The Mysterious Art Museum
Chapter 10 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

I had chosen Mucha's life as my source of information.

He's currently explaining it himself.

“As a child, I always longed for such a family. Having nothing, I couldn't have a family until well past my thirties. But now, I have everything. The people in this painting represent my family.”

Of course, the husband in the painting doesn't resemble Mucha.

The woman in the painting also looks more like the beautiful Sarah Bernhardt than his actual wife.

Probably the cute two children also don't look like his real children. But to a father, wouldn't these beautiful people in the painting appear as his family? They may not be as beautiful and cute in reality, but that's how they look to him.

After drawing all the windows in the living room, Mucha fills in the circle where the clock should be. Surely, there must be a clock there? I thought my guess was right.

But my confident assumption was wrong.

Instead of a clock, he was drawing a sunflower shining with a mysterious blue light.

I knew that he often used sunflowers to represent the sun. The sun signifies time. But I had never seen a sunflower with such mystical blue hues.

When we think of sunflowers, yellow comes to mind first. Even the famous Vincent van Gogh painted sunflowers in yellow.

I couldn't hold back my question.

“Excuse me, sir.”

Oops, I called him 'sir.' But he didn't seem to mind my mistake and answered.

“Yes.”

“Why is the sunflower blue?”

“What, can't it be?”

“···············..”

What can I say when asked that way, a painter paints what he wants.

“Rather than that.”

“Ha ha, I'm just joking. Do you know the meaning behind the color blue?”

Blue. A color that feels positive, stable, spiritual, and hopeful. This is why we think of the bluebird when talking about hope.

“Did you want to paint a hopeful family?”

Mucha smiles wryly.

“Blue is derived from the word meaning to grow. I hope the children’s time is used for their proper growth.”

To grow.

Unknowingly, I turned my gaze to the two children waiting for a meal, smiling brightly. A father's heart. The blue color represented the father's wish for his two children to grow up right and healthy, completing the family.

I forgot to speak at his wonder of putting meaning into even a small color. Mucha, who had finished the clock, started to fill in the circle that looked like a frame.

I quietly observed the tip of his brush as he began to draw the outlines with black paint.

What's that? A beehive? As he sketched out small hexagons in the shape of a cluster of beehives, he started filling the tiny pictures within each small beehive with a number 1 brush. The beehive was filled with very small family photos.

I realized the thoughts of a 78-year-old man.

The memories he had with his family during his lifetime were etched in his mind, just like those beehives, remembered moment by moment. Although he couldn't draw in detail due to the small space and ended up blurring some parts, Mucha made sure that the family photos were recognizable to anyone.

I nodded emphatically.

"Even the smallest parts contain his usual thoughts and feelings."

Perhaps, I have gained a learning opportunity that I could not have bought even with money, all in a dream.

How many hours had passed? Initially occasional, but then more frequent, Mucha could no longer paint due to his coughing.

"Cough! Cough!"

Blood, there was blood on his palm that he had covered his mouth with. I quickly wiped his hand with a towel nearby.

"You've overexerted yourself, please lie down."

"Thank you."

Holding my hand firmly for support, Mucha slowly lay down, taking several deep breaths and then quietly looked at me.

"Will you complete the painting?"

I looked at the painting, which was more than 90% complete. What remained was the color of the wallpaper inside the house.

In color theory, there is something called color psychology, which explains how people interpret colors and assign meanings to them. What color would be the family house he wanted? Surely, it wouldn't just be the color of this house's kitchen.

How about orange?

It's overly flashy but gives a cheerful and warm feeling. No, this color is used to capture attention or convey a specific message.

Using such a strong color for the living room wall, which makes up more than 30% of the entire painting, would make the family's figures look dead.

I pondered silently and then said.

"How about we leave the wallpaper colorless?"

"..."

Of course, I didn't mean to leave it as a blank canvas. I would paint it titanium white. I just suggested not adding a background color.

Mucha lay there, pondering for a moment, then smiled.

"That's good, let the future of my family after my death be determined by their own choices."

Indeed, he saw right through my intention.

I hope your family won't be too sad after you're gone. I hope they celebrate your freedom from pain and replace joy in their newfound freedom rather than mourning your death.

And I hope they have the time to work towards a future where the new families they create are colored with hope.

Mucha nodded to my thoughts and said.

"Please do so."

"Understood, sir."

After filling the wallpaper with titanium white, I stood so that the painting was clearly visible to him as he lay holding it.

"How does it look? Quite happy, isn't it?"

".... Yes."

I stood holding the painting for a while, allowing him to admire it. Gradually, Mucha closed his eyes.

"I'm very sleepy."

"It's natural, given your illness. Please sleep."

"I'm sorry to the guest."

"Don't worry about me. You'll be fine once you wake from this dream."

"Will I see you again?"

"I'm not sure."

Mucha, forcing his eyes open, pointed at the painting I was holding.

"I will gift you this painting."

"What?"

Insane, how much Alphonse Mucha's painting would be worth. There's almost no trade of his paintings in the market, but if it were to be auctioned, it would sell for an astronomical price.

I chuckled to myself in my imagination.

'It's just a dream, why am I thinking so much.'

I bowed deeply and said.

"I will gratefully accept it, sir."

"Take care."

Watching Alphonse Mucha drift into sleep, I stood still until his breathing became steady, then quietly moved to the window.

The Czech Prague in the wee hours, when everyone is asleep.

At this time, Czech would be undergoing hard times due to the Nazi invasion.

National hero Alphonse Mucha, gravely ill, and people unable to visit his home due to Nazi surveillance.

But I know what happens next.

Mucha, facing a lonely death unbecoming of a national hero.

Despite the Nazi surveillance, his funeral is grandly conducted by 100,000 Slavs who come to mourn the death of their national hero.

I looked over the painting that would disappear once I wake up from this dream, then bowed to the sleeping Mucha.

"I have learned well, sir."