Chapter 107 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

Chapter 107 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

"Really? He really got a job?"

After lunch, I called my mom in Korea and heard some unexpectedly good news.

-Yes, he got connected with a company that is running a pilot employment program for the disabled, based on his education from the school. Its really fortunate.

"How does he commute?"

-He works from home.

"Wow, that's really great. Whats his job?"

-Logistics site monitoring.

Huh? Logistics site monitoring, like for a delivery company? Can a visually impaired person do that? My brother isn't just severely visually impaired; he's completely blind.

Mom added more details.

-Theres a foreign company that employs visually impaired people using assistive technology devices like screen reading software and braille information terminals.

Oh, that's impressive. Seems like a company that does good work.

"Really? That's amazing. But when did he start training for that?"

-He had some training before, but he started again after your exhibition.VIsit n0(v)eLb(i)n.com for the best novel reading experience

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

Suddenly, I felt a lump in my throat. Tears seemed about to spill out.

-Jihun said he found more things he wanted to do after experiencing your paintings. It's all thanks to our second child.

My eyes welled up. I desperately held back tears to avoid crying in front of Mom.

Sensing her son's deep feelings, Mom made an excuse to end the call.

-Oh dear, look at me. The laundry is done. The dryer is beeping away. Lets talk again later, son?

"Yes, Ill call again, Mom."

After hanging up, I threw my phone on the sofa and buried my face in my knees.

I'm so happy, incredibly happy.

My brother has always been someone who can do most things by himself at home.

Of course, he never felt the need to do so, since Mom was always there, but if asked, he could do them.

Mom always worried about what would happen after she died.

She busied herself looking for vocational schools to create conditions for my brother's independence.

But the problem was that he lacked the will himself.

I sent a million words of encouragement in my heart, hoping they would reach my brother on the other side of the globe.

**

In the evening, the square I had visited late at night looked completely different.

The townspeople were out in the square, and the pink-hued sky illuminated them.

The once desolate square was now warm with people out for a walk or shopping.

There weren't many people, about thirty or so in sight. For the only square in town, that's very few, but to me, who had never seen more than five people at once since coming to this village, it seemed lively.

I was curious about how Uncle Augusto, who runs three stores at once, would handle this situation. But I soon chuckled.

"People at the fruit store pick their fruits, put them in bags, and then go to the restaurant to pay."

The butcher shop won't work that way. He has to cut the meat himself. But does he live alone? Usually, families help out in such situations. It must be exhausting to cook, cut meat, and sell fruits all by himself.

I found a nice spot to sit and observed the square, then looked up at the sky.

'The movement of light changes the space.'

I thought about it earlier, but the square at sunset looks drastically different from the square I had seen.

'Monet must have thought about this too. That's why he captured the movement of light as impressions.'

Many Impressionist painters did the same.

They stepped out of the indoors, packed their painting supplies in bags, took trains, and traveled to places a day's journey away to paint landscapes directly. Light changes endlessly from moment to moment. Since painting isn't something that comes out in just 1 or 2 minutes, it inevitably requires quick speed and the omission of details.

In fact, I'm confident in that area too.

On the day I first met Monica, I was sketching passersby quickly during a dull moment with no customers. I've practiced capturing the impression of my desired subjects in a short amount of time.

While watching the constantly changing sunset, I suddenly remembered the thought I had in the morning.

'So, can I continue to be happy?'

I don't think my current self is just chasing money. After all, art is produced from wealth.

Artists are people too. People need to eat and live, and that requires money.

Earning money is not inherently wrong.

However, speaking in terms of an artist's happiness, there will undoubtedly come a time when I feel disillusioned with my current actions.

I sat on the stone wall, crossed my legs, and rested my chin on my hand.

"Non-profitable paintings. There seems to be no better time than now to paint what I want."

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