The Wall Breaker

By Olga Vasylyeva

Sometimes the only way to understand people is to experience that they went through. This is the hardest way, which, as someone would say, starts with ignorance of words, feelings and life lessons of the others.
The artist with challenges striving to fulfill his talent until the war questions the very meaning of the art. What can force a man to give up on his settled views and aspirations of his life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483549002

Book preview

2

Part 1

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How could Mr. Tony Esposito, with his terrible eyesight and barely flexible fingers, paint such brilliant masterpieces? When he was a young man, he worked on the textile mill as a doffer. His responsibility was to change the bobbins once they were full. One day, the rapidly spinning machine damaged his right hand.

At a time when the first motorcars ran along the streets, when cameras became available for the first time, and people started to use escalators and radio—when the theory of relativity had already been published—teenagers and children still worked for twelve hours a day without any protection, and hand trauma was commonplace in factories.

Tony was only sixteen years old when his fingers were damaged. Without any compensation for the trauma, he was transferred to a different job. Now he was supposed to watch after endless rows of threads, ensuring they didn’t tear. He received ten dollars per week and had to work the nightshift, which soon had even more devastating consequences for Tony.

The fact was that Tony had a gift. He had the gift of being able to paint, which he inherited from his father, who, as an overworked miner, never had the chance to express it. Tony’s father died suddenly, without saying his last farewells to his beloved family. He’d worked all his life for the sake of his family’s happiness and wellbeing, and, although he loved art, he thought painting would not support his family and was a waste of his time. But his son, Tony, felt otherwise.

After a man’s death, there’s nothing left. Like with my dad, who worked hard all his life. Nothing. He just disappeared, said Tony to the priest.

You shouldn’t talk like that. The priest put a hand on Tony’s head in condolence. "It’s the human body that dies but