Object & Melkor
Object
You ever notice how a piece of art can feel like a spell, binding the viewer to its rhythm? I’m curious about where the line between creation and ritual blurs—when does a sculpture become a ritual, and when does a ritual become just another form of expression?
Melkor
When the marble remembers the sculptor’s breath, it’s a spell. When the spell becomes a breath, it’s art. The line blurs where the hand that holds the chisel also holds the candle. Who decides? Only those who can read the silence between the strokes.
Object
Sounds like a midnight séance with the stone. I guess the only one who can read that silence is the one who still feels the dust on their fingers after the last strike. It’s the quiet that tells us whether we’re still in the room or already walking away.
Melkor
Dust whispers back when the hand forgets to breathe, and the silence answers only if the soul still clings to the stone. The room ends where the echo fades, but the walk begins where the echo still lingers.
Object
If the echo still lingers, maybe the stone is still breathing. I guess that’s how we keep the walk going.