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Chapter 107 Part 1 - The Mysterious Art Museum

A street artist's life changed when he ended up at a mysterious art museum. DBT,Korean,Novel,Translation,Art,Artist,Slice of life,Poor to Rich,Mystery

Meeting Monet (4)

"Really? He really got a job?"

After lunch, I called my mom in Korea and heard some unexpectedly good news.

-Yes, he got connected with a company that is running a pilot employment program for the disabled, based on his education from the school. It’s really fortunate.

"How does he commute?"

-He works from home.

"Wow, that's really great. What’s his job?"

-Logistics site monitoring.

Huh? Logistics site monitoring, like for a delivery company? Can a visually impaired person do that? My brother isn't just severely visually impaired; he's completely blind.

Mom added more details.

-There’s a foreign company that employs visually impaired people using assistive technology devices like screen reading software and braille information terminals.

Oh, that's impressive. Seems like a company that does good work.

"Really? That's amazing. But when did he start training for that?"

-He had some training before, but he started again after your exhibition.


Suddenly, I felt a lump in my throat. Tears seemed about to spill out.

-Jihun said he found more things he wanted to do after experiencing your paintings. It's all thanks to our second child.

My eyes welled up. I desperately held back tears to avoid crying in front of Mom.

Sensing her son's deep feelings, Mom made an excuse to end the call.

-Oh dear, look at me. The laundry is done. The dryer is beeping away. Let’s talk again later, son?

"Yes, I’ll call again, Mom."

After hanging up, I threw my phone on the sofa and buried my face in my knees.

I'm so happy, incredibly happy.

My brother has always been someone who can do most things by himself at home.

Of course, he never felt the need to do so, since Mom was always there, but if asked, he could do them.

Mom always worried about what would happen after she died.

She busied herself looking for vocational schools to create conditions for my brother's independence.

But the problem was that he lacked the will himself.

Especially after visiting the job center for the visually impaired, he would come home more dispirited than usual.

They mostly recommended massage therapy.

When he sought advice from seniors working as public servants or special education teachers, they tended to offer advice that confronted reality rather than encouragement.

'The reality wants the disabled who don’t seem disabled. And companies that take this for granted.'

Even if they employ disabled people and pay them, they expect them to work as much as anyone else. Of course, that's fair. But if the standard is set the same as for others, it’s impossible. My brother needs to check more things, ask for help, and rely on consideration and attention.

Around twenty, he was full of hope that he could work and looked into various jobs.

He even worked as an intern.

But on the day his internship ended, his supervisor told him this.

'Don’t grumble about a lack of jobs. You should be competent enough for companies to hire you first. Try harder, disabilities can be overcome.'

Angry after hearing this, I wanted to run to the company and grab the supervisor by the collar.

Lacking effort?

Do they have any idea how long it takes for a visually impaired person to memorize braille and train their touch to read a book that others could read in an hour? I wanted to ask that supervisor who criticized my brother's effort and lack of it, on what basis and how much they really understood about disabilities.

Visually impaired people are not superheroes.

They are just ordinary people. They put in much more effort than others to read books and live daily lives. It’s problematic to demand a job just because of a disability, but it’s also wrong to overlook the fact that they are putting in so much more effort.

After trying for about two years, my brother eventually gave up on employment. The only societal role deemed suitable for him, other than being a masseur, was nonexistent. Gradually, he lost his will.

But after seeing my exhibition, he changed.

And he really achieved something. Of course, it was good timing that he connected with a company doing public work, but opportunities don't present themselves to those without will. It was because he changed that he was able to seize the opportunity.

I stared blankly at the phone I had thrown on the sofa.

I wanted to call my brother right away and shower him with congratulations.

But I was cautious.

Maybe my brother is just thinking about starting simple things like working, earning money, and eating meals like everyone else. Excessive congratulations might make him feel pressured.

"Later, when I go to Korea."

I decided to save the congratulations for later.

Wiping away the tears that had slipped down my cheeks with my sleeve, I smiled faintly and stood up, dusting off my clothes.

"My brother is putting in so much effort, I should too!"

Brother, I hope you do well.

Meet good people and don’t lose hope in humanity.

You can do it, brother.

I sent a million words of encouragement in my heart, hoping they would reach my brother on the other side of the globe.


In the evening, the square I had visited late at night looked completely different.

The townspeople were out in the square, and the pink-hued sky illuminated them.

The once desolate square was now warm with people out for a walk or shopping.

There weren't many people, about thirty or so in sight. For the only square in town, that's very few, but to me, who had never seen more than five people at once since coming to this village, it seemed lively.

I was curious about how Uncle Augusto, who runs three stores at once, would handle this situation. But I soon chuckled.

"People at the fruit store pick their fruits, put them in bags, and then go to the restaurant to pay."

The butcher shop won't work that way. He has to cut the meat himself. But does he live alone? Usually, families help out in such situations. It must be exhausting to cook, cut meat, and sell fruits all by himself.

I found a nice spot to sit and observed the square, then looked up at the sky.

'The movement of light changes the space.'

I thought about it earlier, but the square at sunset looks drastically different from the square I had seen.

'Monet must have thought about this too. That's why he captured the movement of light as impressions.'

Many Impressionist painters did the same.

They stepped out of the indoors, packed their painting supplies in bags, took trains, and traveled to places a day's journey away to paint landscapes directly. Light changes endlessly from moment to moment. Since painting isn't something that comes out in just 1 or 2 minutes, it inevitably requires quick speed and the omission of details.

In fact, I'm confident in that area too.

On the day I first met Monica, I was sketching passersby quickly during a dull moment with no customers. I've practiced capturing the impression of my desired subjects in a short amount of time.

While watching the constantly changing sunset, I suddenly remembered the thought I had in the morning.

'So, can I continue to be happy?'

I don't think my current self is just chasing money. After all, art is produced from wealth.

Artists are people too. People need to eat and live, and that requires money.

Earning money is not inherently wrong.

However, speaking in terms of an artist's happiness, there will undoubtedly come a time when I feel disillusioned with my current actions.

I sat on the stone wall, crossed my legs, and rested my chin on my hand.

"Non-profitable paintings. There seems to be no better time than now to paint what I want."

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