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Chapter 107 Part 2 - 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

Monica said she would stay in this village for more than three weeks.

She's waiting for the completion of the renovations at the Milan store and observing the construction of the factory site. In truth, I could have come much later.

The three weeks Monica gave me were probably meant for me to ponder the store design. But I can't find an answer to that yet. I remembered what Teacher Alphonse Mucha said.

'Amateurs wait for inspiration, but professionals just get to work.'

Right, even if no one appreciates my paintings, it's enough if I'm happy. I haven't decided what I want to paint yet, but let's just do it. I'll give it a try. After all, I have nothing else to do.

I had actually come out to eat dinner at Uncle Augusto's restaurant, but not wanting to bother him while he was so busy, I just got up and left the square.

The uphill road next to the cathedral leading to my home.

I love this road, where just walking among the beautifully built houses brings me peace.

And on this road, I was lucky to meet the cute little angel again.


Today, instead of the ground, Lea was scribbling on a wall at her eye level. Hearing her name, she looked around, spotted me, and ran over with a bright smile to hug me.

"Whoa! Our Lea, have you eaten?"

When I mime eating, she nods her head with a smile. Maybe because we communicated once before, it feels like we can understand each other through gestures.

Holding Lea, I look at the stone wall opposite her house. There, I see the drawing she had been working on.

"What's this?"

It's a drawing, but I can't make out what it is. An animal? Or perhaps a person?

As I look at the drawing and ask, Lea, guessing my question from my expression, struggles to get down.

Once I set her on the ground, she strikes a strange pose, lifting one shoulder, pouting her lips, and extending one foot.

Watching her peculiar pose, I blink and realize what she's trying to convey.

"Camille? Did you draw the woman in a kimono you saw in your dream?"

"Verminte che bella."

I don't understand what she's saying. But looking closely, it seems she drew only the outline first. Such a color-highlighted drawing wouldn't come out well on the wall without paint. But why does Lea still draw on the wall? Doesn't she have a sketchbook at home?

'There are no art supply stores in the village. The child doesn't have the means to draw.'

It's unlikely that an artist traveling abroad wouldn't bring drawing materials. After a brief thought, I say,

"Lea, I'll go home and bring back a sketchbook and some pencils as a gift. Just wait a little."


Lea, not understanding a word, looks at me while I signal her to wait with my palm. I quickly run home and return with a sketchbook, colored pencils, and an eraser.

Lea is still drawing on the wall.

Maybe because I returned quickly, and Lea hadn't drawn much yet, but the picture seems almost unchanged from before.

I open the sketchbook, take off the lids of the colored pencils, and show them to her with a smile.

"Lea, present."

She probably doesn't understand English. Lea blinks at the items I offer, then smiles brightly when I hand them to her.

"Now draw here, okay?"

Lea puts the sketchbook on the ground, tries the colored pencils, and then cheers joyfully, raising her arms. Seeing the little angel so happy warms my heart.

But then, Lea crouches down, draws something quickly, and goes back to picking up stones to continue her wall drawing. Watching her, I can't understand why.

"Lea, you should draw here."

Just then, a car arrives.

It's Lea's father, returning with her brother, whom I'd seen before.

Lea runs to her dad as he gets out of the car, hugs him, then grabs her brother's hand and brings him to the drawing, chattering away.

'Was the brother's name Vittorio?'

The boy, just back from school, smiles as his sister explains the drawing.

Lea's father nods at me, probably having heard about me from Sophia. I nod back, and he heads inside, while Lea continues explaining her drawing to her brother.

Simply put, she's proudly showing her brother the drawing she made. But to me, Lea appears to be passionately explaining her artwork.

And the brother, looking at his sister's drawing, seems happy.

All this time, I'm deep in thought.

'What's the point of a drawing if no one sees it?'

Maybe a drawing made for someone else, like Lea's, which doesn't earn even a dollar, is more meaningful than one drawn just for oneself. Like the drawings Lea makes for her brother returning from school, to show someone and make them happy.

Perhaps the meaning of art lies in creating happiness for others?

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