THE FIRST TIME I went to art class, the teacher, a man called Barrington, told us that everything we could see was made of atoms. Everything. And that if we could understand that, we could begin to be artists. The room went quiet. He asked for questions, but all of us were struck dumb, wondering if we were in the right class. He continued his introduction to art by holding up his pencil and proceeding to draw a perfect circle on the piece of paper he had taped to the wall. There was general excitement and sighs of relief from the assembled pupils. Perhaps we were in an art class after all.
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