoes as they came running, excited to see this new and fantastic work of art. They brought their cameras with them, slung around their necks, in preparation of the elusive shot.

The curator’s assistant hung up a little wooden sign.

‘No photography’, it read, inviting everyone around to remember.

The curator and his assistant stepped out of the way, making sure they wouldn’t block anypony who was trying for that one elusive shot.

Lily nodded in understanding. Daisy tilted her head and sat down on one of those plush, velvet-lined seats that all museums of a certain tier of wealth seemed to have. They both met with their eyes.

Daisy patted the tower of thick-weave blankets that she had waiting on the bench with her.

“Are you cold?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. Very,” admitted Lily, huddling against herself to prove to Daisy that she was.

“Here.” Daisy grabbed a blanket off the top of the stack, unfurling it with a flick of two practiced hooves. She threw it on top of a pile of other blankets that lay on the floor next to Lily, where they gathered in a pile that was similar to the one that Daisy had except that it was more mountain-shaped.

“Thank you,” Lily told her, always polite. She liked this arrangement with streamlining the blanket rejection process. It was more efficient.

“What does it mean?” Daisy asked, curling up on the bench in traditional recline, settling in for another long day of waiting. “All this business with the photography?”

“Oh, you really don’t know? I’m not going to tell you if you don’t know!” Lily sang playfully, her smile betraying her pretense. “But seriously, it’s pretty straightforward.”

“To you, maybe. But this isn’t my museum.”

“It’s nopony’s,” Lily clarified, frowning at her silly friend.

“Then how do you make sense of it all?”

“Because I take the time to listen,” Lily stated. “Nothing could be simpler!”

“But do you really need to?” Daisy asked as she prodded the filigrees on the bench in distraction.

“Yes. No. It helps. I think. I haven’t really decided yet.”

The two of them remained silent for a while, the crowd swarming around them while on the way to the exhibit. Small burps of light exploded from the front of the wave with audible flashes, and the curator’s assistant hung up a second sign. ‘No Flash’, this one read.

The curator and his assistant closed their eyes so they would not be blinded by the blight of illumination that infested their immediate vicinity.

With all the commotion, everypony had forgotten to look at Lily and her painting, although that was precisely what she wanted. More than a work of art, it was an experiment – one that would show her a fundamental truth in the world.

“Was that it, then?” Daisy asked, looking toward the crowd.

“Was that what?”

“What you came here to do.”

“No, of course not,” Lily said with a chuckle. It was the most obvious thing in the world.

Daisy frowned, throwing another blanket onto the pile.

“I’m sorry.” Lily looked down. “Don’t be angry. I was only kidding, because you’re my friend.”

“I’m just confused.”

“It’s not.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s not what I came here to do,” Lily looked toward the crowd. “That’s just what happens when you throw a stick against a wall.”

“Ponies watch?”

“Ponies watch.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes a funny noise,” Lily explained.

Daisy tilted her head curiously to one side and then to the other.

“I don’t really understand,” she said.

“That’s alright. I will explain later. Perhaps when we get home. Maybe when Roseluck comes home. When do you suppose that will be?”

“Later.” Daisy nodded. “Surely it must be later.”

“Seems like it. But she’s taking her time, isn’t she?”

“I think she has to,” Daisy argued. “She’s quite far away, after all.”

“I don’t think distance has anything to do with it.”

“But it does.”

Lily thought about this for a moment as she tapped the side of the canvas.

“Yes.” She changed her mind. “That’s right.”

“It is,” Daisy agreed sadly.

The curator’s assistant hung up a third sign. ‘No eating and drinking’, this one said, as the curator himself passed around trays of refreshments in the meanwhile.

“Can you tell me… why you need to listen?” Daisy asked, abruptly, eyeing the new sign.

Lily thought about it for a moment, rubbing her chin while she considered what the answer could be. A moment later and she swung her painting around to face Daisy, pointing at it with a furious intensity.

“Because of details!” she declared.

“Details?”

“Tell me, Daisy. Do you understand what you see?” Lily kept prodding her artistic endeavours.

“No. I don’t think I get it. It’s just a mishmash of lines and colours and streaks.”

“Exactly! It’s not done yet. But when it is, then you will understand. Everypony will understand.”

“Is that… really so?

“Absolutely!” Lily nodded.

“Well… but how does this explain why you need to listen?”

“It doesn’t, does it?” Lily surrendered, dropping her shoulders and sighing to herself. “I like listening.”

“I know,” Daisy said with a tinge of sadness, pointing towards the incomplete painting. “So that’s what it’s all about then? The details?”

“No, of course not.” Lily giggled, perking up again, turning back to her painting. “I just wanted to paint a picture.”

The fourth sign went up onto the wall next to all the others, the combined lot now taking up more space than the exhibit itself. This time, it called for everyone not to touch.

The curator passed the handle around so that everyone present could get a better look.

“Okay, that’s quite enough. You can tell me what they’re up to,” Daisy demanded, eying the museum staff and their contrary antics. “I know you know. What are they doing?”

“They’re just making things more exciting,” Lily explained as she, too, watched them with a soft smile. “That’s all there is to it. Rules make life… interesting. It doesn’t matter if we choose to follow them or choose to break them. It’s by their mere presence that life gets flavour.”

“Oh. I see. That’s very…”

“I agree, Daisy!” Lily nodded in the complete acknowledgement of what her friend had to say. “Sometimes it’s better to follow a rule than break one. But you’ll never know where it’ll end up until the deed is done.”

“You know what they say, though.”

“Who?”

“They.”

“Oh. They. What?”

“It’s better to regret something you haven’t done,” Daisy recalled, “than something you have.”

“There’s nothing truer,” Lily agreed, sadly. “But do you know what I regret the most right now?”

“What?”

“I regret not having known that until now.”

Daisy nodded.

“I suppose we both do,” she said, watching the crowd – half breaking the rules and half abiding by them. Despite that, however, they all managed to function as a whole. There weren’t two groups. There was only one.

Lily jerked upright, her back going straight as she perched on her stool like an eagle – ever wary of her surroundings and alerted to the world. She stuck out her forehoof suddenly, thrusting it toward the crowd as a momentary look of shock on her face wore off.

The one with the hat – the curator – pushed through the crowd and stood before Lily, grinning wildly and nodding his approval.

“Thanks to you,” he said; grizzled, wizened voice, “our museum has had a three hundred percent increase in visitors over this last week! Look at the crowd! Is it not spectacular?”

“It’s rather good,” Lily said.

Daisy kept quiet. She knew better to talk when Lily was talking to others. But she watched with rapt attention, ready to throw a blanket or two.

“Everypony from all around has come to see your magnificent work, Lily. Will you not be donating another?” the Curator continued.

Lily shook her hoof haphazardly in midair, her forehoof still outstretched towards the curator. It nearly touched his chest, but waving it directly under his nose helped him get the message.

“Oh! Of course. You were waiting for this, hm?” The curator cackled with glee, pulling up a small, brown package from the floor next to his spats. Gently hoisting it with his teeth, he dropped it into Lily’s outstretched hoof, which she pulled back to herself with due haste.

The string that wrapped it came off, followed by the silky-smooth brown paper wrapping.

Inside was a single hygiene product.

“Begone,” Lily said.

The curator left.

Daisy nodded as Lily dipped the cotton bud into the thick blobs of paint that rested in wait upon her palette. She had chosen bright green. Sea-foam, perhaps, or maybe it was Jade, or Olive.

“No, those are all wrong,” Lily responded to Daisy’s silent question. “The tube says ‘Upset Turtle’, but I disagree. We should call it… ‘Malachite’. It looks like a ‘Malachite’. Everypony should call it that from now on.”

Daisy nodded again.

With a final daub of paint upon the canvas, Lily added a single line of Malachite to her masterpiece, and it was finally complete.

All the details were in place.

“You two!” Lily called out suddenly, throwing her palette to the ground. Instantly, two ponies appeared out of the crowd. They were nothing more to Lily than the pony on the right and the pony on the left.

“I must ask you both a question, for I am looking for an answer,” she stated. “You both must tell me if you understand.”

She spun her easel around, showing her latest work to the two of them, who leaned closer and peered at it with the utmost reverence.

They stared at the lines. They examined the random smears and blobs of paint. They analyzed the mess.

And then both of them leaned back once again, judgement ready on their lips.

“I understand it,” said the pony on the left.

“I do not understand it,” said the pony on the right.

“Did you get the answer you were looking for?” Daisy asked.

Lily held up the puffy cylinder to the light, the wet paint glistening off its plush surface. She stared at it, wondering if there had been something wrong with her methodology, or if she had simply painted the wrong picture. She closed her eyes as she listened to the green.

“No,” she finally said, shaking her head with due disappointment. “I did not.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~And Lily Continues To Wait---->

Haiku #24.58

Meaningless detail

Perhaps I should have chosen

Different shade of green