Being ignored.

By the end of my fourth year of five I was producing something like this, on the same scale as the previous painting. By now I was invisible: on the rare occasions that a member of staff showed up he or she walked wordlessly past me. The staff all wore black, and were mostly impervious to colour. I therefore switched to cheap black -and-white paintings for my final year, and swore never to try too hard again, or to care what others thought of me.