To work, to create something solid which before had not existed, was a far preferable option than to submit to the nightmares which had haunted his nights of late. He reached out, felt the malleable wood begin to warm to his touch. He closed his eyes and concentrated, attempting to project the emotion which would bend the timber to the desired shape. He opened his eyes and watched the wood dimple beneath his fingertips, then stepped back and viewed the piece as a whole. He could imagine the critics’ reaction. They would declare that once again Jonathon Fairman had created a lasting work of art - and he had to admit that in form the piece was very nearly perfect. It showed the figure of a woman rising from the substance of the alien wood like someone emerging, explosively, from an ocean. It was the latest in a series of six he was in the process of completing. Each showed a female figure - his wife, Aramantha - trying to escape from the medium of which she was forever a part. On the face of each sculpture could be seen an expression of increasing agony.
