The Mysterious Art Museum

Chapter 92 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

Chapter 92 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

The night of the exhibition.

As eight o'clock strikes, the last visitor leaves and the remaining staff members finish cleaning up in about an hour, leaving the site. The artists, exhausted from interacting all day, also start heading home one by one. They are likely to fall into a deep sleep tonight.

Another exhibition is scheduled for tomorrow, and more visitors are expected since it's Saturday.

Creak.

This grating sound, out of place in the sacred art gallery, echoes in the quiet exhibition hall.

In the now empty zone of Jeong-hoon.

Kwang-ho, standing in the middle, grinds his teeth as he glares at the steel plates beside the paintings.

That red circular sticker.

A sticker well-known to all artists.

It signifies that the painting has already been sold.

Kwang-ho glares at the steel plates.

This painting, that painting. Even the one in the corner. All sold out.

Kwang-ho, his fists clenched, mutters to himself.

"What relationship do you have with the chairman of W-Tree Group?"

He knew since the staff informed him when the chairman's family appeared. He saw them enter Jeong-hoon's area. They stayed there for over two hours before emerging with visually impaired individuals and then visited his area and others.

He offered to explain his works when he recognized the chairman's family, but a dignified woman pushed him away. "Art should be felt without any explanation," she said, insisting they would ask if they needed it.

However, they left after about 20 minutes in his area without asking a single question and without placing a single sticker.

It's not that his paintings didn't sell.

A collector who became acquainted with him through social media placed a sticker on one of his paintings. The painting, depicting an old man's face, was a masterpiece expressing his creative agony through the old man's sorrowful expression.

But the joy was short-lived.

A staff member returning from a meal told him that the chairman's family had bought all of Jeong-hoon's paintings. All his joy shattered at that moment.

"What is this, anyway."

Such a painting.

Just twenty pieces. More than double the eight he had displayed. But this isn't art. Give him three days, or a week at most, and he could produce something like this.

"Besides, such a meaningless theme."

It's just a scene of Seoul.

Sure, the painting itself is beautiful. But so what?

Art should stir something in the viewers.

But this is just a scene of Seoul. What meaning does this painting have?

Why did the chairman's family buy such trash?

It's clearly a purchase based on connections.

The problem is, once the audience knows all the paintings are sold, they view them differently. The naive audience thinks there's a quality and artistic gap between sold and unsold paintings.

The prominently displayed stickers influence the audience's preconceptions.

Kwang-ho's face trembles with rage.

He looks like he might tear the painting apart.

Then, a calm voice reaches him.

"Beautiful painting, isn't it?"

"..."

Unfazed by the sudden voice, Kwang-ho responds curtly.

"Haven't you left yet?"

"Haha, I wanted to see other artists' work too."

"Then you should go to Chaeyoung or Soohan's area. There's nothing worth seeing here."

"No, there's plenty to feel."

"What?"

As Kwang-ho finally turns his gaze, he sees Jeong-min, arms crossed, looking at the painting.

Jeong-min uncrosses his arms and touches the steel plate.

"Do you know what's written here?"

"I don't know Braille, nor do I want to."

"Because you can see with your eyes?"

"..."

Internally, he agrees, but outwardly, Kwang-ho doesn't respond. Knowing the type of people who visited the exhibit earlier, he finds his own thoughts too distasteful to voice.

Jeong-min smiles and speaks.

"Actually, I don't know Braille either. So, I asked Jeong-hoon before

Kwang-ho intensely despises artists who are overrated due to personal connections.

He loathes the golden towers built not on whirlwinds of emotion bursting from within, but rather on hobnobbing with businessmen, critics, and magazine editors over drinks and cigarettes.

"Art. Art isn't like this. It's about the shocking, terrifying, joyful, and sorrowful emotions that come from an artist's soul. It's created by a perspective that pierces through a twisted society. This child's play is not art!"

Jeong-min quietly waits, smiling, until the agitated Kwang-ho calms down. She patiently waits for his breathing to return to normal, then takes his arm and leads him towards a painting.

"Close your eyes."

"Let go. I know about paintings that blind people feel and understand."

"Just trust me this once."

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