65 Vincent van Gogh

65 Vincent van Gogh Peanut watched helplessly as Nerys reached out and turned the illustrated handle. The latch clicked and she pushed the door. On the other side of the threshold, Peanut could see the oak-panelled walls of the Blood, Stone & Partners offices in London. 'I must say, Peanut,' said Nerys, looking over her shoulder as she stepped through, 'that you have been a worthy adversary. You nearly managed to stop me. I'll admit that you have a very creative brain, lovely. It's just a shame that the world will never get to see your artistic talents. They'll just have to make do with mine, I suppose.' 'VINCENT VAN GOGH!' shouted Peanut, as loudly and dramatically as she could.

Nerys stopped. She turned around, half-in and half-out of the doorway. 'I beg your pardon, lovely?' 'Er, Vincent van Gogh!' Peanut repeated, desperately trying to organise her thoughts as the wind whipped around her head. 'Back when he was painting, people thought he was a terrible artist. In fact, they laughed at his work. They said it was rubbish, and they said it so many times that he ended up believing them. Vincent van Gogh considered himself a total failure! Can you believe that? Did you know that he only ever sold one painting in his lifetime?' 'What's that got to do with anything?' asked Nerys, confused. Peanut wasn't sure why, but, again, she felt she had to keep Nerys talking. She swallowed hard and continued, 'It's just that... everything you're trying to do, everything you have been doing, all stems from the fact that you think that you've failed. As an artist, l mean.' 'Failed?' 'Because you didn't get into the Royal College all those years ago,' replied Peanut, her mouth dry. 'That's where this all started, right?' 'Yes, well, I'll show them!' said Nerys, the muscles in her jaw clenching. 'Let's see if they still think my style is too naive, shall we? Once I'm the only artist in the world, they'll have to appreciate my talents!'

'You see,' said Peanut, 'that's my point. Why do you care what other people think? You shouldn't need anybody to tell you whether you're good or not. If you enjoy painting and creating, then that's enough. You are good at it. If you decide you want to be then you are an artist.'

Nerys frowned. 'Look,' continued Peanut, 'if van Gogh had listened to all those people back in the day and decided to give up, we wouldn't have his beautiful paintings to enjoy today. The fact is he didn't give up. He carried on. Because, for him, the creation of the art was the point of it. Not what other people thought of it.' Nerys took a small step forward, back towards Chroma. ' And who gets to decide what's good and what's bad anyway?' asked Peanut. 'It's all a matter of personal taste, isn't it? With art, there is no right answer and there is no wrong answer. It's not like maths.' She glanced down at Rockwell as she said the last part. 'That's the beauty of it. Everyone can draw. Everyone can paint. And if you enjoy it, then that's all that matters.' Nerys didn't say anything. Peanut smiled. 'Just because one person didn't think you were good enough to get into the Royal College, it doesn't mean that you are a failure as an artist. That was just one decision taken in one moment by one individual. Maybe they were just having a bad day. Whatever it was, please don't punish all of us for one person's opinion.' Peanut held her breath for a moment and crossed her fingers. Nerys looked at the girl with an odd expression on

her face, like she was seeing her properly for the frst time. She held up the pencil, looked at its long point and blinked three times... Then she took a step backwards. 'So many pretty words,' she said. 'You certainly paint a very nice picture with them. All complete nonsense, of course, but pretty words nevertheless. Now, it's time I went.' Peanut's smile fell as Nerys backed through the door, waving. 'Goodbye, lovely. It's been-' Nerys stopped talking. Something far below had caught her eye. Movement. A small, dark shape. A scribble of fur with legs and tail. 'Doodle!' shouted Little-Bit.

The illustrated dog had sprinted out onto the walkway and was running at full speed up the steps towards the mast. Suddenly, the large brown rat sitting on Doodle's back leapt onto the ladder and started to climb it at phenomenal speed. Before Nerys even had a chance to finish her goodbye, Woodhouse had reached the top, scurried up her white suit and knocked Little Tail out of her hand. 'Not so useless now, eh?' he said in his broad Glaswegian accent as the pencil flew high into the air.