After walking away from the boys, I rounded several corners. Joseph has a lot of memorizing to do. Several turns and long hallways (so much fun to run down) later I was at the art room. I opened the door.
The entire octogonal room was mostly made of windows that were bullet proof, but very clear. Metal blinds were draw up and away from the sunlight that was flooding into the room. There were only a few desks in the room. Paint cans, brushes and canvases had been lined up against a wall along with boxes and boxes of crayons, pastels, charcoal, colored pencils, and chalk. All the pencils, as well as everything else, had zillions of shades and softnesses. A portable whiteboard against one wall could be flipped into a chalk board. A bulletin board was posted against the single wall that wasn't glass, which had the door. It was covered with different dates, contacts, notes, pictures, ideas, sketches, and pretty much everything else that could be put on paper and needed by this 14 year old. Chairs were scattered around the room, most with wheels. All of them were extremely cushioned, for long periods of time without movement.
And no teacher.
I walked across the room and reached for the blinds. Pulling each of the blinds down, the once brightly sunlight room was pitch black. Reaching over, I flicked on black lights. My black shirt remained invisible. The room was dimly lit. I grabbed a chair with wheels and pulled it over to a table in the corner. Propping my feet on it, I began to dig and receive inspiration for art.