A boy sits in the back of the stuffy classroom, baking in the hot sun that beams through the large dusty windows, surrounded by a mess of a room. The piles of art supplies, trash, and old projects encompass the workspaces. Sketches, old pieces, and random photographs mask the otherwise blank wall, each print hung crooked.

 

A grunt of frustration escapes the mouth of the boy, one who finds discomfort in the patience and delicacy of his work. The blade of his chisel has knocked off a larger-than-expected piece of his charcoal-colored stone, turning his once perfectly engraved silhouette of a lion into an unrecognizable piece of rock.

 

The heraldic lion. The guardians of Florence. A symbol of heroism and good luck for the city it oversees. The boy sees himself as a lion, strong, sensible, and gallant. He does not let his frustration get the better of him. Instead, he swallows his annoyance, as if he’s unfazed by the mistake, and continues to gracefully fight for a sense of control.

 

It’s easy to assume things about people based on the environment they are in. The boy is undistracted by the busy atmosphere, as he typically might be. Solely focused on the task at hand. Carefully chipping away at the fragile soapstone. Lost in his own work, it is easy to imagine, he is no longer just the boy you’ll find sitting in the back of the classroom. He is the powerful, courageous, and majestic guardian that protects the ones he loves. The king of all beasts. The heraldic lion.