there were a lot of statues around, everywhere, they littered the landscape. one could scarcely go fifteen minutes walk without encountering a statue.
many of the beings around would stand in front of statues, admiring them - or at least claiming to.
many of them would cluster to whichever statue had the most beings around it, or whichever statue was closest to their current whereabouts.
our person, however, would spend days searching, taking in each statue they could and appreciating the stone work.
they had their personal favourites, they would oft walk great distances to see them.
they had the routes optimised and memorised.
when not looking at statues, this person would be reading about proper stonework. They would ponder the thought that went into each of their favourite statues, try to see the patterns, figure out the reasons *why* each was the way it was.
...and yet no statue came from their bench.
every day they would wake and hope for the inspiration they assume each of their favourite stonemasons had experienced before, yet it never came.
no amount of half carved rock sitting on a bench could match the immortality of those great stonemasons that this person visited.
they felt good for them, however, in that regardless of their wider popularity, their message was kept alive in this persons appreciation.
yet no appreciation would ever be spared for this persons half finished statues.
...and no statue that graced this persons mind seemed enough to match the hopes these previous stonemasons had placed.
was the secret to the statues lost to time? or was this persons mind simply unstoneish such that it would never match what was needed.