"Artist"

Mono - Chapter 3

You linger in the hushed rooms, letting your eyes roam over every brushstroke and sculpture, the world outside fading with each passing minute. When you finally step out, the sun is pouring gold onto the pavement, and Namjoon is waiting for you at the entrance, his presence both reassuring and quietly electric. He falls into step beside you, guiding you down the bustling street. The city hums with life, but for a moment, it seems the two of you walk in a world apart. As you move together, a flutter of nerves rises—does he sense your awe? He glances over, the sunlight catching in his eyes, and asks, "Are you an artist?" The question hangs between you, delicate as spun glass. You smile and shake your head, admitting, "I just love art." The walk is brief but dreamlike, three blocks traced in laughter and stolen glances. When you reach the gallery, its black-and-white checkered floor gleams underfoot, the obsidian walls reflecting fragments of light. Behind the desk, a young Korean woman with short blonde hair regards you with a gaze as sharp as crystal, curiosity flickering across her features.

You feel a sense of nervousness as you consider why Namjoon offered to show you around. As you look around, you see articles, awards, and major magazines featuring Namjoon's photographs. A Korean interview notes that Mr. Kim is an award-winning photographer with studios in Korea, Japan, and China, and plans to expand to the United States.

While reading, you suddenly hear Namjoon's deep voice behind you. You turn to see him standing just three feet away, asking if you're ready for the personal tour. With a smirk and a tilt of his head, you notice the dimple on his left cheek that accentuates his smile. Feeling a little flushed, you agree to the tour.

As you step onto the Mono gallery's art floor through sleek black doors, you trail behind Namjoon. The walls are a deep charcoal, absorbing the soft, moody glow of overhead lights. Each painting is illuminated by a focused spotlight, making the art stand out in dramatic relief against the shadows.

Namjoon pauses beside a series of paintings depicting yellow and blue flowers stretching across a vast, sunlit field. The petals seem to ripple with a breeze, their vibrant colors nearly glowing against the dark walls. In this first section, he quietly marvels at the delicate brushstrokes and the way the artist captures the serenity of nature.

Moving deeper into the gallery, you find yourself surrounded by artwork portraying soaring trees, lush plants, rolling oceans, sun-bleached deserts, and stark city buildings. Namjoon gestures to a canvas of a shimmering beach, turquoise water lapping at golden sand, and mentions it was inspired by a trip to California. Another painting reveals the muted tones and sweeping emptiness of a Californian desert, the sunlight almost palpable.

In a cozy corner, five small paintings hang together, each offering a vivid snapshot of New York—yellow taxis darting down rain-slicked streets, skyscrapers towering against a twilight sky, and the hum of city life captured in strokes of color and light.

Namjoon asks, "Have you ever been to New York?"

"No, I've never been," you tell him. The answer feels straightforward, but something in you sparks with curiosity—New York has always been one of those places that feels larger than life, almost fictional until you stand in it.

"It's a beautiful city. The art and museums are amazing." His voice takes on that familiar note of enthusiasm, the one he uses when he's talking about something he genuinely appreciates.

As Namjoon walks toward the wall of New York photos, you follow, drawn by both the images and his commentary. The gallery lighting washes the space in warm, controlled brightness, settling over frames arranged in a neat line. The air carries the faint smell of paper and varnished wood.

He stops at the first photograph. "This one is from Brooklyn," he says.

You study the image—brick buildings rising shoulder to shoulder, the steel outline of the bridge distant but unmistakable. It's early morning light, cool and muted, giving the whole scene a quiet sort of confidence. You can almost imagine the layered sounds of the neighborhood: delivery trucks, a passing bike, someone's radio drifting from an open window.*