It was a quiet day in the gallery with only two people sitting in the main room.
They both sat looking at the same picture. It was a beautiful, idyllic scene. Although strangers, they both agreed that it was a great picture that managed to tell a story that the viewer could immerse themselves in. It was a large canvas depicting a country scene. It showed a haystack in a field with a small cart beside it filled with loose hay. It shows a sunny day. A boy is lying on his side at the base of it with a pitchfork beside him. The scene shows that he has filled the cart to take some hay away and decided to take time out for a knap after working in the heat. He is waking from his sleep with one eye partly open. He is looking straight ahead as though seeing the person looking at the painting.
It just so happens that, unlike the woman, the man has been visiting the gallery since he was a small boy and has always stopped to look at his favourite painting. His life has led him into a professional career with many responsibilities, all of which were occasionally weighing him down more and more as life went on. He found it quite therapeutic to regularly visit and spend time enjoying these moments, losing himself in the painting. He got up and approached it with his focus, as always, on the boy’s half open eye. He stood, allowing himself to enter the scene as he so often had. This time was different. This time he wished with all his might that he was that boy.
He was laying on his side looking sideways in to a large room. It was the usual room, painted white with a number of oil paintings along the wall. It was a quiet day out there. The room was empty, save for a woman who was rising from her seat, looking intently in his direction. As she approached, he could see that she was distraught. She had an expression of shock and bewilderment on her face. She was walking closer.
She seemed to be looking for something…