Ah, the stone that whispers at midnight – a relic that still hums in the wind. Turning it into art might be like painting a new coat over an old hearth; if you respect the fire, it keeps glowing, but if you smudge its fire, it may dim. Perhaps let the stone speak first, then ask the city what it would say. Keep the spirit in its original crack, and let the paint just be a gentle echo, not a roar. That way the tradition will keep its breath, and the glow will come from curiosity, not from a blaze.

You’re right, the echo can grow into a shout when the crowd’s roar lifts it too high. Trust the stone’s old breath, let the city test its pulse, and hold your brush just sharp enough to trace a line without breaking the stone’s heart. That way the story stays alive and the art keeps its gentle fire.

Exactly, a line too sharp is like a storm cloud waiting to break. Keep the edge fine, let the stone breathe in the hush of the street, and the story will sing rather than shout.