Sonya’s chisel paused mid-stroke at the sculpturing classes as she stepped back to study the emerging face. From the rough block of stone, delicate curves had begun to appear—a cheekbone, the hint of a jawline, lips that seemed on the verge of speaking. She smiled, brushing a layer of fine white dust from her hands. It was this moment, the point when her vision started to take shape, that filled her with quiet excitement.
She found the act of sculpting strangely meditative, especially as the year slid into winter. The studio, with its warm lighting and soft hum of conversation from other artists, felt like a sanctuary. These three-hour sessions weren’t just about creating art—they were a way to recharge her spirit. Sonya always said that touching the clay helped her too relax.
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