Diamond Dust - 5

Even though I had said I didn’t know what to do, I was keenly aware that this wasn’t the time to be picky. If it was a paying job, I needed to do it, whatever it was.

Even as I lay down to sleep, closing my eyes, the absence of the sound of waves reminded me just how far we—how far I—had come.

—

Every day, I would draw alone, but by the time I was in the fourth grade, I wanted to try attending an art academy. My parents enrolled me right away. But when I actually started going, it wasn’t as fun as I expected.

I had wanted to learn how to express what I saw in my own way, but most of the time, the classes were just playing around by pressing paint-covered hands onto sketchbooks or fooling around with brushes and water from a container.

After a week, I announced that I didn’t want to go anymore. My parents didn’t ask any questions and simply agreed that I didn’t have to go. Of course, they couldn’t get a refund for the remaining three weeks of the monthly fee they had already paid. At the time, I didn’t realize how generous that decision was, given our family’s modest circumstances.

Then, I started taking private art lessons at home with a teacher.

The teacher not only showed me how to transfer what I saw onto paper but also taught me how to view the world through the eyes of an artist.

Lessons with the teacher were like thrilling adventures. The ordinary surroundings I thought I knew so well became vivid and alive, like the pop-up cards exchanged at Christmas.

Instead of drawing just a tree, I sketched the twisted roots that emerged from the soil. Instead of just drawing a house, I captured the shadow of the neighboring house cast on its wall. The world was full of things I wanted to draw, and even what I saw today felt new again by tomorrow.

I had taken art lessons with the teacher for about a year. Looking back, it seems that the teacher had probably just graduated from university and stopped the lessons when they left for Hong Kong. That was already ten years ago.

Hyung and Morea seemed worried that seeing the teacher again would stir up memories of my past. But the memories I recalled when seeing the teacher were from a time long ago when the world was still full of adventure and mystery.

“Ah, I feel so much better after putting something in my stomach.”

The teacher finished the last of the twelve pieces of sushi neatly arranged in a rectangular lunchbox, set down the wooden chopsticks, and leaned back loosely against the chair.

“I had a busy day and only had a kimbap roll around 3 PM. I haven’t eaten since.”

As I took a bite of sushi with a texture I had never experienced before, the teacher, looking slightly embarrassed, explained to me.

“Take your time eating. I’m sorry I could only offer you store-bought food.”

“Not at all. This is the first time I’ve ever had such delicious sushi.”

Accepting the teacher’s offer, today marked the fifth time I had visited this place. The statement about being so busy that I wouldn’t even notice mismatched shoes was no exaggeration. It was only today that I finally got to see the teacher’s face.

Even now, the teacher hadn’t completely finished work. He had materials to take home and decided to have dinner here, so he would need to return to the gallery after the meal. It was already nearing 11 PM.

“Did you not go to college?”

While twisting off the cap of a bottle of water, the teacher asked in a cautious tone.

“No.”

“And painting? Are you still doing it?”

“No….”

The first emotion that came to me when I recognized the teacher was relief, but right after that was the guilt of not painting. What I had learned from the teacher was not just the techniques but the ‘view’ when painting. The excitement and pure immersion from that time when a new world seemed to open up were still faintly present in me, and that made me feel even more apologetic. My gaze naturally fell downward.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that. There’s nothing to apologize for. I was just wondering how you’ve been. I haven’t touched a brush in a while myself.”

The teacher spoke in a genuinely casual manner, drinking water from the bottle.

“It’s a shame. I used to like your paintings.”

“I liked your paintings too.”

This time, the teacher smiled a bit playfully while looking at me. I smiled back awkwardly.

“Life is like that. Situations change, and people change with them. In my case, it wasn’t that I had to stop. I was just so tired of everything at that time that I wanted to throw myself into something completely new. A place where everything was new from one to ten. Working at the gallery suited me and gave me satisfaction, so I settled into it. I’m very satisfied now. Like with other fields in the arts, painting is recognized only for a few truly talented people or artists. The rest either toil away on the fringes or just put on a show of being artistic… It’s easy to end up that way, isn’t it? Even if I had kept painting, I would have been a small-time artist holding exhibitions with personal funds and having friends buy my work. I have no regrets.”

The teacher’s words had a light aftertaste. He was sincere.

But I couldn’t neatly wrap up my regrets and feelings like that. So, I kept my mouth shut, staring blankly at the two pieces of sushi I had left.

“The gallery I’m working on now is growing. The first few years were tough, building the foundation with no results… So it was a bit mentally exhausting, but now it’s starting to turn around, and even though it’s physically demanding, I’m having a great time. It’s the same with riding the wave when things are going well. There are three more exhibitions scheduled, so I’ll be busy like this until the end of next month. I’m glad to see you. Otherwise, I would have been stressed out even when I got home.”

The teacher ruffled his neatly cut hair as if imagining something terrible.

“Not much to do.”

“When you come home, everything is tidy and everything is in its place. That’s more than enough.”

I didn’t need to cook or do laundry. I didn’t know how to cook. My job was only to tidy up and clean. The house was spacious with many large and small decorations and paintings, so it took some time, but it wasn’t difficult or complex. I was glad if such efforts were genuinely helping the teacher.

“Once these exhibitions are over, let’s chat leisurely. I’d like to visit there too. Something happened in Bali?”

To prepare in case someone tried to find us through the teacher, I had already briefly explained our situation to him.

“Yes, let’s definitely go together next time. It’s fun.”

We each ate one of the two pieces of sushi I had left and stood up from the table.

“I’ll take you to the gallery. Let’s go together.”

“No, I’ll clean up and then go. You go ahead. I can take the bus.”

The teacher checked his wristwatch and lightly pinched my cheek across the table.

“Let’s clean up together and take my car. The bus timing is tight.”

Before I could refuse, one of the teacher’s two phones on the table started ringing loudly.

“Sorry, it’s noisy. I keep the ringer loud in case I miss an important call. Just a moment.”

As the teacher turned slightly to make the call, I hurriedly began cleaning up the table. The disposable containers were easy to clear away.

“Hello? Why? Writer Yoon? … Ah, why does he always fixate on such trivial matters? Yoon, can you… No, you’re probably working on the display. Alright, I’ll talk to Writer Yoon, so you just ignore further calls and focus on the display…. Yes, I’ll handle it.”

Even before I quit painting, I didn’t know much about the art world or how galleries operated. But from observing the teacher’s routine, it seemed like a challenging place.

It sounded like another issue had arisen at the gallery. I rinsed the lunchbox container in the water, relieved that it was after the meal.

“Ihyun, what should we do? It seems like something came up at the office, so I need to hurry back. I’m sorry for saying I’d take you. Take a taxi instead. Okay?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ve finished cleaning up, and I can catch the bus now.”

Turning my head while drying the containers at the sink, I looked at the teacher. As a habit, the teacher’s gaze shifted from touching his eyebrows with one hand and chewing his lip to looking at me with a hint of expectation.

“You said you don’t have any moving company work tomorrow?”

I awkwardly nodded while holding the dried container in my hand. The teacher stepped forward and grabbed my wet hand.

“Ihyun, help me out. No, help us out.”

—

**Gallery Phantom**

The gallery with the somewhat grand name was located on an uphill slope behind Hanok Village, leading up to Bukak Mountain. Though not a very large site, it was a fairly sizable two-story building compared to the other quaint buildings in the area.

I had been given a rough idea of the situation from the teacher before arriving, and he mentioned that the tasks assigned to me were simple and didn’t require special skills, so there was nothing to worry about. However, following the teacher’s lead as he opened the heavy, cold-looking front door, I still wasn’t sure if someone like me, unfamiliar with the outside world, could be of help.

“Just follow the staff’s instructions. Even though I haven’t seen you for ten years, your skill in managing our home is evident. These are simple tasks that even a beginner can do, so don’t worry. Okay?”

As we passed through a small hall with a high ceiling and climbed the stairs to the second floor, the teacher lightly patted my back.

The elegant stairs were wide and almost white in color. They were so delicate that stepping on them felt cautious.

“Director! Writer Yoon is right now….”

“I’ll handle Writer Yoon. Here. A gift from me.”

The teacher placed me in front, placed his hands on my shoulders from behind, and gently pushed me forward a step. The person I was suddenly face-to-face with silently looked up at me with a puzzled expression. My own confusion was no less.

As we entered the second floor, several partitioned spaces appeared, and artworks hung on the walls were glimpsed around the corners of this small maze-like area.

The space was almost obsessively white. Even the floor, which was the same pale color as the stairs, and the structural ceiling above were all white.

In the middle of this white space, the person standing before me was completely dressed in black.