The Mysterious Art Museum

Chapter 9 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

I hesitated for a while, then greeted him.

"My name is Ban Jeong-hoon."

"Van? Are you from the Netherlands?"

"No, no. I'm from South Korea."

"Where is that?"

Oh, right, there's no such country as South Korea in 1939. It's the late period of the Japanese colonial era. The late period of Joseon, when they were under endless pressure from Japan, who had a similar policy of ethnic extermination as the Nazis.

Then it makes sense that the old man doesn't know what South Korea is.

"Well, it's a very far away country."

"How long does it take by boat from Prague?"

Gulp, it would take about a month by boat, grandpa.

Mucha continued to talk as if he was entertaining a guest at his home.

"If you're not from the underworld, I guess you're probably from the East, judging by your black hair."

"Do you know anything about the East?"

Mucha smiled and said.

"When I was studying in Paris, I studied the paintings of Japan that came to Europe through the opening of Japan's culture. Actually, they weren't proper paintings, they were just pictures printed on the wrapping paper of Japanese ceramics."

"Oh."

It wasn't because Japan's paintings were outstanding, but because Japan had opened up early and introduced their culture to the Western world, the Parisian painters were shocked by the exotic paintings of the East.

This is a historical fact, and there are many European painters who were influenced by the Japanese traditional painting of the Edo period, ukiyo-e ().

Mucha straightened his posture and said.

"I've been very rude. I didn't even introduce myself."

I waved my hand and said.

"No, I already know who you are."

"............"

Mucha nodded his head, looking at me. He was a national hero of Czechoslovakia, who was so famous that it wouldn't be strange for a stranger to know him.

There was a brief awkward silence, and Mucha opened his mouth again.

"Cough, cough. What do you do?"

"............"

His coughing sound is not good. He will lose consciousness in a few days.

"I'm a painter... well, more like an aspiring one."

Mucha seemed interested and asked quickly.

"Are you still a student?"

"I graduated from college."

You look young.

Asians tend to look younger, haha.

I smiled awkwardly at him.

The grandfather, with a kindly twinkle in his eyes. His expression alone, known for his good nature, makes one feel warm-hearted.

Perhaps thats why? I wanted to tell him how the words I heard in my dream last night, watching his younger self, resonated with me.

Im older than I look. Im twenty-six this year.

I would actually be twenty-eight, but in June 2023, South Korea adopted the Western age calculation method, making me two years younger. freeweb(n)ovel

Mucha asked with a slightly surprised look.

You seem very young, I thought you were a teenager.

Haha, thats how it is with us Koreans. Anyway, Ive thought about giving up because I havent achieved anything significant at this age, even considered quitting painting, which felt like mechanical homework.

Mucha looked at me intently and then asked.

Do you still have those doubts?

I smiled and shook my head.

No.

Mucha smiled faintly.

Thats good to hear.

Actually, its thanks to you.

Really?

Mucha looked at me, puzzled. I smiled and said.

Your younger days prevented me from giving up.

Mucha stared at me silently, then nodded.

You seem to know a lot about me.

I know you saw the light at thirty-four, and that you dedicated your youth and worked hard for that light.

Haha... Thats an exaggeration.

Not at all.

Who could belittle you? You are Alphonse Mucha.

He looked at me, then smiled and asked.

Then why are you here?

This should have been the first question in a normal conversation, but its only being asked now.

I didnt know how to explain, just scratched my head, laughed, and told the truth.

Actually, Im dreaming right now.

...?

I think I might be meeting you in a dream.

At first, Mucha looked at me, not understanding, then realizing he was in bed, fell silent in thought.

Then this could be your dream and mine at the same time.

Is that how it works? Well, it could be. Its easier to explain that way. No use wasting time explaining it.

Perhaps it is.

Hearing my answer, Mucha fell silent, deep in thought.

What could he be thinking? What does a dream at the moment of death mean to him? What does he want to do in the last moments of his life?

Then, Muchas gaze fell on the floor to my right.

I smiled.

It was because of the unfinished painting there. Even in the moment of death, the artist in him yearned to paint during these brief moments of peace.

I asked softly.

Shall I bring it to you?

Mucha, as if caught with his inner thoughts, startled slightly, then smiled.

Bring the easel, palette, paints, and a chair too, please.

Hmm, even in a dream, painting while sitting in a chair ten days before dying seems tough. He could just sit on the bed.

I did as he asked, brought the unfinished painting and materials, and placed them next to the bed. I set up the easel, placed the chair in front, and arranged the water, paints, palette, and brushes within easy reach.

Its ready.

I stepped back and said. Mucha gestured with his eyes and said.

Then, please sit down.

...?

This painting. Would you complete it for me? As you can see, even in a dream, Im not free from pain.

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