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[Spam, OTA, in the art room]

[Piper is working on various projects, flitting from one to another, all through the night. Some are sculptures; some are paintings. Some, well, it's hard to tell what he's using as a medium.

If you enter the art room you might be used as a new addition to his collection of subjects. Or feel free to peek at what he's working on.

ooc: some of his new/finished art projects will be included in the comments, soon as I'm home from work.]

[Private to ARTHAS]

I have a feeling you've heard the Warden talk before.

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[In this case, both of them are. Jimmy sits down on a nearby table, keeping his eyes on the painting after briefly glancing at Piper's face.]

She always said she felt most like herself when she painted. I don't think I ever really understood that.

[But he wants to, clearly. The unspoken question goes unanswered, because he doesn't have an answer that's palatable to new company: drinking, violence. Nothing like art.]

[He silently offers him a paintbrush, still dripping with green watercolor.]

A lot of artists paint in blood--among other things. Blood is what some people understand best, especially around here.

[He accepts it, reluctantly, keeping it away from himself so his suit doesn't get messed up. It looks awkward- he feels awkward, and it shows.]

Drawing blood isn't an art form. It's just something you do.

[He finds a bit of paper to brace up, finds him a ragged plastic thing that he had considered using as a poncho for himself but his clothes are pretty ratty already.]

Art is about intent, for some people. And other people find art in doing nothing unusual at all.

Some philosophers believed that anything done in representation was the same as doing it in reality. If you stab at the canvas, it conveys the same message as if you had stabbed a pig. Or person.

And what do you believe? [He accepts the smock, but doesn't put it on yet- he's too self-conscious, too aware of what he looks like and what he wants to be seen as.]

It depends on the day. Today, I'm very much a literal person, despite what I'm doing. I know I'm only molding metal and clay, I know it's only what I perceive. On another day, I could almost believe I was bending a soul.

[He jams a tool into the sculpture, sudden and with unmistakable violence. If it had been a person, he would have just severed the liver.]

[he understands this better than painting- it's more hands-on, it needs less imagination, and he doesn't have a lot of that to begin with. He puts down the brush and looks at what Piper's doing.]

What do you prefer?

I try not to get too attached to what I make. So I'd have to say I like the days like today better.

[He half-smiles, and hands over a tool, nods at the sculpture; go ahead, stab it.]

[He takes the tool, flickering his eyes at Piper's expression before slowly, slowly sinking the tool into the sculpture. It ends up just below where the sternum would have been, and he looks at that spot with a small frown.]

How long have you been doing this?

[he pulls out, equally slowly, and then smoothes his thumb over the clay- good as new, nothing to see.]

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