Thinking wasn't doing. He wasn't selling his thought. It wasn't his profession. His work was harsh on him. It not only demanded perfection, honesty & passion but sweat and pain. It was brutal, the way he was on the marble.

The piece of marble didn't give him any assurance but a promise to stand by him. To be kind enough to give him the time he needed to think and work on it. They were a team now. To take all the blows, without any complaints. To Give in to him, whatever he could. A promise to be ready, to loose a part of him as the man was loosing his time and energy. To comforting one another. To trust each other.

Before he started to work on the stone, he took clay and started to put a shape he had in mind. He was looking at the block while making the clay miniature.

Before he bought the piece of marble from the quarry, he had visited him in the early morning before sun rises. As the sun rose, sun pierced his rays through the block. To lit and reveal the inside of him. It's denser and not-dense parts. If there were any veins that ran through it, making it fragile, brittle and breakable. There was one that ran through and through it. But he had no other choice but to take it as it was the one that fitted his pocket. He had to make it work. He had to work around it.

This time, like many other times, the best choice for him was that, there was no choice. He had not bought it without any hesitation. He had owned it. As in the past, he had gone for the best blocks that took on his best of the mistakes. For him the flaw, often, was inside than outside. Now he had taken on this flawed one with a promise of giving it all but an error.

While he was making a clay miniature, he was making it with a vision, what Sun helped him with. He was checking on his weakness, on the veins that ran deep through him. In his mind, he was making himself's offset for that block. He was lit from within the way the block was, that day.