Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
*Hello guys! This may not be your typical Ga Eul- Yi Jeong story; it is rather inspired by my experience with painting (portraits in particular). Would love to hear your thoughts, happy reading!
A Face on Canvas
It used to be simple before, Ga Eul thought drily, this usual meeting with the stretched, blank canvas, and the ever stained palette. She'd sit there, among the small over-used tubes, with hardly any color left in them, feeling relaxed, excited, and ready for a challenge. The air, mixed with faint smells of oil and color, would feel just convenient, as though she were breathing the country's clean, fresh air.
Today has been an exception for her, though. Her precious session turned into a battle wearing the coldest face: a struggle with herself, with her very hands. Softly, she let out the heavy sigh she's been keeping, and forced her eyes shut for a moment. It was not easy to decide whether she wished more to escape the sight of the angry colors on face of the no-longer-blank canvas, or just to gather whatever concentration left to memorize the one face that caused her dilemma. It may be a mixture of both, she mused sagely, her eyes still closed, but enjoying the faint breeze that just brushed her cheek, flowing through the half opened window. This distracting thought reminded her exactly of the reason she chose this little room for a studio. It was everything a shelter should be: peaceful, cozy, and with a feeling of singularity, as though made just to accommodate her every feeling, and to draw some virtual borders for her limitless imagination. Even the refreshing draughts which invaded the room in summer, gave it the air of an open field, and left Ga Eul to personify Hardy's words, to live them:
"A field-woman is a portion of the field; she has somehow lost her own margin, imbibed the essence of her surrounding, and assimilated herself with it."
Still, today proved a different case altogether. Inspiration seemed to have landed somewhere far, and her ever-homely temple felt small, demanding, and most of all suffocating. But it was not the room which caused yet another sigh to escape her lips. It was merely the case of a fluttering heart, a treacherous mind, and two conspiring hands.
The brush in her hand still kept the light brownish color she dipped it in, but it hung between her fingers midair. Slowly, the girl in the apron which was once white opened her eyes and took an assessing look at the still progressing -though unpromising- painting that faced her, and she felt indignant. Why did he, of all people, have to show up so ceremoniously, just to evoke her anger with his overly designed elegance and his charmer smiles which –she knew- many a girl actually believed, why? She's known him for months now, and her dislike remained firm (or so she wished) whenever he was around or simply disappeared. But somehow, he managed every time to leave her feeling an irresistible urge to print his features on the white cloth, to memorize every curve, every shade, and every tint.
He was no Byronic hero, Ga Eul thought rather mockingly, although Byronic heroes held a particular, however odd, charm. Neither was he an Austeneque hero, though –having been a fan of Austen all these years- she wished he was. He was not a hero, she concluded contently. To paint a hero, with all his conflicting emotions would've been hard indeed, but not impossible as the task in hand seemed to be.
They met not long ago, and it had been her best friend, Jan Di's fault that she was now failing miserably in drawing the one painting she wished she could accomplish. "A commoner" he'd called her, and he'd taken her friend for a social climber. It was not until the wedding of the 'social climber' to his best friend, that she could see a soft heart underneath the cold hard mask. She even noted that the man, one So Yi Jeong, had the most boyish, spontaneous laugh, when he allowed it to flow out free and unrestrained. It was during their dance that night that he told her, smiling,
"And so the day finally comes! I admit I thought this crazy courtship of Jun Pyu's would never come to an end."
Ga Eul gave a small laugh, pictures of the newly-weds fighting and reconciling passing through her mind. "I guess not every commoner is a social climber after all, don't you think?" she asked innocently.
"Just so, Miss Wisdom, just so." He answered rather seriously. Dancing like that, they fell into silence, a contemplative, comfortable silence. Ga Eul, whose artistic mind was dazzled by the beauty of the night, and the shining lights surrounding them took it all in and then started studying the man who held her close. She would not call him handsome; he simply fit into the category of those whose confidence and commanding presence suggest handsomeness. It was then, on a breezy moonlit night that she decided she had to draw those features, very near to hers, to form the unreadable expression into complying color.
A moment later, Ga Eul's wandering mind was back in her studio. She eyed the mocking piece of work inches away from her, and sat more steadily. It was now or never. And as she moved the brush slowly, more confidently, with a brave, determined smile on her lips-
"It seems you've been busy, lately. But now I see the cause. And yes, I think this pose brings out the light in my eyes perfectly."
She turned around, somehow unsurprised, to see the muse for her unfinished painting standing at the door, smiling his boyish all-knowing smile. She flashed him a huge smile, looking bright instead of flushed at being caught, as she ordered him,
"Come in quickly. We have a lot of work to do!"