TRGAHS Chapter 01

Chapter 1                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              Color and light — the most basic elements that let us perceive the world.

And sight, which allows us to see them.

In the year 2000, when the new millennium began,

Even though photography had become common, painting still held strong authority as an art that satisfied human vision.

From Catherine’s fingertips, various colors spread across the canvas.

Thick purple paint filled the surface.

The purple of the sky just after sunset, when the red glow had been swallowed by darkness.

The paint layered itself like waves, following the texture of a sea that had absorbed that fleeting sky.

“Among overly cold and explanatory conceptual art, Catherine’s paintings once again show the value of warm colors.”
— Palette Urban, October 1999

“Catherine transforms the light she sees into color and places it on canvas. She does not show the world — she makes you feel it.”
— Croisées, January 2000

Catherine recalled the critics’ words from recent art magazines.

Between awareness and concept.

In a time where many artworks were hard to understand without explanation,

Her paintings, which brought out the beauty of painting itself, were being recognized.

Even if it was not a typical blue sea, people could still feel it.

The longing for the setting sun and the anticipation of night that she felt that day.

Catherine, who had been layering thick oil paint until it felt almost three-dimensional, stopped her brush.

“….”

Her vision felt uncomfortable.

She roughly wiped her paint-covered hands and stepped back from the canvas.

She rubbed her eyes and used the prescribed eye drops, but nothing changed.

“Is that doctor a quack?”

In a rural area of Saint-Denis, a bit away from Paris,

There were only mediocre hospitals.

“They said it would get better with eye drops…”

She couldn’t even see her own painting properly.

She stepped back until she reached the wall of her small studio.

“…Tch.”

The huge canvas was filled with shades of blue, red, and purple.

Parts of the flowing water and wind seemed alive on it.

Even standing back, she couldn’t see the whole painting.

“It might be temporary retinal contraction caused by stress, so try to reduce your workload.”

She remembered the doctor’s words but shook her head.

Now in her thirties, Catherine had only just begun to see success as a painter.

An orphan with no family or support.

She had started from nothing, even below rock bottom, and was finally seeing hope.

Only one month remained until her solo exhibition.

“There’s no time to rest.”

The highlight of the exhibition —

A large painting over 200 size, now almost complete.

All that remained was the final detail.

The pale yellow-white moonlight pouring over the sea.

It needed to be carefully placed on the waves and clouds.

Without it, the painting would just feel dark and mysterious,

Not convey the true emotion she intended.

“I should at least get proper medicine.”

With that thought, Catherine moved.

She gathered all the little money she had left and headed to the subway station,

Still carrying the strong smell of oil paint.

“Ah!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Watch where you’re going!”

A well-dressed office worker bumped into her and frowned.

Seeing her paint-stained hands, he looked disgusted and checked his clothes before walking away.

Catherine just gave an awkward smile.

If she had cared about how others saw her, she couldn’t have chosen this path.

She had strong pride as an artist.

But one thing bothered her.

She hadn’t even seen the person who bumped into her.

Realizing that made her feel like her vision was getting narrower.

Inside the dark subway station, everything looked blurrier.

“Maybe I’ve been overworking lately…”

She tried to calm her anxiety.

If she could just finish this exhibition, she would rest.

Everything would be fine.

“I’m sorry, but it’s already too late.”

At the university hospital, she heard something unexpected.

“What do you mean… too late?”

“Have you heard of retinitis pigmentosa?”

Her expression twisted.

The doctor continued with a sigh.

“It’s a disease where you gradually lose your peripheral vision.”

“Then…!”

Before she could finish—

“There is no cure. It’s genetic.”

Her heart dropped.

Did parents she never even knew leave her with this?

The doctor kept talking, but she couldn’t hear anything.

The only thing that mattered—

There was no cure.

All she received was vitamins.

After paying, she had only one euro left.

“What should I do now…?”

In Paris, the city of dreams,

She had just received a death sentence as a painter.

She had spent her entire life devoted to painting.

Her teenage years and twenties in that tiny studio.

The reality didn’t even feel real yet.

And strangely, she felt hungry.

She hadn’t eaten properly for two days.

“…Pathetic.”

With just one euro, she wasn’t even sure she could buy a baguette.

Still, she walked through the busy streets.

Her narrow vision showed silhouettes of people rushing by,

And dark shadows moving like insects.

She managed to buy a baguette and looked around.

Because her vision was so narrow, she had to turn her head a lot.

She saw signs for the Marais district and gallery names.

Even now, paintings drew her in.

She walked toward them, as if possessed.

Even if she went blind tomorrow, she wanted to see more art.

Rain began to fall softly.

She walked slowly among the busy crowd.

Not out of leisure, but exhaustion.

<Gallery Montrebleu>

The gallery where her exhibition would be held next month.

A large sign she could barely see.

It was a trendy gallery known for discovering talented new artists.

She stopped at the crosswalk and took a deep breath.

Reality finally hit her.

Tears welled up.

Her dream exhibition might become her last.

Still—

At least she could do that.

“…Huh?”

She felt someone push her from behind.

Her thin body fell toward the road.

She reached back but couldn’t stop herself.

Honk!

Her body lifted into the air.

Crash!

Pain. Sound. Darkness.

People screamed.

“She ran into the road!”

“She got hit!”

Even at the end, her only regret was her unfinished painting.

The sea beyond the cliffs of Étretat.

Instead of moonlight, the last thing she saw was a blurry streetlight.

Then everything faded into darkness.

A buzzing sound filled her ears.

“What’s for lunch today?”

“They said chicken gangjeong.”

“Wait, we have oil painting class today!”

“Hey, Lee Yeji. Are you okay?”

A hand tapped her shoulder.

“If you’re sick, go rest and eat lunch later.”

“Idiot, that’s not the point!”

…So noisy.

She slowly sat up, her head throbbing.

“….”

Two pairs of worried brown eyes were in front of her.

She realized—

She could see.

Clearly.

Wide, refreshing vision.

Strange Asian faces. A strange language.

“Wait… what was that just now?”

Yeji snapped out of her thoughts.

Catherine? What?

That dream felt too real.

“Maybe you should go to the hospital.”

Hyunmin said with a guilty face.

It started when a soccer ball he kicked hit her.

She had briefly fainted.

“Are you really okay?”

Her best friend Da-hye asked.

Yeji couldn’t answer right away.

That dream—

It felt like a whole lifetime.

Thirty years as Catherine.

A lonely life devoted to art.

“…Maybe I should go to the hospital.”

She muttered blankly.

3rd period — oil painting class.

Da-hye whispered,

“If you feel dizzy again, tell me.”

Yeji looked at her canvas.

A simple vase sketch.

But it felt unfamiliar.

“….”

She hesitated, then picked up the brush.

Without thinking, she mixed red and purple.

Her brush pressed onto the canvas.

In that moment—

She knew.

The sensation in her fingertips came alive.

Then complete immersion.

She squeezed out all her paint and painted boldly.

“Alright, clean up and go to lunch.”

The bell rang.

“Hey, hurry and—”

Da-hye stopped mid-sentence.

She had seen Yeji’s painting.