If there was a place that was comparable to the heavens for Imma, then it was an art festival. The very definition of its existence was enough to lift her spirits and suspend them side by side with the sun. Whatever was necessary to ensure that she found her way there was a price she’d be more than willing to pay. Luckily with three of her sisters otherwise predisposed, she and Nana were the only real options left for her mother to busy herself with. As expected her elder sister bore the brunt of her mother’s interest. There was a far bigger fuss involved in ensuring that Nana was presentable when they went out. In the back of Imma’s mind the rationale of why always lingered. A small shadow of doubt that forever darkened her otherwise sunny disposition. Today, however, there would be no way to tether her spirits. So long as she was able to attend, she didn’t much care for where her mother’s attention would lie. In fact she would likely be a great deal better off if she chose to focus on Nana and ignore her all together.
There were preliminary hoops to jump through of course. Imma had to make certain that she was presentable in order to attend the event. That meant she took her time to pick out a chiton that was not stained with any number of paints or oils. A pretty peach piece that she coupled with a high zoster; just enough of a cinch that it hinted at the curves that existed beneath the fabric without actually carving them into existence. The chiton was folded at the top to further rob her of any semblance of salaciousness. Leaving the ruffle-like drape free to cascade past her breasts and the belt below them. The overall look was not a bad one really, it was feminine and soft, it just wasn’t very provocative. Not the sort of thing she expected to draw all that many wandering eyes. It was a perfect choice when the idea was to direct as many eyes as possible to her sister.
The length of her hair was braided and coiled, pinned in place at the back of her head. Small beads had been threaded throughout the braid itself to offer a bit of something spectacular to her appearance. It wasn’t all that much but she loved a little bit of sparkle. Despite the few loose curls that fell from the overall style to frame her face and tickle her neck, she’d done a rather good job. It was certainly good enough to get out the door and into the carriage. The quiet she offered throughout the ride was a direct contrast between the conversation that flowed between her mother and sister. What little was directed her way she was quick to agree to and move on. Imma knew her place well enough and it was not one she fretted. The youngest of the lot and the least desirable, she didn’t often assume there would be many expectations.
That she would be attended by guards and maids was really only a matter of protection. A reassurance that she would not be a liability to her family while her mother paraded her sister around. There was a moment where she almost felt bad for Nana, but then she doubted her sister really cared all that much about the festival to begin with. If anything she thought perhaps she would enjoy being flaunted. Nana always seemed the sort to enjoy the attention; whether good or otherwise. When they arrived, her concerns went out the window. All she cared about was getting out and exploring the wealth of experiences. Seeing what art was being produced and perhaps producing some of her own.
It took only a moment for Imma to decide she wanted to explore. Thankfully her mother had bigger plans to attend to than browsing the wares or partaking in the booths. It took very little convincing before she was allowed to go off with a small entourage of servants at her back. Making her way through the crowd she wove in and out of booths. While she wasn’t driven by a desire to be lost she wasn’t exactly being mindful of her keepers either. Which meant she undoubtedly lost one or two along the way. Imma was a tiny young thing and could easily be misplaced in a crowd, especially when she was flitting about like a hummingbird in a field of wildflowers. Buzzing from one beautiful piece to the next, beaming with delight. Pausing here and there to listen as artisans shared their wealth of knowledge. Time was the last thing on her mind, despite the hour long timeframe she’d been given when she set off on her little adventure.
As she found her way round to a new booth she paused to listen to the explanation that was being given. The artist in question was giving a demonstration on pottery and had a number of wheels set about the area for guests to try. There were a few brave enough to get involved, but for the most part they were men or women who had little reason to care for their appearance. Imma of course was neither. Today in particular she had every reason to remain clean and pristine. Which of course is why she stepped right up to the first available wheel and sat down without a second thought. As excited as she was she just didn’t think about the chiton or the fact she would have to ride home in the carriage with her mother. All that mattered was trying something new and having a good time doing it. Following direction she dipped her hands into the murky water in the bowl nearby, already muddied from whomever had come before her. Once her hands were slick she grabbed a parcel of clay large enough to fill both her hands and plopped it down on the wheel.
Getting the wheel in motion required actively engaging the pedal, which was simple enough. Once it began to spin then the real instruction began. Following along with the instruction she moistened her hands once more, cupping them to collect some of the water to drizzle over her clay. That of course is when the consequences of her actions started to take effect. Whipping droplets of heavily diluted clay upon her person and ensemble. Not that Imma noticed for even a second, she just went right on doing what was necessary to take her lump of clay from indiscernible to volcano esque. Holding her hands on either side and pressing as she lifted them up to encourage the malleable material to rise upward. That it actually seemed to be working left her grinning from ear to ear. Turning her thumbs into the middle she pushed back downward, pinching the clay as she urged it to spread. Creating the wall to her bowl.
Releasing the clay for a moment she slowed her spinning to look at the shape of it. Brushing a curl from her face only to leave a streak of red clay across her otherwise porcelain skin. Turning to the water bowl once more she gathered some more water, coating her hands up to her wrists in the pale sienna red. Going back to the pottery she started to press the pedal faster, making it spin rapidly once more. Holding the rim she shaped it with the pressure of her fingers. Trying to look up at what the makeshift mentor was doing and copy the process. It wasn’t painting or drawing, but it was fun. Certainly fun enough that she would have to look into adding a pottery wheel to her collection of art supplies at home. No doubt it would be the newest tool she used to unwittingly aggravate her mother. Though after forgetting about the time and slipping her security detail, there was probably not a chance in the world that she’d be humoring Imma’s desire for a new art tool anytime soon.
There were preliminary hoops to jump through of course. Imma had to make certain that she was presentable in order to attend the event. That meant she took her time to pick out a chiton that was not stained with any number of paints or oils. A pretty peach piece that she coupled with a high zoster; just enough of a cinch that it hinted at the curves that existed beneath the fabric without actually carving them into existence. The chiton was folded at the top to further rob her of any semblance of salaciousness. Leaving the ruffle-like drape free to cascade past her breasts and the belt below them. The overall look was not a bad one really, it was feminine and soft, it just wasn’t very provocative. Not the sort of thing she expected to draw all that many wandering eyes. It was a perfect choice when the idea was to direct as many eyes as possible to her sister.
The length of her hair was braided and coiled, pinned in place at the back of her head. Small beads had been threaded throughout the braid itself to offer a bit of something spectacular to her appearance. It wasn’t all that much but she loved a little bit of sparkle. Despite the few loose curls that fell from the overall style to frame her face and tickle her neck, she’d done a rather good job. It was certainly good enough to get out the door and into the carriage. The quiet she offered throughout the ride was a direct contrast between the conversation that flowed between her mother and sister. What little was directed her way she was quick to agree to and move on. Imma knew her place well enough and it was not one she fretted. The youngest of the lot and the least desirable, she didn’t often assume there would be many expectations.
That she would be attended by guards and maids was really only a matter of protection. A reassurance that she would not be a liability to her family while her mother paraded her sister around. There was a moment where she almost felt bad for Nana, but then she doubted her sister really cared all that much about the festival to begin with. If anything she thought perhaps she would enjoy being flaunted. Nana always seemed the sort to enjoy the attention; whether good or otherwise. When they arrived, her concerns went out the window. All she cared about was getting out and exploring the wealth of experiences. Seeing what art was being produced and perhaps producing some of her own.
It took only a moment for Imma to decide she wanted to explore. Thankfully her mother had bigger plans to attend to than browsing the wares or partaking in the booths. It took very little convincing before she was allowed to go off with a small entourage of servants at her back. Making her way through the crowd she wove in and out of booths. While she wasn’t driven by a desire to be lost she wasn’t exactly being mindful of her keepers either. Which meant she undoubtedly lost one or two along the way. Imma was a tiny young thing and could easily be misplaced in a crowd, especially when she was flitting about like a hummingbird in a field of wildflowers. Buzzing from one beautiful piece to the next, beaming with delight. Pausing here and there to listen as artisans shared their wealth of knowledge. Time was the last thing on her mind, despite the hour long timeframe she’d been given when she set off on her little adventure.
As she found her way round to a new booth she paused to listen to the explanation that was being given. The artist in question was giving a demonstration on pottery and had a number of wheels set about the area for guests to try. There were a few brave enough to get involved, but for the most part they were men or women who had little reason to care for their appearance. Imma of course was neither. Today in particular she had every reason to remain clean and pristine. Which of course is why she stepped right up to the first available wheel and sat down without a second thought. As excited as she was she just didn’t think about the chiton or the fact she would have to ride home in the carriage with her mother. All that mattered was trying something new and having a good time doing it. Following direction she dipped her hands into the murky water in the bowl nearby, already muddied from whomever had come before her. Once her hands were slick she grabbed a parcel of clay large enough to fill both her hands and plopped it down on the wheel.
Getting the wheel in motion required actively engaging the pedal, which was simple enough. Once it began to spin then the real instruction began. Following along with the instruction she moistened her hands once more, cupping them to collect some of the water to drizzle over her clay. That of course is when the consequences of her actions started to take effect. Whipping droplets of heavily diluted clay upon her person and ensemble. Not that Imma noticed for even a second, she just went right on doing what was necessary to take her lump of clay from indiscernible to volcano esque. Holding her hands on either side and pressing as she lifted them up to encourage the malleable material to rise upward. That it actually seemed to be working left her grinning from ear to ear. Turning her thumbs into the middle she pushed back downward, pinching the clay as she urged it to spread. Creating the wall to her bowl.
Releasing the clay for a moment she slowed her spinning to look at the shape of it. Brushing a curl from her face only to leave a streak of red clay across her otherwise porcelain skin. Turning to the water bowl once more she gathered some more water, coating her hands up to her wrists in the pale sienna red. Going back to the pottery she started to press the pedal faster, making it spin rapidly once more. Holding the rim she shaped it with the pressure of her fingers. Trying to look up at what the makeshift mentor was doing and copy the process. It wasn’t painting or drawing, but it was fun. Certainly fun enough that she would have to look into adding a pottery wheel to her collection of art supplies at home. No doubt it would be the newest tool she used to unwittingly aggravate her mother. Though after forgetting about the time and slipping her security detail, there was probably not a chance in the world that she’d be humoring Imma’s desire for a new art tool anytime soon.