The wind grew stronger the closer we got to the lake, but the weather was clear, revealing a sky of an almost surreal blue.
“I was wondering where all the people of Chicago went on a Sunday, and it turns out they were all gathered at Navy Pier.”
My noona muttered, pulling her hands from her leather jacket pockets to tuck her muffler inside her jacket so it wouldn’t fly away.
It wasn’t what you’d call a crowd, but compared to the relatively deserted downtown area, there were quite a few people around the pier. In particular, families on outings and tourists were flocking toward the amusement rides, like the Ferris wheel and carousel.
My noona and I moved toward a spot diagonally facing the giant Ferris wheel, looking for a place where we could enjoy the view of Lake Michigan more peacefully. No matter where we looked, the view was wide open, so it didn’t seem far, but once we actually started walking, our destination didn’t get closer as easily as it looked. We thought we’d arrive in two or three minutes, but it took us nearly ten to reach the bench we’d picked out.
“Alright, let’s have a taste.”
As soon as we sat down on a backless bench under what looked like a coniferous tree, my noona opened the popcorn with a face full of anticipation. It was the popcorn she had been looking forward to since before the business trip, saying it was a Chicago specialty that she had to try no matter how busy she was.
After opening the bags of cheese and caramel popcorn we had each bought, my noona first picked up a few kernels of the caramel flavor. Then she immediately grimaced.
“Whoa, this is so sweet! Is this even edible for humans?!”
Her review—that it was a sweetness that could melt your brain—piqued my curiosity, and I put a few kernels in my mouth as well. Ah… It really was very sweet. In my case, it felt like my teeth would melt before the sweetness even reached my brain.
“Quick, eat the cheese flavor, the cheese flavor.”
As if performing first aid, my noona hurriedly shoved some cheese popcorn into my mouth, and a few kernels that missed their mark rolled into my jacket or between my legs. We both burst out laughing.
After laughing for a long while over something so trivial, we chattered about pointless things, our hands alternating between the cheese and caramel bags. My noona talked about the peculiar people she’d met during her business trip, and I talked about the paintings I’d seen at galleries and art museums.
“Anyway, it’s really vast. It’s so vast I don’t even think of it as vast, since you can’t see the end. Not many people look at the ocean and think it’s vast, right?”
My noona said, gazing at Lake Michigan before us. She took a breath so deep her shoulders rose, then let it out just as long. It seemed more like a sigh than a deep breath.
She was right. The boundless blue scenery before us, with its horizon, was similar to the ocean in that it felt awkward to even apply the concept of ‘vastness.’ Just as no one speaks of the vastness of the sky, the same was true for the ocean.
When I lived at my grandfather’s house, the sea was a part of life, of the everyday. Just as the sky and the earth are a natural given for people inland.
The sea was always there—in the wind, in the salty smell mixed into that wind, in the corrosive power that quickly rusted all gates and cars, in the blue and white shimmer that came into view whenever I turned my head. It existed everywhere.
And my father was still there.
I wondered if he felt abandoned by me, just as I had by him.
I recalled my father’s silence on the night I left that house with my hyung, how he hadn’t held me back, how he seemed to see me as nothing more than a part of the darkness.
My father probably hadn’t felt the same way I did.
I was already excluded from my father’s world—no, everything was excluded—so even if the world, not just me, turned its back on him, there was no need for him to feel a sense of loss or abandonment.
Even if I had started painting again thanks to his persuasion and goodwill, even if I was stimulated by visiting unexpected cities like Hong Kong and Chicago and, just as he had predicted, new stories I wanted to paint were emerging, and even if I seemed to have overcome something by confessing my past to him… in reality, it was all just like wearing protective gear inside the safe enclosure of his affection and pedaling a bicycle he was holding from behind. My actual situation, which I had left behind in that other world, hadn’t changed one bit.
Perhaps that, of all things, was the source of the anxiety he felt because of me.
Because the thing I wasn’t fully revealing to him—in other words, the problem of my own that I was turning away from—was ultimately there, in the place where my father was.
The whispers of ‘I love you’ we had shared last night, all the affectionate words, and the smile I had quietly worn in his arms in the happiness of falling asleep and waking up with him—it wasn’t a present the two of us had built together through effort.
I knew. Just as I had with my father’s silence, I had only been pretending not to know.
Saying that Chicago would be colder than Seoul… even this very jacket I was wearing was something he had prepared for me before the trip. No, everything on my body right now, from the sunglasses blocking the sunlight to the single piece of underwear, was all a gift from him. In the closet of the Seoul studio hung striped t-shirts of a brand that Picasso was said to have favored, in various designs and colors.
There was still no light that I had created myself. This wasn’t just about financial means. What he had given me wasn’t just clothes, a place to stay, or luxurious trips. I was relying on the light he shone to see my own hands, to see what was in front of and around me, and I had grasped onto something by relying on that light.
As if fleeing from the sight before me that was reminiscent of the sea, I dropped my gaze to the coffee in my hand. The surface of the cup holding the iced coffee was covered in water droplets. It was coffee I had bought from a Starbucks we had stopped at for In-woo hyung’s gift. The ice had more than half melted.
“Yesterday… after the plans were canceled, I went out to meet Reed at night.”
“……”
Pulled from my thoughts, I turned to look at my noona. Her face was still turned toward Lake Michigan. But I couldn’t tell what her sharp, dark eyes behind the sunglasses were actually seeing.
“He contacted me through a social media message. Said he was going back to Paris tomorrow and asked if I wanted to grab a quick drink.”
Tossing the popcorn she was holding into her mouth, my noona brushed the crumbs from her hands and checked her wristwatch. He’s probably on the plane by now, she muttered nonchalantly.
“I was feeling down, so I said okay and went, but honestly, I had a hunch it wasn’t just about grabbing a drink. We’d talked for quite a while at the party, and I’d already gotten a feeling then.”
“……”
I thought I knew… what my noona was about to say. But instead of interrupting, I quietly waited for her to continue.
“Remember that organization Reed is in charge of? The one Jane and Connor are sponsoring.”
“Yes.”
“He proposed that I work with them.”
“……”
Even though it was what I had expected, I was at a loss for words. The popcorn bag, which had grown lighter as we ate, looked like it would fly away in the wind, so I held it down with my hand and swallowed dryly.
“Ah… uh… what did you… say….”
“I haven’t answered yet. I asked for some time.”
My noona’s face turned toward me. I couldn’t see her eyes, but I could tell she was frowning.
“But I’m not the only one who got an offer.”
“……”
The organization that Reed had personally conceived the system for and gathered sponsors for by hitting the pavement himself, ‘The Hands,’ was an art foundation. It selected promising new artists who were struggling to create due to their livelihood, whose artistic direction aligned with the foundation’s, and provided them with room, board, creative materials, and a creative space for a certain period, and even managed the exhibition and sale of their works.
According to my noona, a small apartment in Paris was their ‘headquarters,’ which they used as lodging for the artists, as well as the foundation’s office and exhibition hall. Reed, she said, wanted to recommend me as the new resident for a studio that had one spot open.
‘The Hands,’ which was run with the support of various art lovers and corporations in addition to Jane and Mark, did not charge a commission on the sale of artworks, unlike other galleries or dealers, and all profits made while belonging to the foundation went entirely to the artist. Even so, since they were all new artists, the sums weren’t as large as those for established artists, but it went without saying that it was a great help in the process of establishing oneself as a painter.
The commission charged by most galleries was 30 to 50% of the artwork’s price. A 30% commission was considered very cheap. So, if the commission wasn’t included in the sale price of the work, more people besides a few wealthy collectors could have the opportunity to purchase good art at a ‘reasonable price.’
That was the artistic direction ‘The Hands’ pursued, and I couldn’t deny that I agreed with their ideas and found them appealing.
“……What do you think?”
My noona asked cautiously, leaning her upper body forward as if she were slightly gauging my reaction.
I fiddled with the cup of coffee, which had become much paler in color as the ice had almost completely melted, and lightly wet my lower lip with my tongue. I was thirsty, and I had coffee in my hand, but I didn’t feel like drinking it.
“The offer is truly wonderful… and I’m grateful, but….”
I shook my head at my noona. She moved closer to me on the bench and took off her sunglasses, holding them in her hand.
“He wants to send an email with information about the organization’s nature, its operating system, and its facilities. It won’t hurt to just receive it and take a look, right? I haven’t given it to him yet, but… it’s okay to give him your email address, right?”
“Even if I look at the materials… my mind won’t change.”
My noona’s distinct eyes, which had made a strong impression on me from our first meeting, stared at me with force. The strong wind was blowing her black bobbed hair messily against her face, but she paid it no mind.
“Is it because of the CEO?”
“……”
“You and the CEO… you’re dating… right?”
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