Do you know Hitchcock’s “Vertigo”?
A mystery thriller film made in 1958 in the United States, now considered one of his masterpieces. Yet, at the time, it was just another commercial film.
Many classics we admire today were once the mainstream culture of the past, subject to criticism.
Artists, despite being the most deeply imprinted beings of their time, conform to their era and are swayed by critics.
Is Vincent van Gogh, who never sold a painting for its true value in his lifetime, the only real artist?
Does enjoying recognition and wealth in one’s lifetime disqualify someone as an artist?
Why do those aiming for pure art reject the interference of popular culture?
Why don’t they understand that what they do will be considered popular and mainstream culture a hundred years later?
I rested my chin on my hand, lost in thought, and let out a wry smile.
“Even the great Mozart had his performance durations decided by the number of yawns from the emperor. Perhaps it's inevitable.”
An artist being conscious of the public’s gaze is unavoidable.
Creating art unaffected by anyone and purely my own? That’s an incredibly difficult task.
Of course, there were those who managed to do it, though most remained as artists who starved to death during their lifetimes.
I reflected again on the dream I had today.
What should I truly learn from it?
Not to heed the critics?
To conform to the times and ride the wave of popular or mainstream culture?
No, that wasn’t Klimt’s message.
There’s no rule saying that pure art can’t learn from the advantages of popular culture.
Meeting the preferences of the masses and pursuing commercial value does not contradict the spirit of art.
Art achieves more value when it can be consumed as a daily necessity, rather than being an untouchable, noble entity.
Perhaps this is what Klimt wanted to convey?
Lost in deep thought, my phone in my pocket vibrates.
“Oh, it’s Youngju.”
- Shit.
What’s up?
Youngju started with a curse. I assumed something had happened at the theater and quickly got up to pack my things.
“What’s wrong, what happened?”
- The director is looking for you, hurry back.
“Is there a problem?”
- Shit, today is the best day of my life.
What? Is that sarcasm? What exactly happened?
As I left the art gallery, I asked,
“Why, even if a junior made a mistake with a large painting, it shouldn’t take long to fix. What happened? Did someone spray paint on the ceiling?”
- Crazy, how many kids are here. If there was such a bastard, would the kids have let him go?
“So what’s the problem?”
- The guest, a guest has arrived. That’s why the director is looking for you.
“A guest? Who is it?”
- Shit, I never thought the day would come when I would personally welcome that person. I could die happy now.
What are you talking about?
He keeps beating around the bush instead of getting to the point, irritating me, so I raised my voice a bit.
“So who is this guest, huh?”
- Irina, Irina Sevanova is here, you idiot!
“........................”
Who was that again?
I remembered it was the name of the genius pianist Youngju had mentioned recently.
“She’s here now? Isn’t there more than a month left until the performance?”
- She usually comes in a week before the show to manage her condition, but it seems she came early this time. Maybe because of the lack of performances due to COVID.
Ah, that makes sense.
I heard that lesser-known artists chose other jobs during the COVID era to avoid starving. It must be the same for famous artists, unable to perform.
"Are you making a fuss over nothing?"
- What? It’s nothing? You blaspheme right now. Do you know how great Irina is...
“Got it, I’m hanging up. I’ll be right there.”
- Hey you! XXXX...
She seems to add a curse, but I don’t want to hear it.
I hung up and took a taxi to the hotel.
Taking a taxi instead of a bus should be considered sufficient respect for the other party.
Just before arriving at the hotel, I called Minyoung, who told me to come to her room.
As I entered the lobby to get a key card and went up to Minyoung's room, I heard German.
"Was hast du so gemacht? Es freut mich, Sie kennenzulernen."
"Viel zu tun gehabt für die Uni."
Huh? Isn’t that Monica's voice?
When the elevator noise ends, I hear Minyoung’s voice.
“Mr. Ban?”
“Yes, it's me.”
“Please come in.”
As expected, Monica's voice, sounding pleased, approaches.
“Junghoon!”
Monica comes running.
Maybe because she’s Italian, or it’s just her nature, she's comfortable with physical contact.
Monica asks me how I’ve been while linking arms with me.
“Have you been well?”
“Yes, Monica. How about you?”
“Me? Always busy. Let's go in.”
Monica is always stunning, like a goddess.
Not that I have a romantic interest in her. Monica feels like an unapproachable goddess. Friendly, but always with a sense of distance.
Of course, it's the same with Minyoung.
Despite the East-West differences, they both have a similar goddess-like aura.
If I turn the corner in the hallway, I’ll probably meet that pianist Youngju is so enthralled with. She’s in her 30s, so older than me. Since she’s foreign, I can just call her by her name, right?
Lost in these thoughts, I step out of the hallway and bow to Minyoung, who stands up from the sofa upon seeing me, then raise my head.
And then, I froze, beholding an incredible embodiment of beauty that filled my eyes.
'Is she a person or a doll?'
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