Dami stood behind her canvas, nerves bubbling in her chest as Mr. Benson, her lecturer, began his judging. They stood in a straight line—twelve students in total—and Dami was fifth in line. Two of her classmates had chosen to paint a void, and Dami listened carefully as each person explained why they had chosen their particular concept.
After every explanation, Mr. Benson would direct them to either the right or the left side of the room.
When it was Dami's turn, she tried to read his expression, searching for any indication of what he thought, but his poker face was flawless as always.
"Explain," he said, his tone neutral.
"My choice portrays nothing as a conjunction of everything. There are so many colors together that there is no color," Dami explained, keeping her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest.
She thought she saw the faintest hint of a smile on his face, but it was gone so quickly she wasn't sure if she'd imagined it. Without a word, he gestured for her to join the lone person standing on the left side of the room. Dami exhaled quietly and moved to join them, watching as he proceeded to evaluate the remaining students' work.
By the time Mr. Benson finished, five people stood on the left side, and seven on the right.
"The reason these five people are here," he began, "is not because their art is more beautiful, but because they gave me a clear purpose behind their work."
He gestured for the two students who had painted a void to step forward. One was from Dami's group, a girl, and the other, a boy, was among the seven on the right.
"He," Mr. Benson said, pointing to the boy, "painted nothing because I told him to. But she," he turned to the girl in Dami's group, "painted what she believes nothingness is."
He turned to address the room at large. "The point of this lesson was to teach you that, as an artist, you must have purpose. You can't just paint for painting's sake."
Dami listened intently, committing every word to memory.
After class, Mr. Benson called her over.
"Damilola, how are you?" he asked.
"I'm fine, sir."
"How did you come up with your work?" he asked.
"I had help from a friend," Dami admitted. "She told me to look at it philosophically, and that's how I got the idea."
Mr. Benson nodded thoughtfully. "Damilola, you are currently my best student, and I rarely say this, but I think you deserve this."
He handed her a flyer, and for a moment, Dami stared at it in confusion.
"It's an art institute in Europe," he explained. "I have a friend who works there. I told her about you, and she said if you're interested, you should submit an original work, and they'll consider you."
Dami stood there, stunned, waiting for him to laugh or say he was joking, but he didn't.
"I want you to think about it," he continued. "It's a world-class program. Most famous artists either graduated from there or worked there at some point. This country…" he paused, "…doesn't always value artists like us."
With that, he dismissed her. Dami spent the rest of the day lost in thought.