Chapter Text
Ririka Momobami had never felt like a normal girl. She came from a long lineage of men and women who were nothing less than tycoons in their respective fields. Be it business, law, or even crime in some cases, the Momobamis were always successful beyond measure at whatever they did. They surely were never artists or anything of the sort. In the minds of the Momobamis, art was meant to be appreciated, not pursued.
And yet, nevertheless… Ririka wanted to be a great artist, in spite of the background that she had. She was studying at an art university, majoring in sculpture. And she had a love for the traditional disciplines. To her, the older something was, the richer history it had. The more technical a process was, the more driven she felt to be perfect at it.
The reason Ririka and her sister got away with their dreams of being artists was because of their attendance at the Hyakkaou School of Arts. As far as art schools went, Hyakkaou was the most reputable of them all. It was both a ticket to chasing their passions and a harsh contract that they couldn’t afford to bargain with. Either they would find success through the school or be sent down the Momobami pipeline.
Ririka had never felt like a normal girl.
And unlike her sister, despite her big dreams, she had never felt like a great artist either.
☁︎⋆°·
Ririka found herself at the opening reception of Kirari’s new solo exhibition in the heart of Tokyo’s arts and culture district. She was playing the role of the supportive sister like always. It was something she had been doing more and more lately, as Kirari began to make a name for herself.
Though having not even graduated yet, the gallery was full of people to see the new works of the up-and-coming artist. Kirari possessed both the skills and the surname to turn the heads of the big shots in Japan’s art scene. Her sculptures had all been completed at the university during the last semester and were being unveiled to the public for the first time, catching the eye of collectors and curators alike.
Kirari was also a sculpture artist, and as such, the gallery was full of carved stone pieces. Some sculptures were large, taking up an adequate amount of space. Others like busts were small and placed on plinths that were scattered around the room. What united them, was each bust was in the shape of Kirari’s unmistakable head.
Ririka awkwardly moved around the exhibition, going from one artwork to the next. She had long seen them in their grandeur plenty of times from being Kirari’s sister and classmate. So, she studied the people who walked around instead, gauging their reactions at seeing the sculptures for the first time.
Ririka stopped in her tracks when she noticed a woman staring uninterrupted at the centerpiece of the exhibition. Her eyes couldn’t look away from it and her chest barely moved as if her breaths were as thin as paper. Ririka came to stand in front of the sculpture as well, now trying to see it from the woman’s eyes, not her own.
The artwork was a full body marble sculpture. A self-portrait, as all of Kirari’s works were. Her engraved eyes were looking down. From some viewpoints, they might even seem closed. Her pose was casual and light, leaning her weight on one foot. A cloth was draped around her body, fluttery but not too revealing. Kirari’s arms held a harp, her delicate fingers were bent over its strings as if she was strumming. The strings had been crafted to be razor thin, something that could only be recognized as a marvel. The figure’s braids were more like a crown on her head, or even a halo, that wasn’t in tune with the appearance of a common musician.
It was in the body and skin that Kirari really showcased her artistic prowess. The proportions of the figure were so exact as if she had spent hours measuring the angles of the stone with an instrument. Any bevel in her skin - such as by her belly or the crease of her elbows - was true to life. With this, Kirari immortalized herself in marble as if she was one of Apollo’s muses herself, a patron to the Greek God of music and art.
Ririka looked up at the image of her sister, thinking less that she was looking at the woman that she had known all of her life, but more like she was looking at an unreachable, impervious figure who belonged to constellations. Not the silly but strange child she knew from their shared childhood bedroom.
Hearing her sister’s voice cut through the room, Ririka stepped back from the sculpture. When her eyes found Kirari, the sculpture came to life as flesh and bone instead of as art. Kirari was leading a journalist from a popular art magazine through the exhibition, giving her quotes and sound bites in an exclusive interview.
Ririka overheard her as they walked past.
“My parents raised me to appreciate the traditional arts. My work is an imitation of classical styles. I don’t mind that word, no. Artists have been imitating the masters for centuries. My work asks how does the reception of classical themes change when they’re taken on by a woman? Someone who purposefully inserts herself into this world like I do with my self-portraits. Besides- with features like mine, I was meant to be turned into marble, don’t you think?" Kirari said, speaking of her pale skin and white eyelashes.
From early on, Ririka and Kirari’s parents had sent them to calligraphy and landscape painting tutors. They had studied literature and theater. Trips to museums had been frequent. Since enrolling in a university for the arts, Kirari had managed to breakthrough in large part because of their upbringing. She made sculptures that seamlessly blended mythology and biography by using her own likeness. Meanwhile, Ririka was finding little success with her work, despite being just as influenced by history and tradition. She made masks of all kinds and from varying cultures that took an equally masterful hand as Kirari’s sculptures.
But looking at Kirari’s pieces that towered over her now, Ririka started to wonder if her masks were inferior after all. The harp playing figure of Kirari had the same effect as a tesla coil. The closer one was to it, the more powerfully it could absorb one’s thoughts and capture the mind, an effect that her masks didn’t quite conjure. The marble face, sculpted in Kirari’s image, seemed so serene and at peace at having found her place in the world. Kirari, like the sculpture with its eyes blissfully closed, could rest easy.
Ririka stretched her hand out, breaking the cardinal rule of art exhibitions. She touched the cold stone, placing her palm and fingers flat over it. Ririka hoped no one would follow her example or else she would quickly be the first Momobami to be kicked out of an event in public. But this was her sister’s work. If anyone should be allowed to graze it with the back of their hand, it should be her. She had no intention of destroying her sister’s creation. It was quite the opposite. Ririka kept her hand rooted in place, as if doing so would expel Kirari’s secrets. How did Kirari know how to be a great artist while she didn’t? If only sculpted faces could talk.
She had to look away all of a sudden, as a wave of her own dissatisfaction hit her. Drawing her attention towards the event, Ririka recognized some people from class. However, she didn't dare to talk to them. How did they see it that Kirari was already being given exhibitions before being finished with her studies? How did they see it that Ririka, her peer, her classmate, her twin, was falling behind?
Ririka especially didn’t talk to Mary who was perusing the exhibition with her friends, though she had been excited to see her the most. Simply speaking… Ririka had a bit of a superficial crush on her. Like all of the art in the room, there was no denying Mary’s beauty.
Then Ririka noticed how little of their family had shown up in support of Kirari. She distantly wondered if Yumeko would come. She was transferring to their university in two weeks for the next semester. Even if she saw her, she didn’t think she would exchange more than pleasantries.
Always hypervigilant, before Ririka could ponder Yumeko’s lack of attendance any further, she sensed someone approaching her from behind.
She turned to see Sayaka coming to stand next to her. In her refusal to talk to anyone by silently contemplating the evening away, she hadn’t spoken to her sister’s girlfriend at all. A thing that would be rectified imminently.
Sayaka was dressed well, her violet hair popping against her dark suit. The champagne flute in her hand looked untouched. Not even a lipstick stain was on the glass. In all honesty, Sayaka had probably forgotten about it during the throes of small talk with the other attendees.
Ririka started, “Is she done with her interview yet?”
“Not yet. I’m giving Kirari her space. It’s a big night for her. For all of us even.” Sayaka gave Ririka a look. “A show like this means extra publicity for the school. Maybe more of us will be offered opportunities as a result.”
“…Yes. Let’s hope,” Ririka said quietly.
As if it were inevitable, Sayaka’s eyes drifted to the sculpture Ririka had just been admiring.
“It’s funny...” Sayaka said.
“What is?”
“One could think just in terms of form, that this could be you as sculpture. You could have made the same exact thing and proclaimed it as a self-portrait. No one would know the difference.”
Ririka had to disagree.
“While I understand your sentiment, that figure could never be me. This is all Kirari and that’s okay. I like painting the day away, meticulously making one mask after another. Kirari would never have the desire to paint for that long, having hated it ever since we were children. In the end, it’s good that we do different things.”
“Is that all you see yourself as? A mask maker?”
Ririka turned to Sayaka looking for the implication hidden in her words, again, always hypervigilant.
“Yes. That's how I see myself.”
But Sayaka could be vigilant too. Could she sense how Ririka lied? Could she feel her hesitancy, her insecurity that grew in the shadows that Kirari’s large sculptures cast, expanding the way a blot of ink did on parchment paper.
Sayaka nodded. “Then, I suppose I know exactly what you’ll be bringing to the new semester. I look forward to seeing it.”
Sayaka in the end had given Ririka words of encouragement. And yet, nevertheless… Ririka felt like the glass in her hand.
Forgettable.
☁︎⋆°·
For some students, the return to school was a welcome change of pace from the lazy summer break. For others, it meant dreading the long hours in the studio, the days of sleeping in were gone again.
Many of the students didn’t just have good grades to worry about. Rare opportunities were up for grabs such as the chance to study a semester abroad and being offered scholarships. Though Ririka just wanted everyone in her class to get along, sometimes they were driven to compete with one another. She should have expected the same to one day happen with her sister.
Ririka had her eye on one opportunity in particular. An award was given to a student in each department at the end of every semester for having the best semester project. If Ririka could win it this time, maybe a hotshot gallery would give her a solo exhibition too.
Though it was in the city, the university was surrounded by lush trees and walkable pathways. It was easily accessible by bus or by train. Ririka was glad that it was uncommon to see luxury cars parked at the entryway unlike the other schools she had attended.
When Ririka entered the front door on the first day of classes, Kirari was nowhere to be found. She was too occupied with her rising art career and how could any teacher fault her for that? She was living everyone’s dream. They would be amiss not to encourage her to pursue opportunities outside of class.
Ririka climbed the stairs to the third floor, going to the large sculpture studio. The hallway was lined with square, metal lockers. Every student needed their supplies within arm’s reach. That included their dark blue jumpsuits that made every student at Hyakkaou recognizable by sight alone. The jumpsuit protected them from paint splatter and plaster dust, stains that were an everyday occurrence.
Ririka opened her locker and pulled her jumpsuit on over her day clothes. The dark blue was almost denim and had a coach jacket collar. She zipped the jumpsuit up to the top.
Ririka closed her locker, prepared to go to her first class. But when she turned around, she immediately bumped into another person.
She quickly apologized but when her eyes connected with Mary Saotome’s, she wanted to drop dead on the spot. The last thing that she wanted was to embarrass herself in front of Mary. That’s why she limited her interactions with the other woman as much as possible. As her crush, Mary had the ability to make the grip Ririka had on her guarded demeanor slip until she was just a shy and timid girl.
Mary said, “What’s got you in such a hurry?”
Ririka took a step away from Mary, her back pressing against her locker.
“My first critique is in five minutes. I have to present the idea for my new project. I guess I’m just nervous.”
“Why do you have to be nervous? Unless you spent your summer sitting on your hands and spinning in your chair instead of coming up with something good.”
“Well, no,” Ririka considered Mary’s words to herself. “Aren’t you also nervous right before a crit?
Mary scoffed. “As if I care about what any of these dweebs think. Even then, as long as you don’t take it personally, it’s not gonna hurt.”
Ririka sceptically raised her eyebrow. What little she knew of Mary was that she was a hot-headed, opinionated and unapologetic straight shooter. Despite her better judgment, she asked, “And you’re the queen of not taking things personally?”
“You making fun of me?” Mary countered. But before Ririka could panic, Mary gave her an approving smile. “That’s exactly what I mean. Just take that attitude to the critique. You’ll lose that nervousness in no time.” She gestured to the classroom with a nod of her head. “Let’s go. Looks like we’re in the same crit group this semester.”
“O-oh, really?” Ririka didn’t know whether to jump for joy or to hurl herself down the three flights of stairs and out the door. Mary would be there for every harsh word that poked at Ririka’s ego- Maybe even dishing some of them out herself.
The sculpture studio was a spacious room since the students’ projects could get quite large. The concrete floor was covered in washy plaster stains, telling the story of many years of art-making gone by. One wall was entirely made up of industrial windows, evidence of the school’s former status as a warehouse that was converted into a campus.
Every student had their own workbench. In the past, Ririka had seen plenty of students sleeping with their head in their arms at their own work areas. There were sculpture easels, pedestals and even some pottery sets throughout the room that were free to use. An odd trolley stood in the corner, to help with transporting their projects that could get quite heavy. The studio was full of odd stuff that ranged from abandoned projects to failed alginate experiments, to good-old fashioned clutter that lined the window sills.
When Ririka and Mary entered the studio, they saw that they weren’t the first ones there. It wasn’t until when their professor arrived that the group quickly assembled in a circle to start the critique. Ever the overachiever, Sayaka elected to go first in presenting her new project, giving Ririka more time to squirm and dread her turn.
Ririka was a sculpture student but she found herself wondering how much of that was because she had just followed Kirari’s lead. Kirari had said she hated painting due to the endless hours of calligraphy their parents had made them practice. Instead, something about cutting and commanding stone into an exact image from her mind’s eye was cathartic to her. Perhaps she liked the aggressive nature of it.
It was too late to question if it really had been wise to base her entire studies on Kirari’s hatred for calligraphy. Ririka could only hope she would find that same sense of deep-seated satisfaction with her new semester project that Kirari had long found.
When her name was called, she tried to remember Mary’s words of letting the oncoming criticism roll off her back. That fact that the two of them had just now shared a full-length conversation was already an indication that this semester was shaking out to be different than those before.
Ririka stood up and presented multiple pages from her notebook. She passed them around the circle, making sure everyone could take a good look.
“Well… This semester I really want to dive into the world of Noh theater. There’s so many different kinds of masks that vary in their shape, color, and material. As you can see in my sketches, I was thinking of expanding my practice this semester by making a full-wall installation as my final project. Each mask would be more striking than the last, functioning as a sort of ‘collage.’ I want to research more methods, paints, and finishings as preparation and make use of the kilns in the metal shop. The ceramic masks of Noh are sure to be hard to replicate but I’m up for the challenge.”
Just the sheer amount of research she would do was going to give her a good grade. But more than that, she was thinking deeply in terms of space ever since seeing how Kirari’s sculptures filled galleries. Ririka thought to herself if she offered a large installation, a gallery might take notice of it.
She prayed that her classmates agreed that it was a good idea.
Ririka wondered who would give her feedback first, the circle of students still quiet from studying her intricate drawings. Ririka had tried to put as much detail into them as she could, to properly convey the textures and qualities that she wanted each mask to possess- How they each told a story and each had a connection to the real world.
Yumeko looked up all of a sudden and tilted her head. “These masks- Are they really sculptures, or are they paintings? Are they paintings or are they ceramics?” With each question, she tilted her head again in the other direction. “Are they ceramics or are they costumes?”
Ririka wasn’t sure how to take the line of questioning. Was it meant to be dismissive or- Was Yumeko pointing out something important?
“I always saw them as sculptures because they’re objects that interact with space. Yes, they’re wearable but they’re also displayable in a glass case. You can walk around them, observing them from all sides.”
Ririka picked up one of the sketches and inspected the grizzly lines. She traced her fingertip over an eyehole, knowing that just like making a marble sculpture, forming a mask into the right shape took time and effort. She finished, “Even the inside of the mask is included in the art of it. It’s an object that can be endlessly discovered.”
Yumeko answered in agreement, “That’s what I thought too! A mask can be so many things at once. Maybe you could lean into that more. You could have actors wear them and construct a scene around them. Or stage a photoshoot with beautiful kimonos. Or- Ooh, what if you touched on the archaeological history of discovering ancient artefacts? The masks themselves are beautiful pieces but what if you presented them as if you just restored them from the 14th century? What I’m thinking is, you can tell a much larger story with them if you wanted to.”
That was the struggle with art school, Ririka thought. So many ideas, so many opinions, so many possible directions, but nevertheless…
She just couldn’t decide what was best.
Could she picture what Yumeko was suggesting? Staging the masks under the guise of a play, using actors and models. Could she really design an entire backdrop for the shoot and make all of the costumes? Or if she wanted to take a more archaeological approach, how could she keep it interesting as an art project, instead of as the boring makings of a history nerd?
Ririka answered, “My parents raised me to appreciate museums and artefacts. Maybe that’s where my inspiration comes from. I see each mask as an object for study. I see them behind glass cases and think to myself that that’s what beauty is. So, I think of my idea for a wall installation as a collage of beauty, no different than an expressionist painting.”
Mary’s eyes narrowed at that. She sat forward, leaning towards Ririka. “It’s like Yumeko said. Masks are meant to be worn. They have a function. Do you really want to lock them away for aesthetic purposes?”
Mary was also a sculpture student but she spent most of her time in the metal shop. She was known for smashing junk apart and welding the broken pieces together into a new construction, making something magical out of something worthless. If there was anyone in the room who knew about inventing beauty, it was her.
Ririka wasn’t sure how to answer. But she offered, “Hm, I suppose I never said that the masks couldn’t be worn. I was just always thinking about them as objects. I never considered the wearer.”
“But isn’t it just as important? There’s a piece there that you’ve been ignoring. Masks are about covering something up.” Then, Mary did the one thing that Ririka wanted least. She drew attention to her shadow, “It’s weird. Kirari’s work is all about showing her face. Whereas yours is all about hiding it. If you just want to work with new materials this semester, maybe doing just this wall installation is fine. You can show off what you learned. But if you ever want to get to the bottom of masks and what they hide, then you need to think bigger. I’d like to see you really take control of what you make instead of it being the other way around.”
Ririka thought to herself, Kirari had already taken their shared likeness as the subject of her work. It was only natural to her that if Kirari’s main theme was exposing, then hers should be concealing.
But even then, Sayaka’s words had been echoing in her head since the day she had seen her at Kirari’s show. Is that all you see yourself as? A mask maker? Now Mary’s words added to Ririka’s growing uncertainty.
She liked Mary. She wanted to be able to follow Mary’s guidance, simply because she was the one who had said them.
She just didn’t know if she could.
It was silly but Ririka wanted to see another one of Mary’s nods of approval pointed in her direction. Maybe setting the smallest goals for herself was the realistic path forward instead of imposing, insurmountable ones.
Goals that were as small as simply making Mary smile.
☁︎⋆°·
Ririka began her project like she had advertised, by digging into research. She researched mixed media installations, types of clay, and ceramic paints. She researched contemporary iterations of Noh and even dipped her toe into the world of fashion runways. But the thought of doing a theatrical project didn’t sit right at all because she wasn’t a playwright. And the idea of having runway models appear at her graduation show didn’t feel appropriate either because she wasn’t a fashion designer.
Ririka sat at her worktable in the sculpture studio, preparing the first experimental batch of masks that would go in the kiln. She had a plastic mold which lay flat on the table. Then she draped a sheet of clay over it. She lightly pressed the clay down into the shape of the mold, careful as to not break it. She repeated this process four times with varying types of clay to see which would produce the best end-product after baking in the kiln. Once she was done setting the four prototypes, she balanced them on her arms and made her way to the metal shop.
The metal shop was outside beside the main building. It was exposed to the air and the elements because students often welded there or sprayed hazardous materials. The open air allowed for a safer environment, though safety gear was still mandatory.
The kilns were found there as well. Ririka walked past her peers who were busy at their own worktables to reach them. She was still in the testing phase so when she put her masks in the kilns, she adjusted them to fire at the same temperature to see which one performed the best.
However, when she went back a day later to check the result, she was sorely disappointed. Wearing a glove and pulling out one of the masks from the kiln revealed that it was cracked on the surface, instead of showing her a glossy smoothness. When Ririka inspected the other prototypes, she found even worse results as one even crumbled in her hands.
How had she managed that?
It was clear Ririka had done something wrong. Her science wasn’t right and all four prototypes were unusable.
Ririka was just about to drag her dejected self back to the sculpture studio when a hand appeared on her shoulder.
When Ririka jumped, she saw that it was Mary who had snuck up behind her. Giving her a curious look, Mary took off her headphones, having listened to music while she worked. Then she peered down to see what was in Ririka’s hands and at what was causing the bitter look on her face.
“Whatcha got there?”
Knowing Ririka had nothing good to show Mary, she quickly stacked the broken clay pieces on top of each other, struggling with them completely taking up her arms.
“Well, you did tell me to experiment. Turns out whatever I did was for nothing so-” She vaguely tried to gesture to the sculpture studio without dropping everything. “Better get back to the drawing board.”
Ririka inched away from Mary, the pile of broken pieces teetering against her chest despite her efforts.
Mary didn’t hesitate to follow her, however. Perhaps she could imagine how distressed she felt. “You should take a break and regroup tomorrow. You’ll just make a bigger mess with your brain being all frazzled, wondering what you did wrong.”
“That may be true, but I’m just going to worry to no end if I go home now. I might as well try to use the rest of the day to find a solution.”
Mary came to stand in front of her, stopping Ririka from fleeing the scene.
“Some of us are going out for dinner in a bit. You should come with us. Take a break, have some food. You can still come back here afterwards if you still feel like working. But, at least go out and try to have some fun. It’ll get you out of your head.”
When Mary had spoken up during her critique, part of Ririka had been elated that Mary had noticed her, had cared enough to say something about her project. Another part of her was mortified. She didn’t want Mary to think she was a fraud. That she was someone who didn’t know what she was doing despite the prestige of her name.
And yet, nevertheless… Mary’s invitation was right there. A reality, not a figment of Ririka’s imagination. Mary wouldn’t have invited her out to eat if she thought Ririka was just a poser.
So, she said yes to Mary’s suggestion to get food together.
The group of students left their dark blue jumpsuits back in their lockers. As they left the campus, evening time drew closer and closer, evident by the way the sun went down. Ririka had always known that the students often went out drinking and eating after classes or during long studio hours. The danger was always that they might not return from having too much fun.
Ririka had the sneaking suspicion that was exactly why Mary had invited her out.
Mary walked beside her down the paved road with her hands in her pockets, seemingly tuning out the loud voices of Itsuki, Yumeko, Ryota and Sayaka. Ririka thought it was nice seeing Mary in her street clothes instead of in their usual uniform and she found it hard not to look at her too much. The neon lights of the shops that lined the street cast a cold glow on the side of their faces. The smell of barbecue meat and fried food occasionally wafted in their direction, making Ririka aware of how hungry she really was. Though she was still only Mary’s acquaintance, not even really a friend, she felt like she was actually living the life of a university student.
When they reached the humble locale that Mary and her friends frequented, they went inside and fell into their usual spots like it was muscle memory. Mary pulled out a plastic stool for Ririka, saving her from feeling out of place, a gesture that she was incredibly thankful for. She and Mary sat side-by-side at the row of small, round tables the group had pushed together, with no choice but to be elbow-to-elbow in such tight quarters. Yumeko quickly passed chopsticks and napkins around. A healthy amount of beer was ordered for the six of them. Soon enough Mary was sharing her menu with Ririka, and containing her butterflies became the hardest task of the day.
Once they had ordered, not only did they share a menu, but it also seemed they would be sharing food as well. Ririka had long thought that someone like Mary would never truly get to know her. And yet, nevertheless… Mary was sitting beside her, divvying up their order of okonomiyaki into equal portions with her chopsticks.
Ririka tried her hand at making light conversation. “This dish is my favorite.”
Mary responded, “Have some more then,” and piled more onto Ririka’s plate.
Ririka couldn’t help but feel special because of the way Mary was treating her. She knew it didn’t mean anything though. She knew that the other woman simply had good manners. She would be lying if she said it didn’t make Mary all the more attractive.
While Ririka was taking a bite of her food, she was oblivious to Mary watching her. She said, “You don’t get out much, do you?”
Surprised, Ririka looked from Mary to the others who hadn’t heard her, and instead were still talking amongst themselves.
Ririka finished her bite and remarked, “What makes you say that?”
“Just the way you’re behaving. And I’ve never seen you hanging out around school. You’re never in any of the restaurants or convenience stores. I don't know how you do it. How do you get through a grueling studio day without a snack or a bite to eat?”
Ririka shrugged. “I often bring food with me.”
“Yeah, that makes sense but… It helps to get out, you know. Do you feel any better now?”
Ririka felt warmed up not only by the hot food in her stomach but also by the comfortable atmosphere of being around her peers. Sayaka was surely missing Kirari, but that wasn’t stopping her from forming friendships. She was even arguing with Itsuki about who could drink more. Ririka had never heard Sayaka be so crass. No, not crass. Carefree. Looking between Mary, Yumeko, Ryota and Itsuki- What if Kirari wasn’t the only example Ririka should be following?
Ririka said, “Yes. I should have thanked you earlier for the invitation, Mary. I was just too stunned. It’s one thing if we all try to help each other, like we always should as classmates. But you saw what I really needed which was to get my mind off things.”
“Hey- don't thank me.” Then she shifted, suddenly quiet, becoming entranced by her plate of okonomiyaki.
Ririka had to pry. “What is it?”
Mary sighed and said, “Look. You seemed pretty down when we were at the kiln. I hope it wasn’t because you took my critique the wrong way the other day. I don’t want you to think that I don’t like your project. You have your step-by-step process, ironed out through trial by fire from years of making these masks and always figuring out new methods. Despite how they may have turned out today, you clearly know what you’re doing.”
Ririka dabbed her mouth with her napkin, thinking Mary’s words over.
“But don’t you think I’m set in my ways?”
“No, I mean, the traditional arts are what you know. Makes sense why you want to focus on that. I forget sometimes that art doesn’t have to be about reinventing the wheel. Sometimes the wheel is perfectly fine as it is.”
At that, something clicked for Ririka. What Mary and Sayaka had been trying to tell her became clear. If she continued on her path, she would be stuck in a cycle of repeating steps and repeating outcomes. Maybe she could manage to perfect ceramics- But she would be doing nothing more than, as Mary said, remaking the same wheel over and over. A process that would lead to insanity, the effects of which she was already feeling.
“I appreciated your critique, Mary. Please don’t worry about what you said.”
Mary didn’t relent, “You even said you were nervous beforehand, so maybe I should have been more considerate of that. It wouldn’t be the first time I acted like a jerk without realizing.”
Ririka found herself letting out a small smile. “I can imagine you being blunt but never a jerk. From what I’ve seen, your heart is in the right place.”
Mary scoffed but Ririka could tell she had hit a pleasant chord in her.
She remembered herself, thinking of the fact that Mary was also working day and night on her own project.
“What about you?” She changed the subject. “How is your work coming along?”
“Good. I’m doing some metal work combined with wood. I’ve been thinking a lot about shipwrecks.”
Ririka couldn’t suppress her well-meaning but wry expression. “Shipwrecks? You mean sunken ships at the bottom of the ocean?”
“Yeah,” Mary huffed. “Don’t act like it’s some crazy idea like aliens or something. There’s a beauty there, kind of, in the brokenness of these ships lying at the bottom of the sea floor. I spent my break collecting a lot of driftwood from the beach. I want to make a sculpture out of these broken pieces, based on the idea that these shipwrecks look like rusted monuments underwater.”
Ririka was amazed. How did other people like Mary do it so easily? They found inspiration in things that would never even occur to her.
Ririka was about to respond with reassuring words of her own, when Yumeko sidled up to Mary. Ririka had almost forgotten it wasn’t just the two of them.
“Are you done eating yet, Mary? You said you would help me with my project.”
Mary tried to shrug Yumeko’s pouty, slinky body off of her.
“Yeah, yeah. Can’t you see I’m having a conversation? We’ll go in a minute.”
The studios were open all night long, so students could come and go as they pleased to make the most use of the campus. But for some reason, Ririka didn’t like the idea of Mary and Yumeko spending the late hours of the night together in the darkness of the near-empty rooms.
Were they really working on their projects together or were they there for something else?
☁︎⋆°·
Ririka’s plans to change her project were delayed when she vowed to use the kiln as much as possible from then on, just to be near the metal shop. She eyed Mary as she did so, wondering if she would be alone or in the company of her cousin again. She knew that men and women alike enjoyed Yumeko’s company. The idea that Yumeko could come and charm Mary was a very real possibility. And to Ririka, it would feel like Yumeko was snatching Mary from her right when they were starting to form a connection.
When she was in the metal shop, Ririka didn’t want to disturb Mary. But she hoped that whenever she passed by, Mary noticed her. And if she was truly lucky, Mary might even like the sight of her and the idea of her being close.
Such a time came again when Ririka lifted the lid to the kiln once more, only to feel that all-too-familiar feeling of her heart dropping again.
She almost wanted to moan in desperation. Her gloved hand reached inside and pulled out one of the ceramic masks. It was still hot. But the color was all wrong- runny instead of pearly. Why were there cracks again? Why was it… bubbly?
The conclusion was obvious. Even if Ririka stuck by the methods that she knew, she wouldn’t get anywhere with them. She had already resigned herself to never being as great as her sister. And yet, nevertheless… when she looked at the broken masks in front of her, it broke her heart all the same.
Suddenly, the walk back to the main building seemed too long.
Ririka pulled a random chair close and sat down with her sorry excuse of an art project in hand.
All the while, Mary had seen every inch of her descent into despair. After twenty minutes of Ririka’s jaw working back and forth, the same worrying thumb on her chin boring a hole through her skull- Mary knew she had to say something.
Ririka failed to notice that Mary had come close until she spoke, “You know, when I’m depressed about a failed project, I just smash it to pieces.”
Ririka glanced at Mary before looking down again. She said, disappointedly, “They’re not turning out right. At this rate, I’m not going to have anything to present at the end of the semester.”
Mary crossed her arms, working her brain.
“Tell me something. I know you like traditional media. But why masks?”
Ririka continued to peer down at the flawed ceramic pieces in her lap as she answered. “I know my fascination for masks may seem strange. You’re not the first person to question it. For starters, I’ve always been inspired by other cultures. Every culture, no matter how different, has some kind of mask-related ritual. They can be used to break our society’s rules so easily, whether it be in regards to gender norms like in Noh or to blend class hierarchies like in Venetian masquerades.”
She dusted one of the masks off and then turned it around, pressing it against her face with her head tilted down. It slid into place perfectly, as if she had been the intended wearer all along. As she put the mask on, she realized something new.
When she removed it again, she voiced what she had felt. “Secondly, it gives you power. People think masks are a shield. But they are not. They can allow you to become what you really are.”
Mary said, “What are you really then?”
“What am I?”
“Come on. You must have an answer for me.”
Ririka’s mind worked. She traced the mask’s outline with her fingertip, searching for the right words.
“I’m someone who loves what they do- Usually. I love that it gives me a sense of security. I love its beauty. I also love its delicacy.” She then passed her finger over the gofun glaze, slick as her own fingernail.
Mary replied, “You said it’s powerful. But I think it’s also fragile.”
Ririka gave her a small nod. “That is exactly the beauty that I see in it. Its fragility makes it all the more powerful. And at the same time, its power also makes it all the more fragile. It's because power is an illusion. I make masks to either play into or break that illusion.”
Mary said, “Are we still talking about the masks?”
Ririka looked up at Mary, staring at her with the question in her eyes, wondering what she meant.
Mary elaborated, “You’re beautiful. But are you fragile? I hope that’s not what you think. Because if it is, these things are holding you back.” She took the mask from Ririka and turned it over in her hands.
Ririka took a deep breath.
“I’ve been having my own concerns lately that you may be right. But even if you were, it’s too late now. I’ve buried myself too deep in this safety net. There’s no way for me to find my way out.”
“When something isn’t working right, I smash it up. And I use the pieces to make something new.” Mary gestured in the direction of her workbench. “I’m not gonna let you leave here without trying it for yourself.”
Before Ririka could protest, Mary started walking away. “Come with me. And take those damn masks with you.”
Like a little duck following the leader, Ririka let Mary take her to her workbench. There were tools scattered across it including a hammer that Mary wasted no time in picking up. She held it out for Ririka, while giving her an expectant look.
Ririka couldn’t imagine destroying something that she had spent so much energy on. But at the same time, these pathetic masks in her hands were useless to her now. She put them down on the table. She took Mary’s offered hammer, and they both lowered safety goggles over their eyes.
She swung the hammer down, just barely cracking the ceramic body. Her hold on the hammer was meek, still new to this. Mary noticed this immediately and chided her.
“You call that a swing?”
Mary wrapped her hand around Ririka’s and swung the hammer a bit harder, showing her how it was done. The mask broke into multiple shards and Ririka squeaked on impact.
When Mary let go, she had to do her best to obliterate the rest on her own. She swung the hammer down again, channeling years of frustration into the blow. Shards started flying up and away. Mary encouraged her like this was the best thing she had ever seen. Ririka deftly moved from one mask to the next. Her arm became hydraulic, capable only of destruction. By the time that Ririka got to the last mask, she was really into it. She used her full body, hefting smash after smash into the table until all that was left was powder.
Ririka pulled her goggles off with a satisfied sigh. “I see why you do this. It’s very therapeutic.”
She was about to put the hammer down when Mary reached out. She put her hand over Ririka’s again. She thought Mary was going to take the hammer away but her touch lingered. Her eyes were equally heavy as they held Ririka’s gaze.
Mary quietly said, “Don’t forget, this is the part where you make something new.”
Equally quiet, Ririka asked, “But… how? You make it sound so easy.”
“Surprise yourself. Great art is done by letting go.”
Then Ririka’s grip on the hammer slackened, and Mary pulled it from her grasp.
With her this close, Ririka started to wonder if Mary would reject the idea of Ririka leaning in? Would it be weird and unbecoming? Or would she welcome it? Ririka made the safest choice which was taking a step back, staring at the ground instead of into Mary’s eyes.
“Thank you-” Ririka redirected. “For teaching me something new. I promise to show you my appreciation at some point. Give you some kind of… repayment.”
Mary didn’t let her create distance. She said the thing that Ririka was least expecting, making her think for the first time that Mary's special treatment of her couldn't just be pinned down as good manners.
Mary asked Ririka, “How about tonight?”