Chapter 97 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

Chapter 97 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

Artists of this era considered sponsorship from businessmen as natural. Sometimes, wealthy individuals were seen as parasites for supporting artists, and there were times when artists thought of themselves as parasites, living off their money. But how grateful a thing it is, whether you want to admit it or not, art is born from capital. I wasn't born into a family like Henri's, so receiving support from a capitalist is only natural.

Henri looked at me in silence and asked, "So, in all those moments, was your friend by your side even when you climbed out of the abyss and pursued the path of success?"

I smiled and shrugged.

"Successfully, I hired that friend under me. It's more of a vertical relationship than a horizontal one, to be honest."

""

Henri fell into thought.

I hoped earnestly for him to turn his thoughts around, waiting for his idealism to end.

Henri, shaking his eyebrows, biting his lips, pondered for a few minutes before extending his hand.

"Do you have a pen?"

Hmm?

There are no pens in the hospital.

Ah, right, this is the era when sharp-nibbed fountain pens were used. It makes sense that pens, which could be used for self-harm, aren't allowed here.

Henri misunderstood my hesitation as I fumbled in my pocket for a pen and chuckled.

Dont worry. I wont do anything like self-harm. My body is too frail for a small pen to do any harm, but I just want to get out of here soon. I have no desire to die.

It's not because of hesitation, Henri.

Fortunately, theres a pen in my pocket. I hope it's not a ballpoint pen.

Relieved to find a 4B pencil instead, I handed it to him.

Here.

Henri, puzzled by the pencil I offered, asked,

Is this a charcoal pencil?

No, its a black lead pencil.

A black lead pencil made like this? It looks of very high quality.

Yes, its a product of Joseon. It will be exported to Europe someday.

A friend who shared my soul, Van Gogh, once said something that comes to mind.

Van Gogh, wow.

Every time Henri mentions Van Gogh, Im always surprised.

Henri opens his mouth as he looks at the darkening night sky.

The darkest night will end, and the sun will rise.

Such an obvious statement it almost feels empty, but knowing the life of the one who said it, I think of the word 'hope' he clung to until the end and nod.

To protect ones dreams is a duty in life. The sun will rise in your sky too.

I firmly hold Henris small hand.

What matters is to live feeling moved, loving, hoping, and being stirred, Henri. Become a person before becoming an artist. To be a person, you need to be among people. Trust, be betrayed, be disappointed, and regain hope again - thats life.

Henri looks at me quietly and asks,

Can I do it?

I smile broadly and nod.

Just like all great artists were amateurs at first, you're just an amateur in relationships. But with patience and effort, youll become a pro, right?

Finally, Henri clasps my hand back, smiling.

Nature, art, and my friend Ban. Im very happy to have met all three. Yes, like you are here for me, I hope someone will reach out. Thank you, thank you.

Henri, whom I might never meet again.

During the remaining visiting time, we shared a very long conversation.

I left without being able to promise another meeting, but thats okay. I delivered his letter to his friend's house, and seeing his friend rush out after reading it, hurriedly running somewhere, reassured me.

He must be busy trying to find a way to get Henri out.

And eventually, by all means necessary, they will manage to get Henri out. That's history.

With a light heart, I look up at the cloud-covered sky of Paris in 1899 and smile, delighted that even a trivial person like me could offer a slight help to a master in history.

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