Sandy and the art museum

Sandy had made himself a den that the sunlight couldn't reach. He filled it with an old projector, a DVD player, and the old DVDs from his parents' youth, which still worked and gave him a feeling of connectedness with the world.

The whole enterprise was quaint—old films, old technology, staring at moving pictures on a wall. Not just Disney, but also old classics like Fawlty Towers, Allo 'Allo, and other politically incorrect shows. He wasn't bothered about political correctness. He wouldn't have known what quaint was, in his 10 years of life experience. Sandy had lived all his life in the little seaside town known as "Baia del Mirto." "No better place anywhere on Earth," his mother was wont to say.

"Sandy, go out and play!" shouted Dewy. "Get out there and enjoy the sun while you can! Once school starts again and the weather turns bad, you'll regret not making the most of these long summer days!"

Dewy was the only family Sandy had left, as far as he knew. He called her "Dewy" instead of "Mum," which he recognized as a bit unusual, especially since it wasn't even her real name. Before having him, she had lived in various cities and villages. She had held office jobs and had a close-knit circle of friends and a loving family. Sandy didn't really know why, but by the time he came along, all this had changed. Dewy wanted to keep away from most people. In an effort to escape the fast-paced lifestyle of the city and reconnect with nature, she made the bold decision to leave her busy life behind.

"Ok, Mum," replied Sandy, yawning. "But this year, can I go to a real school? In Portomarino?"

Sandy had spent all of his life in Baia del Mirto, a tiny seaside village that came alive in summer when beach-loving tourists increased its population fivefold. Sandy had never left Baia del Mirto, not even for a shopping trip, not even on holiday. The village was tiny but dependable. The outside world was unknown and scary… or so he had been led to believe. Despite being sheltered, he was far from ignorant. He had old DVDs, school textbooks, and his beloved iPad. It's not that there were no people around, but mostly that the people he saw in the village might as well have been aliens. To start with, they spoke a different language. His mother explained that local dialects could change radically every few kilometres. Not that they didn't speak the official language, Italian. It's just that they didn't see the need around him. He was simply not one of them.

In summer, he had both company and entertainment. Facilities for tourists included boat and surf rentals, restaurants, bars, and even a concert every once in a while. He loved meeting people from other countries who spoke different languages. He was only fluent in Italian and English, but this didn't stop him from playing with the tourist children, making the most of it while he had company.

The warm weather would last well into October, maybe even November. But as Dewy kept reminding him, school would be starting soon. A grim prospect. Not that he went to school. That's why he had been allowed the iPad. Sandy himself had been very happy with this arrangement until now. Just recently, however, the usual landscapes had started to make him feel constricted, like a pair of shoes two sizes too small. He understood people would believe him crazy. Constricted, when surrounded by the infinity of the beach, the sea, the sky, clouds… the Milky Way at night. He understood he couldn't talk to anybody about it. They'd think there was something wrong with him.

His sense of unease had started early that morning. He was out on his fishing boat at six in the morning. He didn't think anyone else would be out at this ungodly hour, but there she was, a girl on a stand-up paddleboard, and she could handle it like a pro. The sun had barely risen, casting a soft pink and orange glow over the horizon. The gentle lapping of the waves against the boat and the rhythmic splashing as the girl expertly manoeuvred her paddleboard were the only sounds that broke the peaceful silence of the early morning. She had chestnut hair tied up in a messy bun, and her tanned skin glowed in the early morning light. With her dark complexion and muscular build, she could have been his twin… but she wasn't from here. She was so happy to have found someone to play with that she invited him for lunch on her parents' yacht.

"I'm glad our Allegra has found a nice friend to play with," said Lara, her mum. Soon she was asking him, "Which school do you go to?"

"I don't go to school," he replied.

Allegra looked puzzled at this answer. "Surely everybody goes to school? How come you speak English? And you can steer the fishing boat and catch fish!"

Her dad interjected, "Tell me, Sandy, do your parents have you home-tutored? It is certainly unusual, but not unheard of."

"Well, we can't afford a private tutor, and my mother doesn't like schools, even though I think they must be very different now from what she remembers. I take online classes, I watch tutorials, and my mother checks if I'm doing enough and maybe explains things if I find them a bit too hard. It's lonely, though. I'd prefer to go to school."

As he recounted his usual routine, Sandy realized that he was not happy with his current situation. The freedom to get up and go out and swim and run whenever he wanted, but the lack of real-life experience due to his mother not letting him leave Baia del Mirto, suddenly felt stifling. He'd never had to explain it all in such detail to anybody, and as he explained it, he was overcome by a sense of unfairness. Only then did he realize that something had to change. He was effectively trapped in a prison masked as a perpetual holiday.

Allegra described her beautiful Lake District boarding school with such relish and detail that she reminded Sandy of an artist trying to capture the essence and the feel of a place, brush stroke after brush stroke. It seemed to Sandy that she must be very happy, always having other children for company. School wasn't all about dusty books and libraries. She had plenty of opportunities to play sports or use her free time as she wished. His imagination was stirred. Faraway places. Foreign lands. Places where there were other children, some as friendly, beautiful, and diverse as his wonderful new friend, Allegra.

At home, he looked for a landscape picture of the Lake District, so different from home. Different quality of light, different vegetation, and a distinct sensation of mist that contrasted starkly with the dry weather and droughts to which he was accustomed.

The next day, Sandy spent the morning at home. He decided to look for pictures of the Lake District, and with the help of some painting tutorials, he was attempting a watercolour rendering of a landscape. He made sure it included a building that could be a boarding school. It was his way of wishing and fantasizing.

insert picture_

When Allegra dropped by in the afternoon, she saw the picture Sandy had painted and was both amazed and flattered. It was just as impressive as the artwork created by art students at her school. She found it impossible to believe her friend was self-taught!

It depicted a countryside landscape with an overcast sky blurring the confines of hills in the distance. A farmhouse was enclosed within a stone fence, and in the distance was a white building with a steep roof, reminiscent of the lodging houses at her school.

"You know," she said, "I think you should show my dad this picture. He is on the school board, and I think he may persuade the school to display it, maybe in the headmaster's office."

"Sure! I was painting it for you anyway! We can go out fishing and take it to the yacht so your dad can see it!"

Allegra's dad was in his mid-forties, with welcoming, dark eyes and a warm smile. The previous day he'd been distracted during lunch, but now he was giving the children his full attention. He looked at his daughter with pride and at Sandy with keen interest. Not having a father himself, Sandy was flattered whenever any of his friends' dads showed any interest in him. It helped that Arthur was passionate about art, and both children hoped he would be able to secure Sandy a place on the trip to Rome that Allegra was taking as an elective activity during the holidays.

Unbeknownst to them, Arthur pleaded for the chance to submit Sandy's painting to the yearly art competition that Allegra's school held. The first prize was a full-tuition scholarship to study art in the next academic year. If the painting won, the experience would be life-changing for Sandy.

That evening, after dinner, Sandy and Dewy were cleaning up together. They'd had their meal on the veranda, which was small but offered a panoramic view. It was furnished with a white plastic round table and matching chairs, with a large parasol in the middle. It felt like sitting al fresco at a beachside café, with the warm breeze providing comfort.

Cleaning up after dinner was a chore, but not an unpleasant one, as it gave them a chance to talk.

"Dewy, the children I play with at the beach travel all over the place, and nothing bad has happened to them. Why can't I travel too? I would like to leave this shoebox of a village and see other places!"

"Sandy, you know I can't take you! I have work to do, and you have your studies…"

"That's it, Mother! I met this super cool family from England! They're going with their daughter and her schoolmates to an art exhibition in Rome, and they're happy to take me with them! It's only a week, and it's already paid for!"

A look of panic flashed across Dewy's face. "How do we know we can trust them? You know there are lots of dangerous people abroad. They offer a favour now without mentioning what they want in return… and then you owe them…"

"That's the point! You think everyone has bad intentions! I don't know why you think that, but it is not my experience! I think they're genuinely nice people!"

"Well, it's my fault, Sandy. I've kept you in the safety of this village to protect you, and now you don't believe there's anything to fear in the world. Trust my experience, please, because you don't have much!"

"So I'm not going?"

"No."

That very evening, Dewy's relaxing bedtime routine was interrupted by unexpected news. She opened the window, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore brought her tranquillity, encouraging her to breathe deeply. The salty aroma of the sea filled her nostrils, mingling with the scent of seaweed and brine. A gentle breeze came in, dissipating the stifling heat of the day. She couldn't help herself; she knew she wasn't supposed to look at her phone before bed, as any work-related messages would keep her awake.

That night's message was sure to dispel any hope of sleep she may have had… but it was great news. She was buzzing with excitement.

"Congratulations! You've been selected as an extra for the forthcoming filming dates from the 16th of August to the 16th of September. Please confirm your availability."

It had been about a year since Dewy had sent photos and a resume to a company that looked for extras and non-professional actors to take part in films around the island. It wasn't an unusual location for filming, and such a long time had passed since her application that her hopes of being cast in a TV or cinema production were waning. She'd only sent in her application for fun, thinking the producers might like her because her looks were a bit unusual: tall, with dirty blonde hair at shoulder length, and green eyes. Her physique was certainly not athletic, but she was in good shape for her age. And the pay wasn't bad either.

She made up her mind—she would give it a shot.

For a month, she would have to relocate to the bustling city of Portomarino, where they were filming the scenes that required her presence. All of a sudden, Sandy's idea of keeping busy with art didn't seem so bad. They could both be away from home, doing different things.

She needed to speak to this English family. Sandy had spoken about one week; she needed a month.

Dewy arranged to meet Arthur and Lara and thanked them for taking an interest in her son. They were sitting on her veranda, looking out at the sea. Arthur explained that he was organizing a school trip to Rome to take the children to an exhibition of Mirò's works. It still needed some planning, as Allegra's school and her classmates needed to be contacted and brought together. However, Arthur was keen on the idea of letting Sandy spend a month or so with him on his yacht while Dewy was busy with her acting. Arthur went on to explain that Sandy had shown him some of his art and that he was impressed. "Whenever possible, talent and passion should be encouraged," he said.

The very next week, to Sandy's amazement, his mother left for Portomarino. It was only about 50 kilometres away, but for him, it was the first time he'd been away from his mother. Being able to live with Allegra's family for one month was an unprecedented adventure! He was so excited that he had to continually remind himself to behave normally, as all he wanted to do was giggle and jump around.

Sandy was flattered by the extra attention his art was affording him, so he decided to spend a couple of hours painting every morning, still following any online tutorials he could find.

To Sandy's chagrin, another boy came to stay with Allegra's family. Rupert was the same age as Sandy, 10, and he already attended boarding school with his cousin, Allegra. They were both two years ahead of him, and their parents thought it would be good for the children to spend some carefree days together before the official start of the school year. Rupert was a budding artist himself and was attending the school on an art scholarship. The two boys didn't hit it off—Rupert resented having to share Allegra and her family with a stranger, and Sandy felt dwarfed in his artistic efforts by having to live with someone who was already ahead of him in his art education.

Sandy couldn't believe it. The 2nd of September at last. They got up at 4 a.m. to catch the 6:30 plane from Portomarino to Rome. His excitement was slightly dampened by having to share a room with Rupert, but as they were not officially students in the art class, they had to make do.

One hour by plane, one hour by train, and a short ride on a coach ensured that they were all safe and sound at their countryside lodging.

The countryside lodging was at the centre of a working farm. The countryside was neither idyllic nor bucolic, but absolutely real and true to life. There were no manicured fields of grass and shapely bushes, just fences for the animals, mud, fruit trees, and vegetable patches. The scent of the place was quite distinctive and not altogether pleasant: smells of manure and butter croissants mingling by the horse stables.

It was a popular place for many creative schools. An acting school had just left, and some of the buildings were still occupied by a music school. The exhibition hall was a large gazebo where art students set up their displays, carefully arranging their paintings and sculptures. In the countryside, children played outdoors and helped feed chickens and collect eggs. They were allowed to ride the ponies and were taught how to milk cows by patient farmers. With so much to do and see, boredom was never a concern. And if they did need a change of pace, Rome was just a short drive away with endless opportunities for adventure.

"I never knew art could make me feel so liberated, like I'm finally breaking free from the predictability of village life," Sandy mused. "I don't think I will ever forget where I've come from, but I'm certainly glad my horizons have expanded."