"Not as much as I should. That's mostly Brother Dusk's domain, I'm afraid."
The sand mural, the meticulously-tinted chroma held suspended in air, shifting slightly but never falling. Something impermanent held in permanent stasis. You didn't even have to look too far to find the metaphor there, and he knew his predecessor had a particular passion for messages delivered through art — as a child, he'd heard of the fate of Master Orlio, which had been recited to him as an object lesson, tutorship in murder — but he did, in fact, admire the murals. (Even as, looking at them, Day felt that faint pinprick thread of something which might or might not be anxiety. He didn't recognise the feeling. But there was the literal physical embodiment of his Cleonic legacy, sprawling down and down and down that long hallway, towering above him, daunting.)
"I find the Imperial artists on Trantor are particularly practiced at sculpture and portraiture."
Fuck's sake, he sounds like a tourism brochure. Cleon leans backwards, arms hooked lazily over the back of the chaise, and he reconsiders. Cuts some of that affected distance from his voice, and he sounds just a heartbeat more grounded as he asks:
"So. What is the effect of aesthetics on the soul?"
no subject
The sand mural, the meticulously-tinted chroma held suspended in air, shifting slightly but never falling. Something impermanent held in permanent stasis. You didn't even have to look too far to find the metaphor there, and he knew his predecessor had a particular passion for messages delivered through art — as a child, he'd heard of the fate of Master Orlio, which had been recited to him as an object lesson, tutorship in murder — but he did, in fact, admire the murals. (Even as, looking at them, Day felt that faint pinprick thread of something which might or might not be anxiety. He didn't recognise the feeling. But there was the literal physical embodiment of his Cleonic legacy, sprawling down and down and down that long hallway, towering above him, daunting.)
"I find the Imperial artists on Trantor are particularly practiced at sculpture and portraiture."
Fuck's sake, he sounds like a tourism brochure. Cleon leans backwards, arms hooked lazily over the back of the chaise, and he reconsiders. Cuts some of that affected distance from his voice, and he sounds just a heartbeat more grounded as he asks:
"So. What is the effect of aesthetics on the soul?"