His mates always kidded young Jack Taylor. He was brash, he was illiterate, he could never keep a steady job. Yet he called himself an artist. A year ago, he was pushing a wheelbarrow on a building job in London's West End. The truck driver pointed at the nearby Redfern Gallery, and jeered at Jack: "You call yourself a painter. They buy paintings in that place.
Go in and show them some." Jack did. To his astonishment, the gallery directors gave him £10 for one of his pictures on the spot, urged him to...
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