Time to Dream

The girl with the braid woven into her hair gazes out of the window, head in her hands, staring at the blue sky, the clouds drifting past, the birds darting back and forth to build their nests. It would be madness not to look outside and instead fix her gaze on the teacher at the front of the class, the grey board scrawled full of grammatical terms, the classmates staring just as blankly into space. What a strange choice that would be — an imposed choice above all, a curb on her inner freedom. Where no one else can reach, no one should be making the decisions either. Her inner world is hers and hers alone, and it's fed by wherever her gaze is allowed to wander.

"Mr and Mrs de Vries, surely you understand that it's highly unusual for your daughter to stare out of the window like that and show so little interest in her lessons?" The father and mother nod. They hardly know what to say. Their daughter is simply like that. They've never known her any other way. The mother plucks up her courage and ventures a question in return. "Is she falling behind because of her dreaminess?" The teacher, whose mouth has now set into a grim line, looks at her and sighs. "No, her marks are good… that's not the problem." The mother has to bite her tongue, because then what on earth is the problem?

That girl was me. (…)

'Time to Dream' — graphic print | drawing (edition of max. 10) | 37.5 × 27 cm | 2013