Art is not what you see, but what you make others see

Lost and founds

In a blue house, silence took over. Uneasy. Aching. The boy withdrew, in fact, he became almost speechless. He shut himself in an inaccessible, zipped world of his own. He wasn’t looking for anybody nor asked any questions. He didn’t answer questions that went through the walls of his world, his utmost reaction was nodding or a rejective head shake. He was drawing and counting. Waggling. Rotating on his own axis. Lying with his eyes wide open and observing a crack on the wall for hours.

Even the slightest hint of contact often made him run away and hide in his cave, as he called his most precious place in the blue house. It was made out of a heavy blanket with long straps tossed over a chair and a table, where it was laden with an encyclopedia. It had 1 783 pages and weighed 1 266 grams. The encyclopedia. He was browsing it only from time to time, didn’t like synonyms very much yet, that’s why he could have used it as a load. However, he greatly appreciated books about numbers. In the cave, he had a small yellow lamp with a round switch, color-box, sketchbook, calculator, two thick math books and a phonebook which was also thick. These things were creating his world. And the border was the blanket and furniture legs.

There were also other colors blending on that pale blue blanket. Rich pink, pale pink, purple, royal blue, a bit of white, red and orange and a tiny bit of black. Besides that, there were five flowers and two trees. One of the trees had a black trunk and the other had a pink one. He liked the blanket. It was a gift from his granny who was great at sewing zippers. There was a long blue zipper with a metal slider on it. He liked to sit in the cave, turning the lamp on and off, touching his things or observing the operation of the slider and, especially, recounting white dots on the blanket’s black areas. Their number was correct.

He was satisfied when there was no change. He liked the ingrained stereotype. Nevertheless, he was looking forward to going to school. A lot! Not to the children, they had always been strangely looking at him and yelling. Neither was he looking forward to teachers. He didn’t like meeting new people, whether small or big ones. In fact, he was very frightened to go to school, because everything there was new and everything new was freaking him out. However, he longed for numbers. There’s so much that could be done with them! Schools are full of numbers. Even the purple one at the end of the alley. Supposedly, he should wait for a year until he was ready. What is he, an apple?

He didn’t use to come out very often. And on his own, he never went further than three streets away. He wasn’t allowed to do it, but even if he was, he wouldn’t do it anyway. He was afraid of getting lost. He was afraid of people, noise, chaos. However, he went to a backstreet under the blue house every day. There was an old house that wasn’t so nice, smooth and colorful as the one he lived in, but on its facade, there were gems. Dots, notches, scratches. There was always a new one, so he had something to count, to look forward to, to explore, to think about.

Only once, he was completely taken by surprise. He could hardly believe his eyes. He disbelieved what he saw. There was a part of his blanket on the wall of the backstreet house! He ran his fingers over it. Perhaps paper, hard and a bit rough. And flowers. Colors. Bulges from when the colors were drying out. Very nice bulges that couldn’t be found on his blanket. On this one, there were no hair, knots, fibers, nor smooth surfaces. He counted the flowers. Then the dots. Their number matched. He went home to check his carpet. There wasn’t anything missing on it. Who knows it so well that they could capture it all in the picture just right? He had a guess. He knew it, more or less. There’s only one person like this in the world. He just didn’t know why. He didn’t understand why they did it, what they were trying to say. He was agitated. Unsettled. He started waggling and after a while, turning around to gain control again.

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At that time, he realized something. On the “blanket” outside, there was something more. Something made up. He ran towards the old house and, it must be said, it was the first time he ran this quickly. In the lower right corner, right where he had seen in his head it while running, there was a figure. A boy with eyes with no mouth, a black math book in hand. His book. He. And right in the opposite corner, the desired purple school.

It will take him a year until he will have passed by the flowers and trees. At home, he asks what to do to pass the tests. He has to speak, otherwise he will not find out.

Yes, he asks.

He even jumped for joy as he thought about it.

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