The Mysterious Art Museum

Chapter 5 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

Mikael breathes a huge sigh of relief.

"Phew, that's a relief. Truly a relief."

Brunoff, watching from the side, sneers.

"There's no guarantee Sarah will like this guy's poster, and you're already relieved."

Mikael's expression hardens. Brunoff's point is right. But it's better to prove that we've made an effort rather than going empty-handed.

"Let's go anyway."

I follow Mikael and Mucha, who are led out by Mikael's hand.

The Renaissance Theatre is not far away, a very elegant building made of red bricks. The theatre is empty, as it's a late Christmas Eve night and the performance hasn't started yet.

I enter the auditorium with Mikael and Mucha.

A beautiful woman stands in the middle of the stage with brown flooring where the wood grain is alive.

A young and beautiful woman with a mix of brown and blonde hair.

The woman in the lavish dress seems to be rehearsing for the play, reciting her lines alone while staring into space.

"Decisions are just slaves to memory, Gaspard. Born fiercely, but lacking the perseverance to endure. None of us can be masters. But stay strong, as long as you can say this is the bottom, it's not the bottom yet."

It's my first time hearing a nightingale-like voice in reality. Sarah's voice is as beautiful and pleasant as the chirping of real birds.

'She's really beautiful.'

Of course, this is a dream, so it's probably the materialization of Sarah Bernhardt as I've seen in documents. She's likely more beautifully adorned than in reality.

Sarah Bernhardt.

A great actress who gained fame throughout Europe with her theater performances in the 1870s.

In the early days of film, she was an actress who appeared in several films, evaluated as the most famous female actress in Europe and the United States in the 19th century, known for her very dramatic performances and called a goddess.

I jumped down to the stage and followed Mucha, who explained the situation to Sarah and started sketching a simple portrait.

In fact, I came to know about her because of Alphonse Mucha. I could find Sarah's portraits in many parts of his artistic world.

Leaning my arms on the back of the front seat and resting my chin on my hand as usual, I thought, "So the poster he is going to draw now is for the play 'Gismonda.'"

Of course, what Mucha is drawing now is a simple portrait to be used for the base work of a poster, but it is the greatest fortune to be able to witness the birth of a work that will go down in history. Mucha spent about 30 minutes drawing Sarah's face from different angles three times, then packed up and stood up.

I couldn't understand what they were talking about, but after a brief exchange, Mucha came back towards the audience seats and passed by me. I slowly got up and followed him.

The empty night streets.

Time for everyone to be resting with their families before going to bed.

But Mucha's steps were quick.

Returning to the print shop, Brunoff, who had fallen asleep on duty, rubbed his eyes and asked, "Did you meet Sarah?"

"Yes, Mr. Manager."

"The autograph?"

"Haha, here."

Mucha tore out Sarah's autograph, which he had received at some point, from a notebook and handed it to Brunoff. Brunoff, beaming with joy, carefully stored the paper in a desk drawer, saying, "It's too late now. Go home today and do it tomorrow."

"There's no time."

"Look, can you draw a picture just by being rushed by time? Don't you need a flash of inspiration? The boss also, if he doesn't get inspiration, just plays for days. And then when he feels it, he completes a painting in just one day. That's a real artist."

I nodded in agreement with Brunoff's words. I felt the same.

I am a portrait painter, but that's just a means to earn a living.

What I really want to do is become a fine art or commercial artist. In fact, I am more inclined towards commercial art because of my financial situation. Anyway, I always draw when I return home.

It's a narrow basement one-room, but there's enough space to draw.

However, like Brunoff said, there are days when I don't know what to paint. On those days, I look for competitions. Competitions can be a stepping stone for amateur painters like me, so I often submit my work.

My skills are not bad, and I have won a few prizes, albeit small. In fact, the 5 million won deposit for my current one-room came from winning a poster competition hosted by a small company.

But if there's nothing challenging in the competitions, I spend the day watching TV or reading in bed.

It's a blessing if I can get out of the slump in a day, but it usually lasts several days. I don't have my own way to escape it yet. Maybe if I work harder, I'll develop my own know-how someday.

I suddenly wonder.

How does Alphonse Mucha, an artist that most would empathize with on this issue, escape it?

Mucha sits down with a smile.

"I'll take responsibility so that the shop won't have any problems since this is a personal commission. Go to sleep first. I'll take care of the shop."

Brunoff tried a few more times to dissuade him but eventually sighed and went to the back room to sleep.

In the quiet shop, Mucha, who had already started working, murmured softly, "An amateur waits for inspiration, but a pro just goes to work, Brunoff."

It was just a soft word.

But I felt as if his words were a sharp blade piercing my heart.

It sounded like a painful admonition hurled at me, who is always busy finding excuses.

THIS CHAPTER UPLOAD FIRST AT NOVELBIN.COM