this is alhaitham preventing kaveh from accepting defeat ever so readily. this is alhaitham being his pillar of support. this is alhaitham telling him it is not over yet. this is, simply, alhaitham.
what alhaitham doesn't know is that kaveh has long accepted his fate. what good is an architect who cannot draw straight lines? what use is an artist who cannot hold a pencil? alhaitham doesn't understand, because alhaitham does not draw. he does not understand the inadequacy that comes with inability, how small the once light of kshahrewar feels when he holds a pencil and cannot tell how much pressure is put on paper.
his eyes fall on their fingers. alhaitham, whose touch is measured and careful, does not understand, because he deals in the delicate papers of books and documents, but not the sturdiness of a pencil. here, kaveh holds his fingers back. they are long and slender, and he may not be allowed their warmth or their texture, but neither quite matters. he locks them together — valley to valley, palm to palm.
today, his hands work. he is not as clumsy. today, he thinks, alhaitham would say— today, you can draw. if tomorrow you cannot, the next day you might. if not, there will be a day where you can. draw, then, when that day comes. kaveh smiles that empty smile, and finds that the alhaitham that leaves in his mind is far kinder. the alhaitham whose fingers he holds is too realistic to be so optimistic.
but that, too, is fine. he is more inclined to listen to an alhaitham who exists in his mind than the demons that haunt it. ]
Do you? [ that same empty smile — kaveh is enough sentimentality in his life. it fills his quota. it checks out. ] What need is there for apprentices who carry out their master's legacy, then, with your reasoning? Art may outlive the artist, but an artist's skills die with them unless passed down upon someone else. There is still time for me.
no subject
this is alhaitham preventing kaveh from accepting defeat ever so readily. this is alhaitham being his pillar of support. this is alhaitham telling him it is not over yet. this is, simply, alhaitham.
what alhaitham doesn't know is that kaveh has long accepted his fate. what good is an architect who cannot draw straight lines? what use is an artist who cannot hold a pencil? alhaitham doesn't understand, because alhaitham does not draw. he does not understand the inadequacy that comes with inability, how small the once light of kshahrewar feels when he holds a pencil and cannot tell how much pressure is put on paper.
his eyes fall on their fingers. alhaitham, whose touch is measured and careful, does not understand, because he deals in the delicate papers of books and documents, but not the sturdiness of a pencil. here, kaveh holds his fingers back. they are long and slender, and he may not be allowed their warmth or their texture, but neither quite matters. he locks them together — valley to valley, palm to palm.
today, his hands work. he is not as clumsy. today, he thinks, alhaitham would say— today, you can draw. if tomorrow you cannot, the next day you might. if not, there will be a day where you can. draw, then, when that day comes. kaveh smiles that empty smile, and finds that the alhaitham that leaves in his mind is far kinder. the alhaitham whose fingers he holds is too realistic to be so optimistic.
but that, too, is fine. he is more inclined to listen to an alhaitham who exists in his mind than the demons that haunt it. ]
Do you? [ that same empty smile — kaveh is enough sentimentality in his life. it fills his quota. it checks out. ] What need is there for apprentices who carry out their master's legacy, then, with your reasoning? Art may outlive the artist, but an artist's skills die with them unless passed down upon someone else. There is still time for me.
[ kaveh needs not repeat his request: ] Please.