Chapter 87 of 100

Chapter 87

8 min read2,024 words

087. A Certain Artist's Inspiration (1)

Between the long and intricately lined skyscrapers, my steps draw out a pristine architectural marvel.

It was the New York Guggenheim Museum, where Neil Hauser, known as a prodigy in the art world, was holding a solo exhibition.

Of course, it wasn't using the entire large building. The largest 104th exhibition hall on the first floor was where his works were displayed.

As I entered the museum, I whistled in amazement.

While the exterior was impressive enough, the inside was nothing short of majestic, even mystical.

Especially, the light pouring from the ceiling explained and justified the unique exterior.

A justified form.

‘A performer must be able to explain why they played a certain way. A part played without reason ultimately has no meaning. There shouldn't be such a part in music, as it ruins the entire piece. It's like shoddy construction.’

I recalled Ludwig's emphasis on the structure of music as I looked up at the ceiling and nodded.

And the crowd passing by me.

‘There are so many people...’

Even though I chose a time when there would be the fewest people, it was packed from the ticket counter.

I couldn't keep admiring the museum forever, so I quickly joined the line. The staff, noticing my hat and mask, gave me a suspicious look as they sold me a ticket.

‘104, 104...’

With the catalog in hand, I began my tour.

As I approached the location marked in red on the map,

the crowd was bustling, as if everyone who had been in line had come here.

This was a testament to Neil Hauser's fame, known as the 'new wind in the art world.'

Finally, after matching my pace with the people in front of me, I entered a long hall.

Still, will it continue at this pace?

It was a situation where I had to move slowly, like when you're driving and the car in front is going too slow.

‘What is the car in front doing?!’

That's me right now.

It's a painting. Static and unmoving.

Even if I fully appreciate it, it shouldn't take more than a few minutes.

But what are people looking for as they stand in front of the paintings?

Seeing people standing casually, examining the works as if they were playing a game of 'find the hidden picture' made me curious.

After just a few steps, which felt like a long five minutes,

I finally faced Neil Hauser's painting.

“...”

A canvas larger than me.

A vivid red light shining through the pitch-black background.

The sky just before dawn. The scene. The painting...

No, the moment.

Was right in front of me.

The painting, as a painting, was just still.

There was no movement at all. Yet, my gaze flowed, and my thoughts followed.

Thus, it was never static. It even gave the illusion that the painting was alive and breathing.

It felt like it would soon rise and turn into a bright day.

The shivers and anticipation of waiting for the sunrise.

And the fleeting moment that should have passed in an instant.

Captured on the canvas, it was eternal.

My mind was completely taken over.

‘This is why...’

I understood the theme of the exhibition, written on the first page of the catalog.

At the same time, I understood this slow procession.

‘First...’

I need to call my mom.

I'll probably be late again today.

To accept all this pouring inspiration.

As soon as I arrived at the hotel, I briefly checked in and called my mom to report my survival (?).

Then, I went up one more floor to the lounge.

The sun was setting beyond the long glass windows. The scene reminded me of the painting I had just seen. Although it was the present, the sensations on my skin felt more diverse, as if they were from the painting.

Thinking it was quite a strange feeling, I entered and saw Vice President Baek Sun-hwa sitting by the window, looking at the sunset with a relaxed expression.

She had already finished her coffee, having arrived early.

“You're here? Let's order food first.”

“Are you waiting for me?”

“No, not at all. I was about to miss my meal, but thanks to you, I can eat.”

“That's good. Has the chairman had dinner yet?”

“No. He wasn't feeling well this morning. He's sleeping now, and Professor Jang and Director Park are with him.”

“...”

Instantly, my facial muscles tightened.

I couldn't help but look serious upon hearing the news.

PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder)?

I know how this illness can make a person even sicker. I know how it can strangle a person's neck pointlessly.

My throat tightened, and breathing became difficult.

But don't I know about a healthy future?

Lately, I've been thinking that even that can't be certain. The future is changing bit by bit.

If it weren't for me, would Chairman Baek Han-gil have come all the way to America?

If these variables keep appearing, the future I know might disappear.

“Don't be so serious. Professor Jang said there's no need to worry.”

“Ah, yes...”

Vice President Baek Sun-hwa smiled. A bittersweet and worried expression for her father.

And a complex, subtle expression of satisfaction and gratitude when she looked at me.

“You're a remarkable kid.”

“Am I?”

“Your father thinks so too. He once asked if there were any twists in your life.”

“He still asks that sometimes.”

“Hehe, does he?”

I nodded, forcing a smile.

“Anyway, what did you want to talk about?”

“The special performance we planned to organize when we return to Korea.”

“Yes, that. It seems like it will proceed quickly. You've already topped the classical charts in both Korea and the U.S., haven't you?”

“But I thought it might be good to invite a conductor for the performance.”

“Is there any problem with that? If you need one. We can contact domestic conductors...”

“I've already found a conductor.”

“Really? You did?”

Vice President Baek Sun-hwa's expression changed suddenly as she asked.

“Don't tell me... Pavel... No, what am I saying? He's the head of the Beinoff Symphony.”

“No, it's not him.”

“Not him? That's natural...”

“It's Albert August.”

“Albert...”

Her voice trailed off.

Unlike me, who only had a shallow knowledge of modern classical music from Professor Yun's class and my internet searches, Vice President Baek Sun-hwa would know more from a cultural perspective. So, she must have recognized the name.

Sure enough, she muttered.

“The New York Phil...”

Thinking it was unbelievable, she trailed off, so I smiled and answered.

“Yes, him.”

...

‘What is this?’

Vice President Baek Sun-hwa looked at me with a slightly uncomfortable expression.

The food arrived just in time, breaking the tension.

The meal began naturally.

After eating a roll of pasta, Vice President Baek Sun-hwa asked.

“Is that all?”

“From their side... it seems so.”

Since Albert said it was fine, that must be the case.

“So, we just need to agree?”

“Yes.”

“Haha... You've done what even big entertainment companies couldn't. Albert's visit to Korea is a huge deal. Even if he comes alone, it will be a big event. The public will love it even more. How proud Korean performers will be to be conducted by him. Alright. We'll discuss it and contact the New York Phil.”

“Yes. And I actually went to see Neil Hauser's exhibition today.”

“You did? All the way to the Guggenheim Museum?”

“I thought it wouldn't be the same if I only saw it online.”

Like how a live performance differs from a recording. I thought the same might apply to paintings, and the result was as expected. I would have regretted not going.

“So, seeing it in person... it was definitely different. The theme of light and darkness resonated much more.”

“You did well. We're very grateful for your attention to the selection.”

“But, does it have to be a selection?”

“Hmm?”

I placed the crumpled catalog in front of her.

“...?”

As she flipped to the first page, numerous musical notes appeared.

Looking at me as if to ask what this was, I said.

“I want to compose, not just select.”

The next day.

I boarded the flight to Korea as scheduled.

Chairman Baek Han-gil decided to stay in New York for a few more days of rest, and Vice President Baek Sun-hwa still had many things to discuss with Neil Hauser's agency.

There were also things to discuss with Albert's side.

Anyway.

‘Goodbye here too.’

Leaving American soil. It's a fascinating country. When I heard about their founding as Brinner, I didn't think much of it.

But it has changed so much.

Thinking like a witness to history, I leaned back in my seat. It was definitely comfortable, even more so than the business class I took on the way there.

First-class.

Even though domestic airlines gave me a two-year business class free pass as a prize for winning the competition, I ended up here thanks to Royal Classic's consideration.

They said it would be more private because many people would recognize me.

After a brief moment of curiosity, my mom, who seemed tired, soon fell asleep. I smiled and looked out the window again.

We had risen so high that the American land was barely visible.

Watching the plane pierce through the clouds, I thought.

‘The next time I fly...’

I will head to a place that feels like my second hometown.

Just thinking about it makes my heart race.

The thought of 'walking' there makes me emotional, and memories flood my mind like a panorama.

A place where I experienced terrifying pain and received all the comfort and music.

And.

A place where stories I don't remember or don't know are still sleeping.

Europe.

I closed my eyes.

'First, I'll concretize the musical ideas that came to mind in the catalog.'

Thinking about what I needed to do until that day.

...Thanks to the seat, the long flight felt light.

Thanks to the airport's consideration, I exited through the VIP lane and left the airport more quickly.

Of course, the next part was a struggle with the reporters and scheduled interviews.

And interviews, and interviews, and interviews...

It felt like there was a law of total fatigue, as the schedule piled up. Of course, I could have skipped it, but I couldn't ignore the album I had released.

They are like my children. Even though I have no children after living two lives, it doesn't feel right to say that, but anyway.

Every word I said was reported in the news and discussed by people.

Many things were already changing.

“...”

A sun rising from the darkness.

A lightning bolt piercing through thick clouds.

A beam of light from a lighthouse seen from the deep, dark sea.

The paintings, with their rough texture as if paint had been slapped on, appeared on my phone screen.

I scratched my nose as I examined the works.

The feelings I had when I saw them in person were still vivid, and the sensations came back to life.

I picked up a pencil and began writing the score on the sheet music I had laid out. Numerous instruments appeared in my mind, playing together to form a single piece.

Suddenly, a shadow fell behind me.

“It's just like our hearts. Thick clouds...”

It was Yang Han-gil, but his voice was unusually hoarse.

I turned my head.

“What's up, all of a sudden?”

“It's almost vacation.”

“So? Shouldn't you be happy?”

“Just... feels strange.”

I wondered if something had happened in his class. I nodded at Chae Yi-yeon, who was sitting in front of me, looking at the paintings, the score, and me alternately. She shook her head.

“...What is it?”

“What do you mean?”

Lee Ho-ik, who was sitting next to me, said casually.

“We're seniors now.”