The Mysterious Art Museum

Chapter 78 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum

"Where's the museum office?"

I came here today to make a personal donation to this museum.

I'm no longer the penniless painter wandering around Ikseon-dong. I'm the respectable representative of a company now, with quite a hefty pocket.

These days, it feels like I'm raking in money.

You know, like money just keeps coming in even when I'm doing nothing?

After painting the ceiling of the W Tree Hotel's theater, companies have been eagerly approaching my artist company. Although we missed out on some opportunities due to our small staff, we've already finished the first commissioned work and are in the process of completing the next. The job after that is already lined up.

The sales of Belle poque are going smoothly, bringing in quite a bit of money, and this revenue is sustainable. Also, the monitor with the embarrassing name I launched will be released soon. Monica is a great strategist, so she'll probably do well this time too. It's not a joint design like the refrigerator, I'm just lending my name, so the R/S is small, but it still becomes a continuous source of income.

The thought of the monitor makes my face turn red again.

"Goodness, I'm not Michael Jordan, and yet products named after me are coming out."

Let's head to the second floor.

There can't possibly be an art gallery without an office.

For the first time, I head up to the second floor instead of the basement. However, on the second floor, there are only two tightly locked iron doors. Going up to the third floor, I find the staircase blocked by an iron gate locked with a huge padlock. Annoyed, I shake the gate and then head back down to the first floor.

"What kind of place is this, with no contact number for inquiries?"

It's fundamentally lacking. No wonder there are no customers.

"Really, could it go bankrupt like this?"

I plan to regularly support the gallery personally. With my current ability, I can afford at least the monthly rent for the gallery. The biggest worry for small business owners is the rent. If I can cover that, they shouldn't go bankrupt. It's just that I can't find anywhere to give the money.

I look back at the exhibition sign, then buy a ticket and enter the exhibition hall.

There might be an office inside the exhibition hall.

As I descend halfway down the stairs to the basement, faint music reaches my ears. Whose music will it be this time?

Listening carefully, I nod my head.

"Claude Debussy's Clair de Lune."

He is a French composer. Since Toulouse-Lautrec is French, that's probably why this piece is playing. It's quiet and delicate music, perfect to listen to alone under the moonlight at night.

Holding the doorknob and listening to the music, I open the door.

Descending the metal staircase, I gaze at the interior of the hall and exclaim in awe at the magnificent exhibition.

"Moulin Rouge."

Many people know this word.

Most will remember it as the title of a movie, and even if they know it's not, few know what it actually means. But it's famous enough that many people know the term.

So what does it mean?

Surprisingly, it's the name of a dance hall that opened in Paris in 1889.

Impressive, right? It's technically a dance hall, but essentially, it's a club.

That a club name can resonate around the world even after 100 years is truly remarkable.

The reason I murmured this word upon entering is because the painting prominently displayed in front of me is Toulouse's "At the Moulin Rouge, The Dance."

Gentlemen wore suits, and ladies wore dresses.

People dressed their best and came to the Moulin Rouge to dance with their partners.

And closest in perspective, at the forefront, is the side view of a lovely and modest lady in a pink dress, wearing a stylishly feathered pink hat.

Back then, this place was coveted by all gentlemen and ladies, frequented by many politicians and celebrities.

In the center of the painting are a dancing man and woman, the man being Valentin Le Desosse, nicknamed "the boneless man." Not that he literally had no bones, but he was such an incredible dancer that he seemed like an invertebrate. If you look at the man's legs in the painting, they appear to have multiple joints, unlike those of an ordinary person.

Even nowadays, clubs have party managers who recruit good-looking friends to dance on stage. I heard that, even in dramas depicting clubs from about 30 years ago, the pretty girls dancing in front of nightclubs were also recruited by the owners.

Perhaps this culture started back then. This man too was a star recruited to brighten up the place.

"But surprisingly, he's not the protagonist of this painting."

It's the woman on the left, at the very front.

The woman in the pink dress is the protagonist of this painting.

"But no one knows who she is."

The owner of Moulin Rouge bought the painting after falling in love with it and hung it in his establishment. He asked Toulouse about the main character, but Toulouse did not answer. Who was she really?

"Well, she could just be an ordinary customer who came to the club."

In museums, people like to guess the meanings unintended by artists and talk about them as if they were true. Maybe the artist just painted an unknown woman in front of him at the time.

If the artist didn't speak of its meaning, it's just something to be passed over.

Turning my gaze away from the painting, I clicked my tongue, realizing there was no space in this exhibition hall that could be called an office. It's frustrating not knowing where to give my money, even when I want to donate it.

After looking around the hall and eventually returning to the center, I sat down on a rock sofa and rested my chin on my hand.

'I'll wait and see if there's any passing staff member.'

Hmm, have I ever seen someone who looks like a staff member while coming and going here? I don't think I've seen anyone. Ah, this is really frustrating.

Just then, the warm and delicate music suddenly changed to an exciting dance tune.

Surprised by the sudden change in atmosphere, I tilted my head and shifted my gaze to the painting in front.

The painting of the dance at Moulin Rouge, still displayed on the wall, seemed to pulse with a throbbing effect, enlarging and shrinking in rhythm with the beat. It felt just like being in a real club.

Before I could adjust to the sudden change in atmosphere, I dropped my head suddenly.

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