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Chapter 23: Learning Light
TL: Enuma ID
Sunday morning.
Lee Jun sat in front of the size 15 canvas.
White gesso. A broad surface with nothing painted on it yet.
His hands itched.
Ẇе̌ b̌ n̆ o ṽе̇ l̊ E n̄ŭ m а
He wanted to squeeze paint onto the palette, pick up a brush, and lay down the first underpainting.
But there was a problem.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
The room was cramped.
Six canvases propped against the wall were eating up the space.
The Starry Night, Water Lilies, Alley, Aquarium, Mountain with Negative Space, and the size 6 Sky.
Put the size 15 down on the floor on top of all that, and there'd be no room left to stand.
Е n ŭm̈_а
Maybe he could just stand the size 15 upright and paint.
He tried it. With no easel, it had to lean against the wall.
If the canvas leans, the paint runs. Oil paint goes on thick, after all.
One wrong move and the canvas could topple over. Then it's all over.
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[......It's cramped.]
The Shadow looked stumped too.
Еn̊ǔ_m̂ а
[A size 15 in this room is hopeless. There's no space to set the canvas.
If the size 6 paintings were out of the way.......]
Park Sang-hoon had said he would come take them sometime in the coming week.
Until then, he had to wait.
Lee Jun propped the canvas back against the wall and sighed.
If he could have, he would have dragged the bed right out of the room.
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"Jun, come eat."
His aunt's voice carried in.
The table was set in the living room.
Soybean paste soup. Rolled omelet. Kimchi.
There was one more side dish than usual. Sausages.
So-young watched Lee Jun as she scooped the rice.
Wе̃ b̌n̄ о v̈ él Е n̈u ḿ а̀
"Auntie's off today."
"Mm."
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"It's been a while, huh? Where should we go?"
It had been a while. A Sunday when his aunt wasn't being chased by a deadline.
With Ji-su noona taking Lee Jun out on Tuesdays and Thursdays, the load on his aunt had lightened.
Ji-su took him to his Saturday lessons too. Kim Yo-han seonsaengnim had apparently even set his aunt up with an assistant.
W é b̊ñ о̀ v е́l .Е̃ nũ m а̌
"Let's go out and have some fun today, you and Auntie."
Today was a day off she owed to all of that.
But Lee Jun's face didn't brighten.
"I want to paint, though."
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"You can't paint in your room right now, can you? I heard you huffing over it earlier."
Lee Jun didn't answer. She'd hit the mark.
W̄ ӗb nö v е̇l̊ Е́n ŭ m̃ a
"They're taking the paintings in a few days, right? Once you have the space, you can start properly. Today, let's go out and have fun. Okay?"
[She's right. Your teacher said the same thing. Go outside and look at the world.]
The Shadow chimed in from the side.
It was what Kim Yo-han had said. Van Gogh went out and saw it, and that was why he could paint it.
Lee Jun thought it over as he lifted a spoonful of rice.
Painting on the size 15 right now was difficult.
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But if there was something he could do while he waited.
"Where are we going?"
"The Leeum Museum."
So-young said with a smile.
"Auntie's been wanting to take you there for ages. They have so many really good paintings."
[Leeum?]
Е̂ n̆.ûm̈ ӑ.ǐ d̃
The Shadow's ears perked up.
"Real paintings?"
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"Of course. They've got oil paintings, sculptures, and more. There's so much to see. Auntie guarantees it."
The reproductions at BEXCO came to mind. Those had been fakes.
Even so, they'd been incredible.
The Sehan Museum had been the real thing. Original oil paintings by Korean painters.
Еn u m̃а̀
That had been incredible too. Real paintings really were better.
They said Leeum was bigger than Sehan.
What kind of paintings would be there?
[Let's go.]
Baca cerita ini hanya di situs resmi Enuma.id!
Anticipation ran through the Shadow's voice.
Lee Jun nodded too.
Еn u̇m ӓ. іd
*
Hannam-dong.
The Leeum Museum stood on a hill.
It was bigger than the Sehan Museum. The very scale of the building was different.
A building of concrete and glass and metal.
Even the shape of the building was like a painting. Straight lines and curves, woven together.
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At the entrance, So-young bought the tickets.
The contemporary art collection. Free for children.
They went inside.
It was vast.
A different scale from the Sehan Museum altogether.
The ceilings were high. The walls were white. The lighting was beautiful.
Ӗn̊um̄ ä. їd.
The air was cool. The temperature was being controlled.
Lee Jun remembered what Park Sang-hoon had said. Temperature and humidity control.
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A museum was a place that managed even the air, all for the paintings.
The first room.
Auguste Rodin, 'The Burghers of Calais'.
A bronze sculpture. Life-sized.
Ẁ еb̃n̆о v el̃ Е̇ n̂u̇.m̆ а
Six figures stood there. Ropes around their necks.
Lee Jun stopped in front of the sculpture.
It wasn't a painting. It was three-dimensional. Walk around it, and there was a back.
From the front, anguished faces. From the side, trembling hands. From behind, bowed backs.
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In a daze, mouth hanging open, Lee Jun circled the sculpture once. Slowly.
They were the same figures, yet their shapes changed with every angle. When the light caught a different plane, the expressions changed.
W е̂bn оv̂ е̂ ĺ Еň u m̃а
In a painting, light came from only one direction.
In a sculpture, light came from every side.
"What's this?"
Lee Jun asked So-young.
"It's a sculpture. Art made in three dimensions. This one's by a French sculptor named Auguste Rodin."
Lee Jun studied the sculpture once more.
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Light was sliding over the bronze surface.
The value steps Kim Yo-han had taught him came to mind. The gradations between the bright planes and the dark.
On a sculpture, those steps formed by themselves. Light shaped the chiaroscuro directly.
In a painting, that has to be built with paint.
"It's amazing."
Lee Jun said.
Ẅӗbn о v́ ěl_ Ӗn ù ṁ a
It was his honest impression.
[.......]
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The Shadow's reaction was hard to read.
It said nothing for a long while.
[......It is. It's a great work.]
That was all it managed.
W ê b̃ ñô ṽе́l̀ Е̌n̊ um a
But its voice was uneasy. None of its usual excitement.
[But this is bronze. Poured into a mold and cast.]
Lee Jun didn't follow.
"What does 'cast' mean?"
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[What this man made was clay.
He shaped it in clay first, then took a plaster mold from that clay.
Wе̌b̄n о v е̇ l̇ Е n.ǔ m а̂
Then, at the end, molten bronze was poured into the mold to make this.
What the sculptor's hands actually touched was the clay, not this bronze.]
Lee Jun looked at the sculpture again. The surface was hard and smooth.
This was bronze. But what the sculptor had made with his hands was clay.
Lee Jun tilted his head.
[And since the mold exists, the same thing can be made again.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
There are more than ten of these in the world, all exactly the same.]
"Ten of them?"
[Cast from the same mold. Every one identical.]
Lee Jun couldn't understand.
There were ten of the exact same thing? Wasn't that even better?
[This isn't sculpture.]
Е́n̄ u m а
The Shadow's voice dropped low.
[Sculpture is carving the stone with your own hands.
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With a chisel. With a hammer.
One cut, and there's no taking it back. One mistake, and it's over. It can't be made again.
It's drawing the one and only thing of its kind out of the stone. That's real sculpture.]
There was heat in its voice.
Ё n̊ ùm̂ а̃
It was usually more easygoing when it talked about paintings.
Now it sounded more desperate. More personal.
[Pouring it into a mold and stamping it out is...... cheating.]
Lee Jun looked at the Shadow.
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Two white eyes were glaring at the bronze.
It wasn't anger. The expression was more complicated than that.
Ẅ eb̆ n о ve l̈ Ĕ n ŭmӓ
The expression of someone forced to admit something they don't want to admit.
[......It's still impressive, though. Even cast.]
The Shadow added in a small voice.
As if it resented having to concede the point.
Lee Jun nodded and walked on to the next room.
It was the first time the Shadow had reacted to a sculpture like this.
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There seemed to be some story behind it, but Lee Jun didn't ask.
The next room.
Giacometti. 'Tall Woman III'.
A slender bronze woman stood there.
She was far taller than Lee Jun.
But her body was thin. Like a matchstick.
Еńu m а . і́ d̈
Her arms were long. Her legs were long. Her torso was narrow.
The proportions were wrong. Nothing like a real person.
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And yet she stood.
That thin, elongated body stood there, enduring something.
[This is.......]
The Shadow broke off.
W ёbn о̆ v́_el̄ Ѐ n üm a
[The proportions are wrong. Anatomically, completely wrong.
But it's right. For this man, these are the right proportions.]
This was the usual Shadow.
The usual excited Shadow. Somehow, Lee Jun felt relieved.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
[Remember what your teacher said yesterday? Know the framework, but choose your own way.
This man knew, and he made it like this anyway.]
Ёn u m̈ а̂
Lee Jun looked up at the slender woman.
The facial proportions Kim Yo-han had taught him. An oval with a cross. The nose in the lower half. One eye's width between the eyes.
This sculpture ignored every one of those proportions.
But it was alive.
If anything, the wrong proportions felt more real.
The Conté sketch Lee Jun had drawn had had its proportions wrong too. The neck long, the nose a single line.
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But the person in it had been alive.
It was the same thing.
Knowing the basics, and working in one's own way on top of them.
Lee Jun stood before the Giacometti for a long time.
They ate lunch at a restaurant near the museum.
His aunt ordered him a pork cutlet.
Ẃ ӗ_b ńо̆ v ẽl̆ E ṅ um̄ а̃
Even as Lee Jun cut into it, his head was full of the sculptures.
Rodin's light. Giacometti's proportions.
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Sculpture was different from painting, but some things ran through both.
Lee Jun's world had grown wider.
"Is it good?"
"Yeah."
Ẃ е b̄nоv̊ ĕl Е ñ ŭ m ӓ
"Want some more sauce for your cutlet?"
"No."
He half considered drawing with the cutlet sauce and his fork, but now wasn't the time.
Lee Jun finished his food in no time. There were still rooms he hadn't seen.
Baca cerita ini hanya di situs resmi Enuma.id!
So-young watched him and smiled. There were only two occasions when this child ate fast.
When he wanted to paint. And when he wanted to look at paintings.
Е̇ n̂um а̄ . і̆d̂
"When you're done, let's see the second floor too. There's even more up there."
Lee Jun nodded.
*
After lunch.
They went back into the museum.
The M2 galleries. The contemporary art collection.
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Every room they entered opened onto a different world.
Sol LeWitt's white modular sculpture.
Grid forms suspended from the ceiling.
Geometric shapes repeated. The same form, but the combinations differed, so it looked different.
[Repeating the same thing to make something different. Like how you drew the swirl dozens of times.]
The Shadow said. Lee Jun nodded.
E ṅ_ũ m̂ã..і ḋ
He didn't quite understand it, but it was cool.
Another room held a video work. Something was moving on a screen.
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It wasn't a painting. It resembled the tablet screen his aunt worked on, yet it wasn't that either.
"Is this art too?"
"Yep. It's called media art. Art made with video."
It was intriguing, but he didn't watch for long.
Еn̄ǔ mа
It felt different from the paintings Lee Jun made.
[This one's outside my domain.]
The Shadow quickly lost interest too.
Lee Jun moved through the rooms, looking for oil paintings.
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Paintings with real paint on them.
The next room.
Е̊ ǹ ů m а̃ . іd́
That was where he stopped.
There was a painting that took up an entire wall.
The size struck him first.
It stood far taller than Lee Jun. It was wider than his outstretched arms.
Inside it, there was nothing.
No objects. No forms.
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No people, no trees, no buildings, no sky.
There was only color.
A dark red covered the lower part of the canvas.
Above it lay a darker color. A brown that was nearly black.
The border between the two colors wasn't sharp. They met as if seeping into each other.
That was all.
W e b nоv̄е̄ l̀. Е n̈ù m а̃
Lee Jun stood in front of it.
And couldn't move.
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[.......]
The Shadow froze too.
When he'd seen abstract paintings at the Sehan Museum, Lee Jun hadn't understood them.
He'd felt their warmth, but he hadn't understood.
Ẃ ěb nо v el̀ E̊ṅu m̈ а̊
This time was different.
He wasn't looking at it, he was being pulled into it.
A dark red. But it wasn't a single red.
He stepped closer. Close enough for his nose to almost touch it.
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Paint lay on the surface.
Not brush marks. The paint had soaked in.
Е̌ n̆ûḿa
Thin layers were stacked one over another.
One layer, two layers, three layers, four layers.
Between those layers, the colors underneath showed through.
Beneath the red, there was orange.
Beneath the orange, there was yellow.
Beneath the yellow, there was red again.
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The colors were stacked layer upon layer.
So the red on the surface wasn't simply red.
It was glowing from within. The colors of the layers below rising to the top.
Lee Jun's breath stopped.
What Kim Yo-han had taught him yesterday.
The value scale. Five boxes. Dividing evenly from light to dark.
Ēn̄ù.m̌а .id́
That was what this painting was doing.
Only it wasn't the values of a pencil, but the values of color.
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Inside the red were five steps.
No, not five steps. Dozens of steps.
Countless steps were stacked in thin layers.
[This is.......]
Еñu̇m â
The Shadow started to speak and stopped.
Started again and stopped again.
[This is, depth made from color.]
Barely that one line.
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[Your Aquarium made depth with the thickness of the paint.
Your Mountain with Negative Space made depth by not painting.
Еn ŭm â. ї d
This man is making depth with layers of color.
He stacked red upon red, and made space inside the red.]
Lee Jun took a step back.
Up close, he could see the layers of paint.
When he stepped back, the layers disappeared, and the color appeared.
The color was breathing.
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Something was rising from inside.
It was light.
This painting didn't shine because light fell on it.
It was giving off light from within.
The bright colors of the lower layers were pushing up through the dark colors above.
That was why this dark red wasn't dark.
Е n̄ù mа. і̀ d̆
Lee Jun's eyelids trembled.
He remembered the night he'd collapsed with a fever.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
The enormous sky he'd seen in his dream. The swirls. The stars.
That sky had been glowing from within.
This painting was the same.
It was glowing from within.
Ën̈ u m̃а.ï ď
Only the method was different.
Van Gogh stacked light with thick brushstrokes.
This man laid down thin colors, layer upon layer, and buried the light.
The buried light was rising.
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Lee Jun sank to the floor.
Just as he had in front of the Monet reproduction at BEXCO.
Ёn̊ u_m а̌
But this was different from then.
Back then, it had been the pure wonder of a child who knew nothing.
Now, it was catharsis that came on top of understanding the painting.
"Auntie."
His voice trembled.
"This painting."
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So-young read the label on the wall beside the work.
"Mark Rothko. 'Untitled', 1962."
"What's it painted with?"
"Hold on. Auntie will look it up online.
Hmm, it says this is an oil painting too. Oil on canvas.
Whoa! It says his paintings go for tens of billions of won apiece too. Insanely expensive, right?"
Ёn ũ m ӑ
Oil paint.
The same paint as mine. The same canvas as mine.
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Lee Jun looked at the painting again.
This man had done this with oil paint.
With the same paint Lee Jun used.
The same tools could make something this different.
È nu ḿа_.і̄d́
[This man didn't just paint this.]
The Shadow said. Its voice had sunk low.
[He buries the paint.
He lays a color down, then lays another over it, and another.
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So the colors underneath seep up to the surface.
He has to wait for the paint to dry. Lay a layer and wait, lay another layer and wait.
È n ù m a . і d
The way oil paint dries, that's what he used.]
Lee Jun's eyes went wide.
Oil paint dries slowly. Kim Yo-han had said it, the Shadow had said it, and Lee Jun knew it himself.
At first he'd thought it was a weakness. Because it kept him from painting fast.
But this man had used that slow drying.
Lay one layer, wait for it to dry.
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Another layer over it. Wait.
Dozens of times.
The number of waits had become the depth of the color.
That was how he had created a color like this.
Lee Jun looked down at his own small hands.
Could he do something like this? On the size 15 canvas.
Ё n̊ um̆а
The sky.
The sky he meant to paint.
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He'd been planning to pile the paint on thick over the bright faces of the clouds.
The way Kim Yo-han had taught him. Impasto. What Van Gogh had done.
But this painting was the exact opposite.
Not piling on thick, but laying down thin, building depth.
Еn u m̈а̃.і ḋ
Thick light and thin light.
Both were light.
"Build the clouds up thick so they shine.
And lay the sky down thin, layer over layer, so it glows from inside......."
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Lee Jun stared into space, painting the picture in his head.
A sky where two opposing techniques met.
Е́ nũ m̄ ӑ
[The sky, the way this man did it...?!]
The Shadow caught its breath.
[And the clouds piled up with thick brushstrokes, like Van Gogh?
You're saying you'll put both methods into one painting?]
Lee Jun's heart beat faster.
The size 15 canvas.
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The sky, three-quarters of the canvas.
Clouds float inside it.
The sky has to be deep. It has to be endlessly deep.
Make that depth out of layers of color.
Lay down Ultramarine, and when it dries, lay a slightly different Ultramarine over it, and when that dries, lay down more.
So the colors underneath seep up to the surface.
Ŵе̂ b̂ ňо̄vе̊ĺ E n.ùm а̀
Then the sky will glow from within. Like this painting.
And the clouds.
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The bright faces of the clouds get thick paint. So they rise off the surface.
Catching the light directly, truly shining.
The sky glows from within, and the clouds shine from without.
Two kinds of light in one painting.
Е̄n u m а̇ . і_d̄
Lee Jun sprang to his feet.
"Auntie, let's go home."
"What? There's still so much we haven't seen."
"I have to go home and paint."
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
"I thought you couldn't paint because your room's too small?"
"In my sketchbook. I have to redo the composition. The order of the colors. The order of the layers."
Е́ ňûḿ а
Lee Jun's eyes were shining.
The same as when he'd walked out after seeing the reproductions at BEXCO.
Eyes so full of something that he looked ready to burst if he didn't get it out right away.
So-young looked at her nephew, then laughed.
"Who could ever stop you. Let's go."
Lee Jun headed for the exit, then stopped.
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He turned and looked at the Rothko one more time.
The dark red.
It was glowing from within. He could see it even from a distance.
He had to remember this man's name.
Van Gogh, Monet, and Rothko.
A painting with no form.
W̌ eb n ò v̌ ẽ l̊ Ё ǹǔ.m ӑ
And yet a painting with everything inside it.
Lee Jun bowed his head. Just slightly.
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Then he turned and took his aunt's hand.
[......A good eye.]
The Shadow murmured, taking one last look at the Rothko.
[This man did nothing but this his whole life. Nothing but layering color.
Е_ǹ umа̀
That's why it's this deep. He dug at one thing for a lifetime, and it became this.]
The white eyes turned back to Lee Jun.
[Can those small hands of yours express all of that?
If you can pull it off...... it'll be an incredible painting, no doubt about it.]
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