A boy sits in a public library in the village of Wollaton. (pronounced Woolaton) He is looking at the large books on Art. It is a nice day in summer and he has recently left school. He is nearly sixteen years old.
The library building is new and very Modern. Steel and glass like Mies van Der Rohe would have approved. He is lucky to have such a place to learn about painting and painters. He is gamine, wears plimsoles with no socks, is entirely lost as to where life could take him, has not one clue about jobs or careers.
He turns the pages of the colourful books and remembers the names of the artists and the style of their paintings. He notes the ones he likes and the ones he does not like. Soon he will know all of the famous artists or at least all of the ones in the books in this library.
He comes here every day in the mornings. He has illusions that he will go to Further education College in September. He is not a swot. He looks only at the pictures and does not read the text.
At school he has taken Art at 'O' level and passed as well as English language. This is his academic base. he has decided that Art is the way. He imagines living a louche, bohemian life which appeals to him. He is painting in oils by now and he has a friend who takes an interest and soon he is mastering the medium and has ideas of his own. He has influences from the library books and is serious in his work.
That he should be able to paint and exhibit his work seems realistic, all things seem possible at sixteen.
A boy who has never yet heard of Mies van Der Rohe sits in a Modern library building and dreams the impossible dream.
I see him as if in a Vermeer. A boy with a pearl earring, lacemaker, milk maid, a figure in a light filled interior. an innocent studying a book.
Is this the start of something big?
or is it..
The end of something small?
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