@✽ jihye n. It is a moment when the world stops turning for him, and the time ticking slower. Those crowds come to a halt as the women's heads turning around. Even her mustering apologies and wavering smiles had Moonbin's gaze fixating upon her feature, curved lips accentuating the warm eyes and a scintilla of her embarrassment. Such a warm feeling he rarely felt upon noticing somebody. The stranger's velvety visage instantly permeates and invades his memory space while he hold a breath. Witchcraft by the latter's beauty, the male weren't aware she's been there amongst the crowds. Had he been a ghost, he would give this woman all the place and time in this world to appreciate the painting on her own. In order to see those radiant eyes and the fragrant smile from earlier.
Had he lived nearly twenty-five years in the world with very little distress about women and never bothered to pursue one before. Appropriately at the moment, his scarf suddenly feels too tight for his capability to muster something better out of his throat. Moonbin whispered, "Sir may I have a moment to perhabs appreciate this one, incase you got important errands..." Excuse himself from his companion. Following a nod, the room became quiet as footsteps left the two. Vivid oblivion by piazzolla cello heard from the distance.
He took a deep breath as step forward, a gentle step until they are at the same line. The taller stand almost awkwardly at the left corner of the painting when the lady is on the other end. It was a quiet point, staring up at the grand painting. Still, those distant ships move against the wave inside his head. His gaze's down to the lady with the umbrella. The eyes decided to deny a moment of silence and land on his side, to the woman whilst he basking in her side profile. "Do you like Monet's?" Dandelion was a small town, and he learned about majority of the people. But where she's been in his life, thus he only found her by now. Such a contrast with the entire artwork presented, he found definitive of a living masterpiece just by gazing at her. Perhaps she'd found him quite rude for all the staring. ".... My apologize."
@✽ bin m. she'd heard it from a friend of a friend: a museum that has opened it's door that same day would have one of her favorite paintings put on display. she had looked forward for it, was overjoyed that it was scheduled on her day off. (although, if it was, she'd do everything in her power to call off from work; it's not like she'd been slacking, either. she thinks she deserve this as a reward from her hard work.) so, she got herself ready — early and dressed for the occasion, a wide smile plastered on her face as she claps along the other guests that watched the ceremony.
she'd also made sure not to stick out like a sore thumb in there, situated at the back of the crowd, a quiet, respectful 'tourist' that was more than happy to be present for such auspicious day for the town of dandelion.
it was once the ceremony had come to close did she separate herself from the crowd that formed outside of the museum, the brochure that was handed out earlier tucked inside her purse, as she makes her way through the museum. she was a woman on a mission — and while she does appreciate every piece she comes across to, her entire focus was for the one monet had worked on. luckily, it didn't take her that long to find what she was looking for, lips parting open as a gasp spill from those pair.
it was garden sainte-adresse in the flesh, the one her biological mother loved so much.
before she could end up feeling emotional, however, jihye noticed that someone was digging a hole with their eyes on the back of her head. and, when she did turn around to figure out who it was, not even once did she think it was the two figures that led the ceremony earlier. jihye, feeling like she was intruding, stepped back from the painting. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to block you," is what she said, deciding that this was too awkward and she'll still have the entire day to look at the painting once the two leave.
@✽ jihye n. The curator, correspondingly the proprietor of this museum, keeps talking on and on from the opening speech until an hour of touring Moonbin alone around the baroque museum. Seem that the young man has to pull the slightest smile every single time for his favor. Looking over the visitors, they already hang around the place on this fine afternoon. Moonbin had to be presentative withstanding the ribbon cutting ceremonies of the museum institution Bosch has been funding thoroughly. Although, he got little to no time around business hours. Therefore his staff knew none better than he have a thing for consuming art consciously and mindfully, and he completely understood the staff want a little break along.
It was an old building manufacturing in the locomotive industry until they went bankrupt, and the building was left untouched for years. The resident agreed to upscale this place and appointed an institution that signed a joint agreement with Bosch that helps fund their massive restoration throughout the year. "These all wouldn't happen without your help Mister Moon." the middle-aged man smiles and seems sincere after talking about the most brilliant (and expensive interior) they had in this building. "Please just call me Atlas, sir." He Retaliates, taking off his dark coat and draping them over his wrist, scanning over each of the artworks presented.
He loves art and its sentiments, but he'll love them more while consuming it quietly. On the other hand, the man next to him couldn't seem to stop talking, which he still appreciated but- "And this one, finally!" stepping towards extensive room after another, hanging proudly and almost lonely, "Garden Sainte-Adresse! We successfully curated from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. A rare occasion for I persist, we must own one of such world masterpieces." This brilliant painting was displayed proudly, spreading about four feet in length from where he stood. At least they made a great deal out of the funds as he nods to the man narration.
Despite not talking much, Moonbin experienced wonderstruck and stood-still eight feet apart from the painting. Vividly almost feel like he's there, at Monet's spot feeling the France ocean breeze. Even the sun cast inside those frames feels warm. He was in the middle of the coastline staring further ahead of harboring ships that carried valuable herbs and spices until this shadow shielded his span of view. The figure standing ahead of him clueless still in his presence. Moonbin couldn't help but watch the lady's back, observing her finely-tuned stature. That instantly piqued his interest. He wasn't often this way, but to put them in a word, she owns the upmost delicate visage that could redeem his little to none discontent.
