The Mysterious Art Museum

Chapter 49 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

I dont know how much time has passed in this dream.

At least several weeks have gone by. Of course, I wasn't just waiting during that time.

Whats good about a dream?

A dream shows me the passage of time but doesn't force me to endure it.

Everything sped by, and I watched Klimt and his brother move at an almost imperceptibly fast pace, their hands and feet barely visible. In the morning, they would visit the empty theater to observe, and in the afternoon, they would return to the studio to paint. The painting taking shape within the enormous canvas.

Truth be told, watching Klimt work doesnt improve my painting skills. Frankly, art students of today are probably better in technique than painters of the 18th and 19th centuries. Modern art students have learned the numerous skills that have accumulated over the vast expanse of time.

However, painters who leave their mark on an era are not defined by their skills alone.

What were their thoughts?

How did they express themselves?

Did they advance within the currents of their time?

It's these aspects, rather than painting technique, that determine a master painter.

Klimt in front of me is one such person.

While I'm watching how he completes his painting with my eyes, what I truly want to understand is not his skill, but his thoughts.

Two months into the collaboration with his brother.

Finally, the painting is completed.

And Anton, a municipal official, chose the first-floor lobby of the city hall as the place to display the finished painting.

I stand quietly in the city hall lobby where Anton hung the painting, gazing at it.

Anton doesnt understand the meaning behind this painting. He simply hung it with the hope that people would remember the beautiful image of the theater.

This mayor has wasted tax money again. How many more of these paintings does he plan to produce? The land value dropped by 5% just last month. Does he even think?

I turned my head towards the direction of the voice.

Two men stood there, one with a thick beard, both dressed in black suits and bowler hats, looking like nobles or wealthy landlords. The bearded man, stroking his beard, said,

But this painting, it's truly beautiful. Have you been to the Burgtheater?

What are you saying? Who hasnt been to that old theater?

The ceilings there, and the way the seats look. It resembles the audience during a play, when the lights go off and the stage is dimly lit. Doesnt it look like an actual theater audience?

Well, yes, but if it were me, Id have chosen a view showing the stage rather than the seats.

Hmm, thats true. It would have been better as a scene from a Shakespeare play.

Yes, then this painting would have been more beautiful. Thats why I say the mayor is wasting money.

As the bearded man couldnt take his eyes off the painting, he suddenly raised his eyebrows.

He stepped forward and approached the painting.

His friend, sensing something odd, joined him and said,

Whats wrong? Another issue with the painting? Tell me, we should complain to the mayor about this. Hes barely got a month left in office.

What do you see?

There, you.

Speak up.

That man in the brown suit on the right end.

Where?

Over there. Isnt that you?

?

Ah, yes! Thats you! And isnt that your wife next to you!

The man, seeing himself and his wife in the corner of the painting, widened his eyes. The bearded man began pointing out people excitedly.

And theres Donat, the southern landlord! And thats Mr. Askin! My God, Moretti and Reed are there too! Are all these people really Viennas nobility and landlords?

The bearded man reached out as if to touch the painting, but it was hung too high.

But theres a serious problem with this painting!

His friend, now appeased by his own portrait, turned around.

Whats the problem?

Im not in it! I, Kotopft, the proudest landlord in the north!

His friend, already part of the painting, smiled contently.

Ha, thats the discerning eye of great Austrian artists! Honestly, you have no eye for art, only money. Maybe you should start appreciating art, and one day, Viennas artists might recognize you as a true noble.

The bearded man scowled.

Damn it! This is unacceptable! Lets go to the mayors office right now! Ill support the artists with my own money, but my face must be in this painting!

Ha ha! Do you still think money can do everything? Ha ha! I might reassess the current mayor. If such beautiful art is made, taxes arent a waste. In fact, Id open my own wallet if needed.

You can say that because your face is in it! This is a matter of honor!

Heh, its not about honor, but art. The nobles in the painting and those who arent will be a significant social marker.

The bearded man heated up and swung his cane around.

Lets go to the mayors office right now! Ill pay whatever it takes to get my face in that painting!

Whoa, wait! Lets go together!

I watched as the two friends hurried towards the mayors office. What? They think its an honor to be in the painting? They curse the mayor one moment and change their stance the next?

I couldnt quite understand their thoughts.

But as I listened to the conversations of the many nobles who rushed in upon hearing the rumors, I narrowed my eyes and paid attention.

Ha ha!! Indeed!! Supporting Viennas artists non-stop has its rewards! Look at that! Can you see my face? They even got my favorite clothes right! I heard Klimt painted this, you know? Ive always held Klimt in high regard.

Shut up! You didnt even know who Klimt was. Now youre boasting because your face is in it?

Ha ha! Your face isnt there, is it!

Damn! Who exactly is Klimt? Butler! Butler! Find out who Klimt is and convey that I intend to sponsor him! But only if my face gets into this painting!

The scene changes.

Again, the figures pass by swiftly.

The painting that was in the city hall lobby is now back in Klimts studio, with numerous people being added.

And finally, when the painting is completed, all the nobles and landowners living in Vienna flock to the lobby, applauding and praising the art.

And as I watch them, I recall Monicas words.

The real creation of art is not about satisfying desires, but about creating them.

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