Family Ties

Christy stuck her head into my studio on Tuesday evening. I finished cutting a piece of foamcore and then slid the cap onto my X-Acto knife. (You shouldn’t need an accident to learn that lesson.)

“Hey. What’s up?”

“I brought you a surprise,” she said. She came around the door holding a small lacquered box. She looked at my model and stopped. “I don’t know how you do it,” she said after a moment. “It looks almost real.”

“It’s supposed to look real,” I chuckled. “It’s a scale model.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. Thanks. I’m pretty proud of it. I think it’s the best one I’ve ever done. The roof is the best part. Thanks for all your help.”

“You’re welcome. I have something else for you, if you want.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Well, you remember I said you needed art for your museum?”

“Yeah. But you were so busy with the Replicant that I didn’t bother you about it.”

“I made something anyway.” She held out the box. “It isn’t much, but…”

I lifted the box’s lid and scanned the contents. It took me a moment to realize what I was looking at. Folds of red silk cushioned six small white objects, each a bit larger than my thumb.

“Sayuri gave me the box,” Christy said nervously. “It’s made for netsuke, but she says these are really okimono. She knew exactly what I needed, though. She even had a couple of them. Boxes, I mean. This was the biggest.

Netsuke are small, duh, so they don’t need lots of space. Besides, they’re meant to— Uh-oh. I’m chattering again, aren’t I? Sorry. That’s enough about

the silly box. I hope you like the statues.”

“They’re amazing,” I said. “When did you—?” The answer suddenly hit me. “The plastic beach pails! When we were casting the Replicant, right?”

Her smile lit up.

I looked into the box again. Then I carefully extracted a tiny replica of Canova’s Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss. The wings were delicate perfection, the lovers’ bodies beautiful even in miniature.

“Trip helped me get the scale right to match your model,” she said. “I tried to do it myself but you know me and math.”

I scanned them again and shook my head in wonder. In addition to Canova’s Psyche, she’d made miniature versions of Rodin’s Danaïd and Kiss, the classical Dying Gaul, and Bernini’s Apollo and Daphne as well as his David, which I liked quite a bit more than Michelangelo’s more famous version.

“Wow,” I said reverently. “These are amazing. You’re amazing!”

She flushed. “Thank you.”

“How did you know so many of my favorites?”

“Trip helped with that too. He showed me the book you lent him. I found the pages that looked like they’d been opened the most. I picked out the Danaïd and five others and made them.”

“Ah, very clever.”

“Thank you. But… if you don’t mind me asking, why do you like that one Rodin statue so much, the one of the old guy?”

I chuckled. “The Naked Balzac?”

She furrowed her brow at my amusement.

“Because that’s a man who doesn’t give a crap what critics think.”

“Okay,” she said as she thought about it, “I can see that.”

“And to me, that sculpture is about the power of intellect. Yeah, The Thinker is the famous one, but it doesn’t… radiate power. It’s a very cerebral piece.” I shrugged and tried to put my feelings into words. “I guess I think of myself as The Thinker sometimes, especially when I’m in a brooding mood.

So if The Thinker is how I am, Naked Balzac is how I want to be. He’s powerful, intelligent, sure of his own talent and ability.”

“But… you are like that.”

“Maybe sometimes,” I said, “on the outside. But I don’t always feel like it on the inside. So I guess I look at the Naked Balzac and think I should be more like him. I know it’s kinda silly, but…” I shrugged again.

“No, it’s beautiful.”

“There’s beauty in everything, I guess,” I said soberly. “Even being insecure and using a statue as a role model.”

Her eyes glistened.

“What?” I said, suddenly self-conscious.

She smiled and shook her head and didn’t try to explain. “Do you want to use the statues?” she asked instead, her tone deliberately lighter.

“Of course. Care to help?”

“Sure.”

I carefully removed the roof of the model and we spent a few minutes deciding where each miniature sculpture should go. The Danaïd was easiest, since it matched the lines of the building. It went in the entry plaza. The other pieces fit inside the building itself. I cut foamcore and made little pedestals for them. When we were done, we stood back and surveyed the effect.

“They’re perfect,” I said. “I can’t believe you added so much detail. I mean, they’re totally recognizable.”

“Thanks. I don’t want to tell you how long I spent getting them right. It’s really hard working that small.”

“I’ll bet! But they’re incredible.”

“They aren’t much, but I’m glad you like them.”

“They’re just like you: small and wonderful.” I put my arm around her.

“And mine.”

She rolled her eyes but hugged me around the middle.