The Mysterious Art Museum

Chapter 3 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

There are no staff. I want to leave my luggage, but I can't.

Instead of staff, there is a kiosk at the ticket sales booth. Well, it doesn't matter. I'm not looking my best, so I prefer unmanned sales than meeting people right now.

I used cash instead of a credit card to print my ticket and then looked for the exhibition entrance.

It seems the exhibition is underground.

I followed the arrows downstairs. As I descended, I could faintly hear the sound of a violin.

'Antonn Dvok.'

A representative musician of Czech.

Even those uninterested in classical music would know him for his famous Symphony No.9 'From the New World'.

'Requiem, op. 89.'

A requiem for the dead.

Not as famous as Mozart's, but still an excellent piece of music to honor a legendary deceased painter.

Of course, music by Beethoven, Schumann, or Brahms, beloved by Koreans, would also be nice, but it seems inappropriate to play music by German composers at Mucha's exhibition, especially since Mucha suffered cruel torture at the hands of the Nazis and later died from worsening pneumonia symptoms.

They might not have a direct relation to World War II?

Think again. It's like playing traditional Japanese songs from the Edo period in a museum dedicated to Kim Gu. Even if the music is from people unrelated to the war, there are other choices that would be more appropriate.

I entered the dimly lit hallway, enjoying the gentle music, and looked for a staff member near the slightly illuminated door I presumed to be the entrance to the exhibition. However, no one was in sight.

"The place must be new, it's a bit disorganized."

Did I buy a ticket for nothing? It seems I could have entered without any problems. I sighed, looking at my ticket.

"But it wouldn't be polite to see an exhibition of a legendary painter for free."

Whether there's a ticket checker or not, it's a matter of conscience.

Carefully opening the door, I was struck by a sudden change. Was it the air? The music, which sounded very faint outside, now resonated powerfully.

Overwhelmed, I stood at the entrance to the exhibition hall.

"Wow."

Is this digital media art?

It's on a completely different scale from what I had heard. Rumors had it that the exhibition consisted of beautiful pictures displayed on 100-inch LCD screens, with movements added for emotional impact, but what I saw was entirely different.

A fusion of visual and auditory art.

The first thing upon opening the door was a staircase going down.

The basement must have high ceilings. I stood at the door, unable to descend the stairs, my eyes delighted by the huge paintings.

Ceiling, floor, walls. Every visible space was adorned with beautiful paintings by Alphonse Mucha. Furthermore, they changed over time or with the progression of the music, sometimes transforming into different images, patterns shifting, flowers blooming, and vines growing.

I stood there, transfixed by this new feeling of awe.

It took me five minutes to come back to my senses.

Not because of time, though.

Digital media art usually consists of 20 to 30 minute programs that repeat.

Once a program ends, there's about a 5-minute break before it starts again from the beginning.

It seems I entered about 5 minutes before the end of a program.

After watching the credits screen that showed the names of the foreigners who planned this exhibition, I finally came to my senses, washed my face, and smiled contentedly.

"I did well coming here."

Indeed, I did. I was well aware of such an art form, but I didn't know that a digital media exhibition could be this moving, unlike the original paintings.

Indeed, one must see and experience much in life.

It was only then that I truly saw the interior of the art gallery.

As the paintings that adorned every space disappeared, the desolate appearance of a warehouse-like building was revealed. Of course, the gloominess is offset by the dimly lit interior and the beautiful, soft lights that shine prettily.

"Is there no one else here?"New novel chapt𝒆rs are published on novel(b)in(.)com

Hmm, well. I passed by here yesterday too but didn't notice the existence of this gallery. It seems it opened for the first time today. Exhibitions that don't put up early bird tickets on internet ticket sites are usually like this.

I walked on the black floor and sat on the square rock sofa in the center, where I could best enjoy the festival of lights spreading out in 360 degrees.

I placed my easel, chair, and a tool bag next to the rock sofa.

With my body feeling lighter, I slightly bent my waist, rested my elbows on my thighs, propped my chin, and settled in to enjoy the next program from the start, staring at the empty wall.

Waiting without doing anything, I got lost in my thoughts.

When I'm always immersed in thoughts alone, I think of my dad.

I quietly closed my eyes and remembered the last memory with my dad.

That day was when my dad returned home after leaving for 8 months.

The port where the long-distance fishing boat docked was very far from our house, so I couldn't go to meet dad.

I sat on a rock below the hill leading to our house, drawing pictures on the back of a used calendar that mom had torn up while waiting.

Initially, I drew pictures while sitting cross-legged, but it got uncomfortable, so I just lay down on the ground and drew.

I didn't think about what to draw or how to draw. I just drew anything my hand felt like doing.

I had drawn dad's face, mom's face, and my brother's face to the point of boredom. So, I turned my eyes to the surroundings and started drawing trees, flowers, small houses, and mountains.

At some point, when I was so engrossed in my doodling that I forgot I was there to wait for dad, a familiar voice called out.

'Our second child! Why are you lying down on the ground?'

I sprang up from my spot as if on a spring and ran towards the direction of the voice.

'Dad!!!!!'

'Haha! Look at this guy. Grown so tall in just 8 months. Let me give you a hug, whoa! You're heavy.'

Dad lifted me up in a hug.

I rubbed my face against dad's prickly stubbled cheek.

It wasn't exactly a pleasant smell, but it felt like I was going to fly because I hadn't smelled dad in so long.