Written on 14 April 2019
Mr Cromwell analysed Duncan's work in front of the whole stupid class. He was such a fucking jerk.
Art was subjective. And yet here was this failed artist parading round as a teacher telling Duncan what was wrong with his art.
“This is basically someone being incredibly lazy.” He said, gesturing at the trifecta of portraits, delicately displayed in ornate antique frames, as Duncan intended to show just how beautiful colour could be with one simple clash. But, of course, Mr Cromwell, the hack, didn't get it.
“Sir, I'll have you know these are intricate impressions of my Mother, my father and my brother. This is how I see them.”
“Duncan, you can't just slop some black paint on to a canvas and call it art.”
What the hell did he know? Duncan wasn’t deterred. He submitted the work for his A Level final project, and received a C. Not bad for just a bit of black paint and some old frames.