The Mysterious Art Museum

Chapter 128 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

As the car started, I looked out the window with a subtle smile.

‘The Monreale Cathedral, a magnet for painters. It’s the place with mosaic works that transformed Gustav Klimt from a traditional academic painter into the artist known for his elaborate gold decorations.’

The same place where Klimt, whom I met in a dream, had visited during his travels and was so moved by the church's art that he completely changed his style of painting. Finally, I’m going to that historic place.

* * *

At the same time, in the Rome headquarters of Vogue Italy.

A middle-aged man frowning seriously on a phone call hangs up and connects to his secretary through the intercom.

“Have Isabella come in immediately.”

After giving the order, the man bites his lip and stares at the PC monitor. On the screen are social media posts circulating photos of the recent popular Milan pond store.

A little while later, Isabella knocks on the door and enters, greeted by the stern man.

"Isabella."

"Yes, Editor-in-chief."

"You were supposed to send a special feature article about Monica's new brand launch, including coverage of Roseto Valfortore Village and Milan stores, right?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"And also spotlight the Korean artist named Ban."

"Yes, you already approved it. Is there a problem?"

The editor-in-chief gestures toward the phone with a frown.

"I smell ICON and Quid. Article Writer's involvement."

"...."

Isabella's face stiffens. The three magazines the editor mentioned were the most famous art magazines in Italy.

The editor speaks with a furrowed brow.

"You know this, right? We are a monthly magazine, but they are weeklies. If we publish the article in our next issue, we'll be late for sure."

Scoops are vital in journalism. If news breaks elsewhere and we follow it afterward, the impact of the story diminishes.

"But Editor-in-chief, We’ve also covered the Roseto Valfortore village.”

“You think they wouldn’t have done that?”

“........”

“Think about it, it’s not the fashion magazines but the art magazines that are moving. What do you think that means? The Korean is a bigger painter than I thought. Do you think those art magazines would write about his work without mentioning Monica’s brand?”

“........”

The Editor-in-chief slammed the table.

“Of Course! Monica’s brand will also be featured in an art magazine! If that happens, we’ll be late, which we can't afford to be! But that doesn’t mean we can turn a monthly magazine into a weekly magazine, there has to be something different about us so that people buy ours, and we don’t have anything like that right now!”

“That's true…”

“I just spoke to Monica on the phone. We’ve been in contact since the days of Alessandro Cucinelli, and luckily I got to know where the korean painter is now. Get on the plane right now and fly to him. Get an exclusive interview, take a picture. If you fail, you don’t have to come back.”

“But editor, without a prior appointment…”

“Just go! He is now in Palermo, you know where the painter is going, don’t you?”

"Monreale Cathedral..."

"Yeah, there's a Korean artist at that cathedral, which is said to have inspired Klimt. Do you think there's still time for that? There are probably reporters on their way there even now."

"I'll go quickly."

"Take Romano with you."

"Yes, Editor-in-chief!"

* * *

On the way to the cathedral, I struck up a conversation with Yona and we became friendly. He recommended a restaurant, so I invited him to eat with me, thinking of Marco. Initially, Yona declined, but when I offered to pay, he quickly sat down and ordered a lot.

“Can you really eat all that?”

“I'll eat it even if I burst.”

“Haven’t you eaten?”

“Well, you're my first customer today. What would a taxi driver who hasn't earned any money eat?”

This guy must have grown up in a poor family. It’s sad he goes without meals. Trying not to show pity, I said bluntly,

“Go ahead, eat your fill. I'll pay for it.”

“Ha! Easterners are rich.”

“This isn’t my money.”

“Then whose?”

“My owner's.”

“Wow, your owner covers your travel expenses too. You must be quite the painter.”

“Not really. But you said you were a sailor?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the connection between speaking English well and being a sailor? Were you on a deep-sea fishing boat?”

“Bingo.”

A young black man who looks much younger than me. The common point of being on a fishing boat reminded me of my hardworking father.

“Family?”

“I have a wife and daughter.”

“Married already?”

“Yeah, because of my daughter.”

“I see.”

“Actually, it's my wife's birthday soon. I wanted to give her a small gift, so I'm saving up. That's why I haven't eaten.”

“Eat a lot, I'm paying.”

“Heh, thanks.”

Soon, more than five dishes arrived for two people. Yona ate like he hadn't for days, smiling happily and innocently.

After finishing his meal at an incredible speed, he hesitated and glanced at me.

I slowly tore off a piece of bread and asked.

“What? Do you have something to say?”

“Uh, Ban.”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to pay for the taxi, but could you do me a favor instead?”

“Why wouldn’t you take the taxi fare? You said you were saving to buy your wife a gift.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m asking. Could you... instead of the taxi fare, draw a portrait of my wife? You said you’re a painter.”

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