Chapter 32 (2) - The Mysterious Art Museum
As the dizziness ends, I stagger briefly but thankfully regain my balance and close my eyes until the dizziness subsides, focusing on my hearing to understand my surroundings.
But, there's no sound around me. The silence suggests that I am probably inside a building.
When I slowly open my eyes, squinted from the lingering dizziness, I see the living room of a very luxurious mansion.
Through the large window, I see an endlessly sprawling garden, and in the distance, beautiful horses running around.
Where am I now?
The living room is so large, it must be about 50 pyeong.
In front of the window, there's a red sofa with its back to the window, facing a small chair.
The walls are adorned with many paintings, expensive-looking tea sets, and fresh flowers.
Whose house is this?
I sit in a corner of the deserted living room, lost in thought.
'Judging by the architectural style, it feels like 18th century Austria.'
How can I tell just by looking at the room?
Well, it's clear when the architectural styles are so jumbled together.
The architectural style of Ringstrae in 18th century Vienna is interesting.
The Parliament building reminds one of Greek and Roman classical retro style, the city hall of Flemish Gothic retro style, the Vienna State Opera of Renaissance retro style, and the court theatre of Baroque retro style.
So, Ringstrae is essentially a showroom of historicist architecture rarely seen anywhere else on Earth.
This room is no different.
The fireplace, furniture, ceiling, wallpaper, and the shape of the windows are all mixed with styles from different eras.
Then, I hear footsteps from a corridor on one side of the living room.
Not knowing what to expect, I hide behind the curtain of the largest window in the living room, only my eyes peering out. And when the owner of the footsteps appears, I have to cover my mouth to stop a scream from escaping.
'Klimt!'
A gentleman in a grey suit, with a bushy beard and curly hair.
I had laughed earlier, remembering the older Klimt, but the young Klimt was quite handsome. I've seen a few of his photographs, and apart from the change from black and white to color, he looks the same.
Without a word, Klimt sits on the small chair facing the red sofa, pulls out a small notebook and pencil, and begins to sketch something that I can't see from where I am.
Can he see me?
Ah, this is confusing.
Teacher Mucha saw me. But there were times he didn't.
It's hard to act rashly when I can't figure out the criteria.
Even though it's a dream, the urge to go crazy and step outside the curtain to see what he's painting is growing stronger. Just then, a woman in a black dress, ornate yet lavish, emerges from a door inside the living room.
As Klimt, who was drawing something, puts down his pencil and stands up to bow, the lady slightly bends her knees and says,
"You've come at the same time today as well."
Klimt, offering a seat on the red sofa, says,
"Yes, ma'am."
The lady walks with dignity towards the sofa and sits down neatly. Klimt takes a seat opposite her, and she, watching him, opens her mouth.
"Seeing as you didn't bring your painting materials, I guess you're not painting a portrait today either?"
Klimt, with a charming smile, picks up his pencil.
"Just paper and a pencil will suffice."
Klimt, in his youth, was extraordinarily charming.
After his death, there were stories of at least 14 paternity lawsuits.
Was it because he was so charismatic?
Even the lady blushes at his smile, perhaps smitten.
But she soon regains her composure and continues.
"My husband has already paid for the portrait. Three months ago, Mr. Klimt."
"Of course, I surely received it."
The lady, looking at Klimt's natural face, says with a baffled expression,
"But you haven't picked up a brush in the last three months."
"That's true."
"I'm grateful that you come at the same time every day to keep me company, but isn't it a waste of three months? I've heard you're quite behind on your work."
Women of this era couldn't have jobs.
So, the only social activities they could engage in were social events.
That's why women of this era could only focus on adorning themselves.
Most of the women who held a place in the social circles of Klimt's time had his portraits, and it was like a trend that spread like wildfire.
Klimt smiles and, holding his pencil, looks at the lady's face with one eye closed and says,
"I can't just paint hastily and finish it as an excuse for being busy, can I?"
The lady sighs and shakes her head.
"Well, alright, Mr. Klimt. So, what shall we talk about today?"
Klimt, adjusting the angle of his pencil in the air and measuring the lady's facial angles, says,
"How about we talk about your first meeting with your husband today?"
"Ah, it's going to be idle chatter again."
"Ha-ha, if you call it idle chatter, your husband might feel hurt. Isn't he the most successful businessman in this area, a loving husband who gives you everything? And the one who has enabled you to live in such a grand mansion."
"But still."
Klimt laughs and opens his notebook.
"Many would be curious about the story of Ferdinand Bloch Bauer, who became wealthy through finance and the sugar business."
The lady sighs but soon blushes, remembering old stories about her husband.
"Alright, Klimt. Even if we only talk today, I enjoy our time together, so let's have a conversation today as well."
Klimt winks and smiles.
"Yes, thank you for today as well, Mrs. Adele Bloch Bauer."
As I listen to their conversation from behind the curtain, I lean forward with wide eyes.
The moment I hear the name of the woman sitting on the red sofa, I realize who she is and what era this is.
'The Venus of Austria, the Woman in Gold. The very moment of the birth of the 'Portrait of Adele Bloch Bauer'. Austria in 1906!'
And if my memory serves me right, the lady has a disability in her right hand.
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