Tonight I meet a teenage boy on the bus. He’s an artist. He sits right in front of me, and I watch him sketch and color and outline his tag, “Hint.” He tells me there is a German expression similar to the word, which means ‘not getting caught for the trouble you’re causing.’ Ah, I think. Perfect for a graffiti artist. I watch him complete his artwork. He’s got talent.
When we get off the bus, he asks my name, and we talk a little. He shakes my hand and looks into my eyes. I curiously ask him if he ever imagines his art in a gallery? If he imagines the possibilities beyond brick walls, beyond people perhaps admiring his artwork in the wrong context? He says, “The sky is the limit.” Cliché, I think. But then he says, “Or the limits are those we put on ourselves.” So smart, I think. We make small talk a little more, say it was a pleasure to meet, and head our separate ways.
I walk into the metro station, sit down to wait, and begin writing down thoughts about my encounter with him. As I write the first few words, I wish I could see him again. I realize I don’t want to write of what I hope for him but rather of what I could have told him I hope for him. I want him to know how much beauty he can create. I’m curiously not mad or judgmental of him; the way I normally am when I think of people paid to remove graffiti from buildings while kids are without meals. I only think of possibility, and I feel an odd sort of love for the kid.
My longing causes me to turn to look for him and hope that maybe after his cigarette outside he’ll come down to the same area as me.
And there he is.
He is coming down the escalator but turns right to get on another metro. I want to call after him but forget his name and feel embarrassed by that. I exhale and tell myself I lack courage for not having called after him. But then he turns, and he comes back my way.
A second chance.
He gets back on the escalator, but I say, “Hey! Wait!” And he turns around and comes back down for me.
He arrives and I look at him. My expression is somewhat timid but filled with love.
I say, “I don’t know why I want to tell you this…but I want to challenge you to use your art to change the world.” I’m smiling. He looks at me, and I see a little kid. I see a little kid who is moved and invited into a new possibility. I also see a purity and innocence I didn’t see in our earlier conversation. There is a moment of silence, as I continue looking into his eyes with hope and wonder, and then I tell him that’s all I have to say. He smiles back and says “okay.” We say goodbye.
And now, here I am, out in the rain, writing because I am inspired. I am inspired by possibility. I am inspired by imagining the beauty that awaits if we only invest our talent well.
Photo Credit: razzmatazzblog.blogspot.com