“What do you want to be when you leave school?” He asked.
“I want to be the greatest painter of night.”


“The what?”

“The greatest painter of night.”

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“I want to paint the night in such a way that no other painting compares to mine.”

“But what do you mean by ‘night’, the darkness?”

“No, there’s darkness in the morning but it’s not the same. And night isn’t always dark; sometimes it’s quite bright, like in The Starry night.”

“That’s very unusual for a girl,” He said, “are you sure that’s what you want to do when you leave school?”

“Yes, the only thing I want to be is the greatest painter of night.”

“But why night? Why not the greatest painter of something else, like fire or maybe eyes, I hear they’re very hard to draw.”

“So is the night.” I said. “But it’s not about that. I didn’t sit down and think about what’s hard to paint, or what will impress people. I want to be the greatest painter of night because it’s the most important thing to me.”

“And why is it so important to you?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“Why not?” He asked.

“Because if you knew why it was important to me you would focus on that when you looked at my paintings and not the night itself, which is the only thing that matters. It’s like my dad said before he had to go, ‘I wish I could explain how much I love you, but if I was able to then I suppose it wouldn’t be love.'”