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When I’d looked it up beforehand in Seoul, they said it rained in Chicago about once every four days in September. We ran into rain on the morning of our second day.
The scenery, a mix of low-hanging, light gray clouds and fog amidst Chicago’s grand yet distinctive architecture, was so atmospheric that it made me want to wander the streets all day with an umbrella over my shoulder, but it inevitably caused a hitch in the event’s proceedings.
The photo wall that had been set up at the gallery entrance was rendered useless, and the schedule was changed to have a simple photo session during the Q&A with the artist that was planned for later.
For a while, the gallery was a madhouse both inside and out as they tried to usher the considerable number of people indoors.
Today was the official opening day of the exhibition, and with various Chicago media outlets, social media and blog operators who covered art, and even the general public flocking in, not only the gallery interior but also its surroundings were bustling.
Grabbing a canned drink provided by the gallery, I was swept up by the crowd and pushed up to the second floor, where I found a spot near a relatively quiet section of the railing not far from the stairs.
Shushu was standing behind a desk in the center of the temporarily set-up exhibition hall, and I could easily spot him and Noona standing by a step behind, as if to assist Shushu. Shushu and Noona repeatedly appeared and disappeared behind the crowd, but even here, where the average height was a bit taller than in Seoul, his face rose at least a handspan above everyone else’s heads.
The interest in the beautiful golden omega photographer from an eastern city who took delicate yet powerful photos was immense even in Chicago. There was a considerable number of teenage and twenty-something visitors requesting selfies or autographs with Shushu.
Since this was Shushu’s first solo exhibition in the United States, I felt it was only polite to visit at opening time to congratulate him, but seeing him now, breaking out in a sweat and forcing an awkward smile while surrounded by people, it seemed like it would be more helpful if I, for one, spared him my congratulations.
When he left for the gallery about an hour before I did, he had said, half-teasingly, that I would have to see him with Shushu and was I really okay with that. He worried that the gallery would be thrown into chaos if I, in a fit of jealousy, threw myself into his arms and showered him with kisses… but it was a far cry from how I’d thrown a tantrum about not wanting to send him to Shushu just three weeks ago; now, I felt nothing. It wasn’t as if I was jealous back then because I didn’t trust him, anyway….
I had been worried that the atmosphere might be awkward because of how we’d parted last night, but when I saw him in the living room this morning, he seemed to have recovered his spirits, thankfully.
Saying it was the day my work was being revealed to the world for the first time, albeit unofficially, he had even prepared a bouquet—or more accurately, a flower basket. It was a flower basket so lush and beautiful that if I held it in my arms, it would block my vision. It was so magnificent and luxurious that it could have been called a small garden in itself.
He was almost ready to leave when I came out into the living room, and he brought up last night’s events and apologized once more. Then he said he had made a reservation at a wonderful place for dinner and that he would probably be able to return to the hotel at 5 o’clock, so we arranged to meet in the hotel room around then.
“It won’t be a romantic date, since Baekyuni has to come along.”
He’d said it, feigning dissatisfaction even though he’d had no intention of leaving Noona out from the start, and I had been the one to kiss his cheek first. Of course, it had also developed into a deeper kiss.
As I stood in the living room thinking about our morning kiss amidst the scent of flowers, I flinched for a moment, feeling as if my eyes had met his in reality. I thought I might have imagined it, but he playfully scrunched up his face, making an expression that said he was exhausted. His gaze was definitely on me.
Chuckling, I pointed my index finger downward to signal that I would go down to the first floor, and he nodded and gave me an okay sign.
Even the stairs were quite crowded with newly arriving visitors. Still, the line going down was better off than the line going up. Amidst the procession heading upstairs, a group that looked like teenagers was chattering in excited voices about Shushu’s looks.
Someone also mentioned the tall man standing next to Shushu, the one with the rare combination of ‘black hair and eyes like blue diamonds.’ Then someone else mentioned a famous Hollywood actor from England and said he resembled him. ‘What? Are you kidding? That guy is way hotter!’—The chicly dressed girl who had compared his eyes to blue diamonds shook her head with her arms crossed, flatly denying it.
I understood people’s fuss. Today’s star was Shushu, but no matter what, he was someone who couldn’t hide his presence as if melting into the wall. If I let myself get provoked by every bit of curiosity, favor, and enthusiasm people showed for his looks alone, my nerves wouldn’t be able to take it.
By the time I had slowly made my way down the stairs, guided by the gallery staff, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was Inwoo-hyung. I broke away from the procession that was mostly heading outside the gallery, turned into the first-floor hall, and answered the call.
“Yes, Hyung!”
[…Hmm. What’s this? Have you always greeted me this happily, Yeehyeon?]
I smiled sheepishly at the sincerity in his voice after a brief pause. It was true that I was happier than usual to get a call from an acquaintance while overseas.
[I called to congratulate you on your first exhibition. Are you busy?]
“No. I’m by myself right now.”
[How does it feel, now that your first exhibition has started?]
“I was upstairs and just came down to see it myself. I haven’t seen them hanging yet, so… it doesn’t feel real yet.”
[From the sound of it, you haven’t received my bouquet yet.]
“What?”
[I asked the hotel to have it ready so you could get it before you left. I guess the timing was off.]
I felt sorry myself at the sound of his voice, trying to hide his disappointment. I sat down on a bench next to a large areca palm pot and thanked him for his thoughtfulness. He laughed, saying what was there to thank him for when I hadn’t even received it yet.
[Yesterday was the VIP opening, right? Did any of your paintings sell, Yeehyeon?]
“Ah… no. The director said he was just going to check the reaction to the exhibition this time….”
[They’re not for sale?]
“No. Not this time.”
I wonder if he even intends to sell them. I fiddled with the can of soda as I heard Hyung muttering to himself. Looking closely, it was a coffee-based drink. A couple that looked to be in their early twenties walked past me, heading to the inner exhibition room. It was where my paintings were hanging. My heart pounded for no reason.
[How are you feeling? Is it still uncomfortable to eat?]
“I’m much better. My appetite is almost back to normal, and maybe it’s thanks to the supplements you recommended, but I’m feeling fine.”
[Hmm… I guess he still hasn’t told you.]
“What?”
I could feel him smiling on the other end of the line.
[I was just being a little smug, wondering how it could not be effective when I was the one who treated you.]
The call ended with Hyung’s earnest jest that Chicago didn’t really have a signature souvenir, so as cliché as it was, a Starbucks city tumbler would be a good travel gift.
I felt a little of my tension ease. Unlike my time with him, where I still wanted to look good and couldn’t let my guard down because I was conscious of his gaze, talking with Hyung was just comfortable. The tension he gave me was a pleasant tightening, completely different from discomfort, but sometimes I needed a moment to loosen up.
My expression feeling noticeably lighter even to myself, I put my phone in my pocket and stood up from the bench.
Unlike the second floor, which was crowded all the way to the stairs, the floor below was much quieter. I walked further inside, following the stylish typography on the wall that indicated the location of the exhibition hall. The further I got from the commotion at the entrance and on the upper floor, the more the calm yet hazy lounge music flowing through the space began to reach my ears.
“……”
The moment I rounded the corner of the concrete wall and saw the painting hanging on the wall, bathed in soft, indirect lighting, my toes curled inside my canvas sneakers. Heat rose to my face. I could feel the tops of my ears burning red.
It was the feeling of going to school one day to find your diary displayed page by page on the bulletin board next to the school gate. Or, it was closer to the mortification of watching yourself, as another version of yourself, being shamed by standing naked among fully clothed people, as sometimes happens in dreams.
That was the first impression.
The twenty or so viewers seemed to be mostly people killing time, waiting for the upper floor to become a little less crowded. But it didn’t matter. I was a complete unknown, and I wasn’t foolish enough not to know that having an opportunity like this in my position was a great stroke of luck and something to be grateful for.
‘Isolation’, the nude of Juhan-hyung that was temporarily titled <Untitled> because I hadn’t decided on a title yet, and one other work I had completed after that. A total of three paintings were hanging side by side, spaced apart from each other.
The exhibition space was not as small as I had thought. The ten or so works were displayed with enough space so as not to interfere with each other’s individuality. Watching the people drifting in front of the paintings in their own ways, I approached the empty wall to the right of the entrance, where nothing was hanging, and leaned my shoulder against it.
Though there were only a few visitors, most people were more interested in the two newest works, while one man who was lingering for an unusually long time in front of ‘Isolation’ caught my eye.
The man, standing erect and leaning on a plastic-covered long umbrella, was an Asian man with long hair that fell slightly past his shoulders. I couldn’t be sure from just the side profile, but he looked Korean. And from just that side profile, I could surmise that the man had a rather neat and handsome appearance.
The man remained standing there for a long time, even after bumping into two or three teenagers who were snickering in front of ‘Isolation’, a piece that was full of audacity and playfulness in its expression compared to the two more recent works.
After that, the man moved back and forth between the three paintings, checking the captions several times. As if he were a person trying to confirm whether what he had seen was an undeniable fact.
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