Golden

I drew alone every day. Around fourth grade, I wanted to try attending an art academy. My parents enrolled me right away. But once I actually went, it wasn't very fun.

What I wanted was a way to express the things I wanted to draw the way I imagined them. Most of the time, we just smeared paint on our palms and stamped it onto sketchbooks, or idly swished our brushes around in water containers.

After a week, I declared I didn't want to go anymore. My parents didn't ask any questions — they simply said that was fine. Of course, we couldn't get a refund for the remaining three weeks of the month's tuition already paid. At the time, I didn't realize how generous that was given our family's modest circumstances.

Then I got a teacher who came to the house to draw with me.

She was someone who taught me not only how to transfer the world I saw onto paper, but also how to see the world through an artist's eyes.

Lessons with the Teacher felt like an exciting adventure. The ordinary surroundings I thought I already knew transformed vividly — like pop-up cards exchanged at Christmas.

I drew not just a tree, but the gnarled roots jutting out from the soil. Not just a house, but the shadow of the neighbor's house cast against our wall. The world was full of things I wanted to paint, and what I saw today would feel fresh again tomorrow.

I drew with the Teacher for about a year. Looking back now, she probably stopped teaching when she graduated from university and left for Hong Kong. That was already ten years ago.

Hyung and Morae seemed worried that seeing the Teacher would stir up the past. But the past that surfaced when I saw her went further back than that — to a time when the world was full of adventure and mystery.

"Ah, I feel alive again now that there's something in my stomach."

The Teacher had neatly finished all twelve pieces of sushi arranged in the rectangular lunchbox. She set down her chopsticks and leaned back loosely against the chair.

"Things kept coming up, so I only had a kimbap roll around three and haven't eaten since."

She explained with a slightly embarrassed smile, looking at me as I chewed the sushi — a texture I was tasting for the first time.

"Take your time eating. I'm sorry I can only offer store-bought food."

"Not at all. I've never had sushi this delicious."

I had accepted the Teacher's offer, and today was the fifth time I'd been to this house. Her claim that she was so busy she wouldn't notice if she left wearing mismatched shoes hadn't been an exaggeration — today was the first time I'd actually been able to see her face properly.

She wasn't fully off work even now. She had stopped by to pick up some materials she needed, and to eat dinner while she was at it. After that she had to go back to the gallery. It was already almost eleven o'clock.

"You didn't... go to college?"

The Teacher asked in a cautious tone as she twisted open a bottle of water.

"No."

"And art? Are you still drawing?"

"No..."

The first emotion that surfaced when I recognized the Teacher's face had been warmth. Immediately following it came guilt over having stopped drawing.

What I'd learned from her wasn't so much technique as the very gaze one holds while drawing. The excitement and pure immersion of those days — when it felt like a new world had opened up — still faintly lingered in my body, making the guilt all the more profound. My eyes dropped on their own.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeehyeon-ah, don't be like that. What is there to be sorry about? I was just wondering how you've been lately. I haven't picked up a brush in quite a while myself, you know."

The Teacher said this in a light tone, as if it truly meant nothing, and tilted the water bottle to drink.

"It's a shame. I really liked your paintings."

"I liked your paintings too."

This time she smiled at me with a hint of mischief. Feeling awkward, I smiled back.

"That's just how life goes. Circumstances change, and people change with them. In my case, I didn't quit under duress. I just got tired of everything and wanted to throw myself into a completely new situation — somewhere fresh from top to bottom. Working at a gallery turned out to suit me and felt rewarding, so I stayed. I'm very satisfied now. It's the same with other arts fields — only a genuinely talented few ever get recognized as artists. The rest either exhaust themselves paddling around the fringes of art, or just go around playing the part of an artist without the substance. It's easy to end up that way, isn't it? If I'd kept painting, I probably would have ended up the kind of artist who puts on exhibitions with her own money and has friends buy the pieces. No regrets."

The Teacher's words left a light aftertaste. She meant every word.

But I couldn't so neatly say the same about myself — that I had no regrets, no lingering feelings. So I kept my mouth shut and cast a meaningless gaze at the two remaining pieces of sushi.

"The gallery I'm at now is really growing. The first few years were all about building the foundation with nothing to show for it — psychologically that was rough. But now that things are finally picking up, it's exhausting and exhilarating all at once. It's the same principle: row hard while the tide is in. I have three more exhibitions scheduled, so I'll be this busy until the end of next month. I'm glad I ran into you. Otherwise coming home would have been stressful on top of everything else."

As if the very thought was dreadful, the Teacher ran her hands through her neatly trimmed hair, thoroughly messing it up.

"I don't really do that much."

"Coming home to everything in its place. Everything neatly arranged. That is more than enough."

I didn't have to cook or do laundry. I didn't even know how to cook. My responsibilities were organizing and cleaning. The house was large, filled with all manner of decorative objects and paintings, so it did take some time — but none of the work was difficult or complicated. I was relieved if this small effort was genuinely helpful to her.

"Once these current exhibitions are over, let's sit down and actually talk. I've been wanting to visit that place too. 'What Happened in Bali'?"

We had already given the Teacher a general outline of our situation, just in case someone tried to find us through her.

"Yes, let's definitely go together next time. It's fun."

After sharing the two remaining pieces of sushi, we stood up from the dining table.

"I'll give you a ride on my way to the gallery. Let's go together."

"No, it's fine. I'll finish cleaning up and head out. I can take the bus."

The Teacher checked her wristwatch and lightly pinched my cheek across the table.

"Help me clean up and then get in my car. The bus schedule is tight anyway."

Before I could protest, one of the two cell phones she'd left on the table rang loudly.

"Sorry, is it too loud? I keep the ringer up in case I miss something important. Just a moment."

While the Teacher turned slightly away to take the call, I quickly began clearing the table. The disposable containers made cleanup simple.

"Yeah. Why? Artist Yoon?... Ha... Why does that guy always get fixated on such useless things? Yuni-ya¹, can you...? No, you're probably working on the display right now. Okay, I'll handle Artist Yoon — just ignore his calls from now on and focus on the display... Yes, I'll take responsibility."

Even before I'd stopped drawing, I'd known nothing about the inner workings of the art world or how galleries operated. But judging by the Teacher's lifestyle, it clearly wasn't an easy field.

From what I could hear, it sounded like another problem had erupted at the gallery. I was glad she'd at least finished eating, and rinsed out the lunchbox containers.

"Yeehyeon-ah, what should I do? Something came up at the office — I need to get back quickly. I'm sorry, I said I'd give you a ride first. Take a taxi instead, okay?"

"No, it's fine. I've finished cleaning up, and if I leave now I can still catch the bus."

I turned to look at the Teacher while shaking the water off the rinsed container at the sink. Out of habit, she had one hand resting on her hip, the other fiddling absently at her eyebrow, her lip caught between her teeth. Then her gaze shifted and landed on me. A faint glimmer of expectation crossed her face.

"You said you don't have the moving company job tomorrow, right?"

Still holding the container, I nodded awkwardly. The Teacher strode forward and took hold of my wet hand.

"Yeehyeon-ah, save me. No — save my kids."

TRANSLATOR'S NOTE

1. 1 Yuni-ya (유니야) — The suffix -ya (야) is an affectionate way of calling out to or addressing someone close in age or status, added to names ending in a vowel. ↩ Back to text