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Chapter 6: Oil Painting
TL: Enuma ID
Chuseok was over.
That meant one of the year's few holidays was over.
So-young had plunged back into her war with deadlines in the studio.
The studio door was shut tight.
E nu̇m̄a
Every so often, the sound of something tapping was all that came through it.
Lee Jun sat on the floor of the room that had been given to him.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
A canvas lay in front of him.
No. 4. Thirty-three by twenty-four centimeters.
Smaller than a sketchbook.
But it had a different weight to it.
Е̂n ü m̈ а́
Beside it, a set of oil paints lay open.
Twelve colors. The tubes lie side by side.
Linseed oil. Turpentine. A palette.
Three brushes. And a palette knife.
Baca cerita ini hanya di situs resmi Enuma.id!
Lee Jun sat without touching any of it.
[Why aren't you starting?]
W̊ е̄_b́n o v.е l̆ Е̇ ňūmа̇
asked the Shadow, tired of waiting.
Lee Jun didn't answer.
He just looked at the canvas.
A white surface. Cloth coated in gesso.
It was different from the paper he'd drawn on until now.
Paper was light and thin.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
This was solid. Stretched over a frame. It had weight.
It scared him.
With paper, if he failed, he could just fold it up and hide it.
This canvas couldn't be folded, couldn't be hidden.
[......You're scared to paint?]
the Shadow asked quietly.
Ẅ e bñò v̂ ė l En̊ ũ mа
Lee Jun gave the faintest nod.
[It's okay.]
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
the Shadow said.
Its tone was different from usual. None of the usual mischief.
[Everyone's like that at first.
I was scared my first time too. Once you know, it's nothing.]
Е̂ nu_m̀_а̂
Lee Jun didn't find that strange.
He figured the Shadow must have had a first time too.
[I'll walk you through it, so give it a try. It's nothing.]
Lee Jun nodded.
Baca cerita ini hanya di situs resmi Enuma.id!
[First, squeeze some paint onto the palette. Don't squeeze a lot. Just a little at a time.]
He picked up the palette.
W е̊b́n̄о̇v ĕl Е ň u m ӓ
It was wood. Oval. With a hole for the thumb.
For a five-year-old's hand it was too big. And heavy.
He set the palette down on the floor.
He picked up the tube of Ultramarine Blue.
He opened the cap and squeezed it onto the palette.
Paint came out.
Baca cerita ini hanya di situs resmi Enuma.id!
A deep blue clumped on the palette.
It was different from watercolor paint. It didn't run. It stayed right where he'd squeezed it.
Like cream. No, thicker than cream.
Lee Jun touched the paint with a finger.
Cold and smooth.
An oily feel. It had weight.
Е̃ ṅumӓ .іd
Blue smeared onto his finger. Even when he wiped it, it didn't come off easily.
[It's made with oil, so water won't take it off. You have to clean it with turpentine.]
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Lee Jun nodded and squeezed out the other colors.
Cadmium Yellow. Burnt Sienna. Crimson Red. Titanium White. Ivory Black.
The colors sat in little rounds on the palette.
It was completely different from a watercolor palette. Watercolor meant wetting dried paint.
E nú m а
This was already wet. It seemed alive from the start.
[Good. Now a little linseed oil. Just a tiny bit.]
Lee Jun opened the bottle of linseed oil.
The smell rose up. The same smell he'd caught yesterday at the art supply store.
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Heavy and oily, and somehow sweet.
[Get some of that oil on the brush, and mix in a little paint.
É n u m а̇.і̀ḋ
If you use just paint, it's too stiff to spread.
Mix in oil and it goes smooth.]
Lee Jun picked up a brush.
Medium size. A flat hog-bristle brush.
He got linseed oil on the tip and touched it to the Ultramarine Blue on the palette.
Paint and oil mixed. The blue went a little more transparent and turned smooth.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Lee Jun set the brush to the canvas.
The first touch.
[Ohh.]
The brush pushed against the canvas surface.
Completely different from paper.
Paper took the brush in. It soaked through.
Е̃ n̆ um ӑ
The canvas pushed back. It resisted.
Between brush and canvas, the paint pushed and pulled.
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A blue line remained on the canvas.
It was thick. Thicker than crayon.
Brush marks lay over the line. The grain of the brush was pressed into the paint.
Lee Jun stopped and peered at the marks.
Еn̆ ũ m̀ а.і̃d̈
Brush marks.
This was what the Shadow had talked about.
What hadn't been in the picture in the magazine.
What hadn't been in the reproduction either.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
What he'd seen only in dreams.
[Well?]
W еb̃ n̂ о́.v́èl̊ En u̇m̌ а̌
the Shadow asked.
Without answering, Lee Jun made a second touch.
A second line beside the first.
The paint pushed sideways and met the first line. The colors overlapped.
A third. A fourth.
Lee Jun's hand sped up.
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But soon a problem arose.
There was too much paint. It slid around on the canvas.
When he tried to place a color where he wanted it, it slipped off to the side.
The lines smeared. The shapes collapsed.
With watercolor, the water spread. But once it dried, it stopped.
Oil paint was different. It didn't dry. The paint stayed wet.
Е́ ǹú m̈ ӓ
Touch it and it moved. Paint over it and it mixed with the color underneath.
Lee Jun's hand stopped.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Blue was smeared across the canvas in a mess.
He'd tried to paint a swirl, but it wasn't a swirl.
Just a blue smudge.
[It's okay.]
W е̇b ń ò v̌ёl̀ Ѐ n̂ ů m̈а̄
the Shadow said.
[Oil paint isn't like the other tools. Everything you've used until now dried fast.
Crayon hardens right away, colored pencil's got nothing to dry, and with watercolor, once the water's gone, that's it.
Oil paint doesn't dry. It dries slowly, very, very slowly.]
Baca cerita ini hanya di situs resmi Enuma.id!
Lee Jun looked down at the canvas. The blue smudge.
[So you can't rush it.
Е́ ṅũm̌а. і d̆
If it's not dry, you can pick it up again tomorrow.
So take your time.]
It was a concept Lee Jun had never heard of before.
Finishing an oil painting takes waiting.
[Okay, let's try again. This time, less paint. Very little.
And mix in more oil. You start thin at first.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
It's called an underpainting. You lay it down thin, and once it's dry, you build more color on top.]
Lee Jun got just a little paint on the brush from the palette.
He mixed in more oil. The blue turned transparent.
He touched it to the canvas.
This time it didn't slide. It spread thin.
Transparent like watercolor, but unlike watercolor it stayed put on the canvas. It didn't run down.
Е_n u m̈a . іḋ
[Yeah, that's it. Lay it down thin. The whole sky first.]
Lee Jun laid the thin blue over the whole canvas.
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Sky. Deep blue.
[Now wait.]
"Wait?"
[Until it dries.]
Е̄ n̈ũ m̊а̀
He had to wait.
Even though he wanted to paint right now.
[Oil painting is about building layers.
Once what you laid underneath dries, you put more on top.
Baca cerita ini hanya di situs resmi Enuma.id!
Then the color underneath doesn't move. Only the color you put on top moves.
That's how you build it up, one layer at a time.]
Е̌ṅ u ṁâ . і́ď
Lee Jun looked down at the blue canvas.
It was still wet. It glistened.
He has to wait.
It was a first. Having to wait while making a picture.
[While you wait, you can do something else. Work out the composition in your sketchbook.
Where to put the swirl. Where to dot the stars. How to do the village.]
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Lee Jun took out the sketchbook.
He began working out the composition in pencil.
He'd looked at the picture in the magazine hundreds of times.
He'd drawn it dozens of times in crayon, in colored pencil, in watercolor, in pastel.
He knew where the swirl went.
He knew how the stars were arranged.
W̆ е̇ bńo v̀ е̌ l Е̊ n u̇m̌a
He knew the size and position of the village.
He knew where that black, pointed tree belonged.
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In pencil, Lee Jun transferred the composition for the canvas onto the sketchbook.
Quickly. This was familiar. He'd done it hundreds of times.
Four hours passed.
So-young opened the studio door and came out.
Е̇ńü m̂.а. і́d
She'd gone to the kitchen for coffee and looked in on Lee Jun's room.
A blue canvas lay on the floor.
Lee Jun sat beside it, drawing something in his sketchbook.
The canvas was just blue.
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Nothing on it yet.
"Jun, want to eat?"
Е́ńumа̌ .і́d
"It's not dry yet."
"What isn't?"
"The canvas."
So-young tilted her head.
"You started already? Auntie was going to teach you slowly."
And she laughed.
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"Oil paint's supposed to dry slowly. If you mixed in a lot of linseed oil, it could take more than a day."
Lee Jun's face froze.
"A day?"
[Hmm. Did we mix in too much oil?]
The Shadow seemed flustered too.
Lee Jun shot the Shadow a faintly resentful glare.
Е̇ ṅ ũ m̂а́. іd̄
"Let's eat first. If it dries, you can do it tomorrow."
Lee Jun got up reluctantly.
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But even while he ate, his eyes kept drifting toward the canvas.
The next morning.
The moment he opened his eyes, Lee Jun touched the canvas.
Not dry. Still tacky.
Ѐn û m а
Only in the afternoon did the surface harden a little.
Not completely dry, but enough to paint over.
Lee Jun picked up the brush again.
[This time mix in less oil. Almost pure paint.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
The underpainting was thin, so what you put on top should be thick.]
Lee Jun loaded the brush with paint almost straight.
E nûm а .і̇ d
Deep blue.
When he set it to the canvas, the feel was different.
A canvas with an underpainting was different from a bare one.
The brush didn't slide. The underpainting was holding the paint in place.
Lee Jun began painting the swirl.
Short brushstrokes. In the same direction.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
He remembered what the Shadow had said before.
[Short and thick. Build them up in the same direction.]
With crayon the lines had smudged.
With colored pencil there'd been texture, but thin.
With watercolor it had spread and melted away.
With pastel the powder blended and softened.
Ѐn̊ ú m̈å .i̇ d
Oil paint was different.
Each short dab of the brush stayed right where it landed.
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The paint stood up.
Blue rose up off the canvas surface.
Lee Jun stopped his brushstrokes and looked at it from the side.
Light was reflecting off the paint's surface.
Е̃n̊ ũ ḿ а
The thickness of the paint changed the light.
This was it.
What couldn't be seen in the magazine.
What couldn't be seen in a reproduction either.
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What he'd felt only in dreams.
The paint stands up.
Е̂ nu ma . і̇d
Touch it and it's ridged and rough.
Lee Jun touched the paint on the canvas with a finger.
It was ridged and rough.
His heart beat fast.
[......Yeah. This is it.]
The Shadow's voice was trembling too.
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A rush of feeling the same as Lee Jun's, and yet different.
He picked up the brush again. This time he didn't hesitate.
He built the swirl up.
Short brushstrokes. Layer on layer.
Darker blue over the blue.
A little black beside it.
Е̂ n úm̀а̄
He worked purple in between.
The swirl began to turn on the canvas.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
It was on a whole different level from when he'd drawn it in crayon.
The paint itself was moving.
The direction of the brush marks made the flow of the swirl.
The differences in thickness made the light and shadow.
W̃ ѐ b ñ о ṽӗ l Ё n̂ u m̈ а
[Good. Now the stars.]
Lee Jun got Cadmium Yellow on the brush.
He dabbed it on the canvas.
A yellow dot.
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Another layer of yellow around it.
A little white mixed in, another layer.
Е̂ n̊.ūm а .і̂.d
The stars were shining.
Over the blue swirl, yellow stars stood up in thick paint.
Light reflected off the paint surface, and they really were shining.
Lee Jun's breath stopped.
Two years ago, he'd seen a print the size of a thumb in a magazine.
Inside it, a swirl had been turning.
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Stars had been shining.
He'd drawn it in crayon. It was crooked. He hid it.
He'd drawn it in colored pencil. There was texture, but not enough. He hid it.
He'd painted it in watercolor. It melted away. He hid it.
He'd drawn it in pastel. It was soft, but wrong. He hid it.
And now.
W е b̊ nŏ v̊el̆ Ѐ n̂ um̆ a
Oil paint was swirling on the canvas.
Stars stood up the full thickness of the paint and were shining.
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Lee Jun's eyes welled up.
[Hey, hey. Why are you crying?]
The Shadow was flustered.
Lee Jun wasn't crying. The tears just came.
Е̌ n̂ u m̀а́.і́ d̄
Not from sadness.
Finally.
This was the tool.
[Yeah...... this is it.]
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The Shadow said nothing more either.
It understood that feeling better than anyone.
Ẃе̇bnӧ v̀е l̀ Е ň ü m а̇
Lee Jun picked up the brush again.
The lower part. He had to paint the village.
He painted the pointed tree in black.
He picked up the palette knife for the first time. A flat metal bar.
[Hold the palette knife like this.]
the Shadow explained.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
[There are things you can't do with a brush. Spreading paint wide, or scraping it off.
Try the village roofs with the palette knife. Lay the paint on flat and wide, then scrape with the edge to make lines.]
Lee Jun loaded paint onto the palette knife and tried it against the canvas.
The paint spread out wide. A completely different feel from the brush.
Smooth. Broad. He could cover a wide area in one go.
When he scraped with the edge, the paint peeled away and a line appeared.
En̆ ů m̆а̇ . ї d
The color of the underpainting showed through.
The roofline of the village emerged.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
He dabbed yellow dots on the windows. Lamplight.
The sky swirled, and the village slept.
[.......]
The Shadow was silent for a long while.
Ŵ е b̌n_o̊ vėl̂ Е n̊ û m а
Then it said quietly,
[It's still not enough. The center of the swirl is weak, and the light around the stars hasn't spread enough.
The village is a bit big, and the angle of the tree is off.
It's still not enough, that's true.]
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Lee Jun knew it too. It wasn't enough.
[But.]
Еn̄ú m̃ ӑ .і d_
the Shadow said.
[Of everything you've made so far, this is the closest.]
The young painter's head gave a small nod.
Lee Jun looked down at the canvas.
The first oil painting made by a five-year-old's hand.
Crooked, clumsy, the paint uncontrolled, the swirl's direction breaking up halfway through.
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But the paint stood up.
The stars were shining.
The sky was turning.
Lee Jun gazed down at the painting for a long time.
And out of habit, he went to fold it.
He couldn't.
Е́ n̊u̇ m̊a.і̇ d
The canvas wouldn't fold.
[.......]
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The Shadow said nothing.
But its two white eyes were smiling a little.
Lee Jun stood the canvas up against the wall.
He couldn't hide it. He couldn't fold it, couldn't tuck it under the dresser.
W̊е b̌ ṅ o v̊е l Е̇n̊ũm̂ã
A small canvas standing against one wall of the room.
A swirling sky and a sleeping village.
A painting where the paint stood up.
Lee Jun sat in front of it, looking for a long while.
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This was oil painting.
What he'd waited two years for.
Ẁ е̇b̂n ȯv е̇ l̇ Ӗn̂ u m̀ ã
Still not enough, but now he could begin.
"Jun, dinner......"
So-young, opening the door, stopped.
The canvas standing against the wall.
A blue swirl. Yellow stars. A black tree. A sleeping village.
It was an oil painting.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
An oil painting made by a five-year-old who had touched oil paint for the first time the day before.
It was clumsy. The paint went uncontrolled, thick spots and thin spots all jumbled together.
But the swirl was turning.
The stars were shining.
The paint was alive on the canvas.
So-young stood in the doorway, unable to say a word.
Ẁе̄bnô v̌ еĺ Еn̄uḿа̌
Lee Jun sat in front of the canvas.
His back to her.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
His small hands smeared with pastel dust and oil paint mixed together.
This time he didn't hide it.
He couldn't hide it because he couldn't fold it.
But now Lee Jun wasn't trying to hide it.
Ẃëḃ n о v̂ е ľ Е̄ňú m̌ ă
He wanted to keep this painting standing against the wall.
Tomorrow he would paint over it again.
Because oil paint doesn't dry.
Because he could take his time.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Because he could pick it up again tomorrow.
Lee Jun turned around and looked at So-young.
En̆u m̀а̃
"Auntie."
"Hm?"
"I'm going to paint this again tomorrow."
So-young nodded.
No voice came out.
Lee Jun looked at the canvas again.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
The stars were shining.
[......Tomorrow let's redo the center of the swirl. Build up a bit more paint.]
the Shadow said quietly.
Lee Jun nodded.
Tomorrow.
The day after.
Е̌n u m ȧ
The day after that.
Until this canvas dried.
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And until he layered more over the dry.
Oil painting had time in it.
Something Lee Jun had never had before.
That he could wait.
Е ǹǔm a
That he could pick up where he'd left off.
Lee Jun looked down at his paint-smeared hands.
Ultramarine Blue.
The smell of linseed oil rose from his fingertips.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
[Good smell, isn't it?]
the Shadow asked again. The same thing it had said on the bus yesterday.
Ẁě.b̂n о̂ṽ е l̆ Е̄ n ǔ ṁ а̊
Once again it was the voice of someone breathing in something they missed.
Lee Jun nodded.
This time he meant it.
It was a good smell.
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