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mini-borahae · 4 years ago

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Construyendo el universo cinemático de BTS

Un artículo de Ruchi Sawardekar para Rolling Stone India

Cómo una serie de videos musicales condujo a la creación de sabiduría compartida, la búsqueda de significado y la inmersión propia de los fans en el arte

A través de los últimos cien años, el medio visual ha solidificado su lugar como el más poderoso para la narración de historias. Tanto así, que, en el 2020, todos somos narradores visuales. Poseemos la habilidad de crear en la palma de nuestra mano, incluso si es con una herramienta tan simple como lo es un teléfono móvil. Es entonces esta, la razón por la que creo que vivimos en un momento en el que una historia bien contada es todavía más apreciada, y debido a eso, todavía más poderosa.

Los videos musicales, como un género cinemático, siempre han funcionado como medio para la música, complementándola de una forma que realce el significado o el ánimo de una canción — un medio secundario. Más recientemente, con la creciente popularidad y el fácil acceso al video, el foco artístico que ha ido en aumento en los videos musicales ha permitido la trascendencia de esa posición secundaria al arte como tal. Sin embargo, nadie lo ha hecho como el grupo surcoreano, BTS.

El video de BTS para “I Need U”, canción principal de su serie de álbumes “The Most Beautiful Moment in Life”, fue lanzada el 29 de abril del 2015. Alejándose de sus videos musicales previos, donde el formato correspondía a material audiovisual enfocado en las coreografías. “I Need U”, tuvo una trama ficticia. Mostró a los miembros del grupo como distintas repeticiones de hombres jóvenes con vidas turbulentas — por violencia, pena, desamor, adicciones y pérdidas. Poseyó una gran potencia en cuanto a las emociones, dada no sólo mediante letras desgarradoras y música, sino también a través de elementos visuales oscuros y crudos, que desentonaban con lo glamoroso, brillante y aspiracional propio de la identidad visual del K-pop del momento.

Lo que BTS comenzó con “I Need U”, en el 2015, fue una serie de música enfocada en la narrativa, con videos y cortometrajes. Lanzados en una secuencia, estaban conectados unos con otros temáticamente, sin darle a la audiencia nada, excepto pistas sobre el “cómo”. Desde “I Need U”, el hilo continuó con el lanzamiento del video musical para el single “Run”, y “On Stage: Prologue”, del disco “The Most Beautiful Moment in Life, Part 2.” La versión extendida (de 6 minutos) de la canción, reveló más de la historia, dándole una vibra más parecida a la de un corto, que a la de un video musical. Los fans comenzaron a teorizar la forma en la que los videos estaban conectados — ¿cuál era la historia que estaba siendo contada? ¿Cómo fue reuniéndose todo? ¿Cuál era el significado de aquello?

Esta observación y estudio sobre la semántica de los videos de BTS fue lo que atrajo a muchos fans hacia el grupo, incluyéndome. Había estado escuchando K-pop por mucho tiempo, y me había sorprendido con la alta calidad de producción de los videos musicales del K-pop, pero esto estaba a otro nivel. Esto era narración compleja, que le permitía al video no sólo complementar la música, sino que cobrar vida propia. BTS fue uno de los grupos que ayudó a popularizar el estilo narrativo para los MVs en el K-pop. Había existido antes, pero los videos centrados en las coreografías dominaban la cultura previa a mediados del 2010.

Desde el 2015, el K-pop ha visto a numerosos artistas adoptar este formato en la creación de audiovisuales, enfocándose en la producción de conocimiento y de un universo, haciendo espacio para una clase similar de engagement por parte de los fans.

Los videos musicales basados en narrativa, no sólo te sumergen en el arte como oyente y espectador, sino que también te involucra en el acto del consumo y la apreciación activa del arte. Diferentes personas en el fandom tienen diferentes teorías sobre los videos de la era de “The Most Beautiful Moment in Life”. La mayoría posee teorías similares para los videos de “Wings” (2016), “Love Yourself” (2017-2018) y “Map of the Soul” (2019-2020). Algunos incluso, han llegado a decir que todos los videos de BTS, empezando por su video musical debut, de la canción “No More Dream”, están conectados de alguna manera — quizás una historia masiva, que indaga en diferentes líneas de tiempo, viajes en el tiempo, muerte, la vida después de esta, y más temas. Con el pasar de los años, el universo de los videos musicales de BTS se ha convertido en una extensiva red de conocimiento tradicional que es a menudo observado, estudiado y teorizado por fans, y ahora académicos. Pero es esto lo que lo hace una genial experiencia en el fandom; le da los fans un sentido de intervención sobre el arte que aman, y haciéndolo, los conecta más al grupo, a su música y a la historia.

Se siente casi como si los fans tuviesen algo de propiedad sobre los videos musicales de BTS, no es un sentido patentado, sino más como en tener la potestad de asignarles significado. Lo que más llevó a la audiencia a sentirse atraída por los videos musicales de “The Most Beautiful Moment In Life”, durante los años 2015 y 2016, no fue únicamente que los videos tenían pistas visuales escondidas para que la historia fuese contada, sino que las temáticas retratadas por BTS se sentían cercanas, se podía empatizar con ellas. Querías entender la historia, entender por qué estaban sufriendo, porque lo habías sentido también. Temas tan universales como la amistad, la pérdida de la juventud, la pena, el enojo y la melancolía hicieron fácil el desarrollo de empatía con la historia, y generaron ansias en el público, por encontrar la catarsis buscada por BTS como personajes y como ellos mismos – los espectadores.

Para BTS, esta creación de un mundo en sus videos y otro contenido promocional (también en video) de la era mencionada, sólo era el comienzo. La inmensa popularidad y el significativo impacto de la historia, también condujo al lanzamiento de proyectos suplementarios como “Save Me”; un webtoon basado en el universo ficcional, por Big Hit Entertainment y LICO, además de un programa de televisión cimentado en el “Universo de BTS”, (aún no lanzado). Además del contenido oficial lanzado por la compañía, los fans están constantemente buscando temáticas que puedan ser vinculadas, o señales visuales en los videos musicales que podrían potencialmente añadirse a la historia.

A pesar de existir varios cientos de teorías en relación al verdadero significado de los videos musicales que ahora cubren el universo cinemático de BTS, ni Big Hit ni BTS por su cuenta, han confirmado qué es realmente esta historia. El contenido alrededor del universo que la compañía ha creado para que los fans disfruten, sirve sólo como suplemento para la narración. Porque de la forma en la que lo veo, el significado de los videos le pertenece al fandom. La gente deriva lo que puede de dichos videos, lo que les expresa algo, cada cual ve algo distinto. Haciendo esto, se convierten en parte del arte, tallando un espacio para sus vidas en la historia.

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Durante los discursos de adiós, en el concierto virtual “BTS Map of the Soul ON:E” en octubre, el líder del grupo, RM, dijo “BTS no es sólo la historia de siete personas. Es tu historia, la mía y la de todos”. El poder de los videos musicales que componen el universo cinemático de BTS, es su habilidad para transportar, resonar y lograr una inmersión en cada presente. Creando un universo visual de siete chicos familiares buscando catarsis, BTS ha podido ayudar a la audiencia, a los fans, a encontrar la suya. Ahora, eso, es una buena historia.

Artículo original: https://rollingstoneindia.com/building-the-bts-cinematic-universe/

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theory-talestelltalesss · 6 years ago

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∙ Parallel Hearts 1 ∙

Idea:

AU where Taehyung is a former street artist who sells Van Gogh imitations in Paris that gets him in trouble.

Description:

Her is a docile perfectionist art student who is unsatisfied with the course of her life. She meets Taehyung, a beautiful and free-spirited boy who sells Van Gogh imitations to pay his tuition for art school. They have something that the other lack. Her needs Taehyung’s creativity and Taehyung needs Her’s painting skills in order for them to produce great paintings. Her is the better painter but Taehyung is the better artist. One day, they wake up and the other is nowhere to be found. Both of their pursuit is to use their paintings as clues to find where the other is. Along the way, they learn more about each other and uncover a dark past.

You can read more details of the fic HERE if this is your first time. Or you can just read it and be surprised! Enjoy!

- TT 🌹

Chapters: | 1 | 2 | - (Fanfic in progress)

CHAPTER 1: THE MEETING

(6.9K words)

Her lived in the same town as Van Gogh when he was alive and where he was most inspired. It was a quaint little town in Arles, France. She grew up passing by the same places that he saw and painted. Although Her idolized him, it bothers her that she can never be as close to a painter as he was, no matter how hard she tries.

“Doesn’t this look weird? The color scheme? The textures? I don’t know what it is but it doesn’t look right!” Her complains every time she tries to create her own style inspired by Van Gogh.

Whilst Her is tremendously knowledgable about Van Gogh’s techniques, she can never break her style of being realistic whenever she paints. She never had the opportunity, no, the capability to fully release herself in her works. She always had the tendency to draw things as they are and never let her imagination run wild. The more she tried to be imaginative, the more realistic her paintings got. She can never steer away from it, and being a perfectionist never helped her either. In fact, it only made it worse.

It was not even just the paintings that bothered her that she couldn’t follow. She also couldn’t follow the life he lived. Of course she doesn’t want to starve and be a vagabond with a mental illness, but Van Gogh’s life was full of events, both good and bad, that she rationalizes eventually manifested in his beautiful paintings.

“I would rather die of passion than of boredom - Vincent Van Gogh,” Her reads in her book as she swipes the letters with endearment.

Although her parents see her talent as a gift from grace and supports her to hone it, they have different plans on what she should do with it. Her’s family owns a furniture store called by their last name– ‘Le Lune.’ Beds, lamps, cribs, tables, dressers, decorations– they sell everything. The dream was to expand and build more stores in other cities. However, most of the designs of the furnitures lost its appeal as the trend changed over time. Eventually, the business started declining.

When Her moved to Paris 7 hours away from home to go to college, the plan was that she would design the furniture after graduation. She knew what her future looked like. She has to redesign almost everything and help out with the family business. Perhaps even hand-paint or hand-craft some parts of the furniture to create a niche for the family brand name. A personal consultation for corporation interiors was also another idea if the business ever gets successful enough.

This plan frustrated Her because her passion is not in Interior Design – it was in Fine Arts, just like Van Gogh. As she is docile, timid, and filial, and who has deep respect for her parents and the family business, Her yields to their wishes for the betterment of the family. Plus, a job after graduation never hurt anybody.

What am I going to do with a Fine Arts degree if I can’t feed myself?

Café Terrace at Night in Arles, France by Vincent Van Gogh (1888).

The grass smells freshly cut with drops of water clinging onto its edges. The sculptures of flirtatious cherubs run across the field. The different colored flowers dance along the periphery of the bushes, neatly assembled at the curbs of the pathways, welcoming spring delightfully.

Although the atmosphere of the outside world is full of life, Her’s inner mind is in a grim state. She goes to a place outside of school whenever she feels exasperated or disheartened about her life and that place is the Panthéon. The Panthéon is a museum, or even precisely, a mausoleum for people who were the most notable citizens of France. Some of the people buried there were people of the arts she also adores.

It was the closest place from school where she can get inspired. Whenever she sees Victor Hugo’s name on the wall, she smiles, remembering his lovely works of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, or of Les Miserables, which are now made into films and musicals. Whenever she sees Saint-Exupéry‘s name, she wonders how his simple ninety-page work of The Little Prince resonated within so many hearts around the world.

In every corner of the Panthéon, there is something to lift her spirits. Every corner except one. As of the moment, Her is not in the mood to be cheered up, but she’s in one of those moods to make some kind of catharsis – and staring at the Foucault pendulum does just that.

With a heavy heart, she walks over to the giant pendulum that hangs within the massive arches, centered in one of the intrados of the Panthéon. An awe-inspiring mural of the celestial sky and of the divine surround the wire that holds it afloat in the ceiling. A ray of the gloomy twilight falls down at it meters below to softly give it a subliminal spotlight, and convey it as one of the staple objects in the museum.

“…the Foucault pendulum is a simple device named after French physicist Léon Foucault and conceived as an experiment to demonstrate the Earth’s rotation. The pendulum was introduced in 1851. Today…” the tour guide says to a small crowd of foreigners.

Ever since she knew what this pendulum was for, she cringes. Not because of its function, but because it’s a sad reminder of herself.

Like the pendulum’s sway and its momentum in the air, Her’s life is already meticulously calculated as it swings along the numbers of the dial. With each dip at the bottom is her journey towards a goal until it reaches the peak of its momentum, and then it starts again. Her life has become routine and mundane from day to day since the start of college. She knows exactly where she will end up, she know exactly when, and fleeting from plans are just interpreted as irresponsible.

“My perfect parents would be disappointed in their “perfect” daughter,” she whispers to herself. “Why does it have to be like this? Why can’t I just go off and lead lives like…like Victor Hugo, where I can go to Belgium in a whim, or…or Saint-Exupéry, and fly off to some island, or Van Gogh and go to 20 cities if I want?”

After some time internalizing but despising this sad fact about the course of her life, she opposes the thoughts intoxicating her mind and stop moving her eyes with the pendulum, closing them for a moment to give herself a relief of thought. She lets go of the circular railing she didn’t even realize she was gripping until her palms turned ivory.

As she opens her eyes again, the pendulum peeks at the periphery of her field of view but her eyes chose to focus on something else…or someone else.

Her sight lands on a boy on the other side who is inside the railings of the pendulum, kneeling on one knee as he watches the pendulum with a curious concern. If her eyes are not enough resisting her will to steer them away, her ears decide to do it as well when they somewhat malfunction in transducing signals of the crowd of tourists leaving the area.

She thought for a moment that he was part of the marble statues of the historic rulers behind him. But as she stares longer…no, he is breathing and human.

The low glow of the light from above teases a hint of the hills of his handsome features. His light jade eyes that follow the pendulum obediently are striking and almost menacing. His dark ashy blonde hair is rugged and out of place under a newsboy hat with unruly bangs trying to stretch down his forehead and neck. The ends land comfortably past his commanding eyebrows and flirts at his nape, almost past its crook. A turtleneck coats his neck layered with a button-up that flows down his body, presenting him with a disheveled look.

Her finds herself captivated that she forgets to be curious as to why he’s inside the railings guarding the pendulum, or why he looks worried, or why he holds the railing with a hand that looks like it’s streaked with paint and the other props him on the floor as he kneels down.

H-He’s so beautiful.

Her finds herself captivated, for he didn’t have the beauty that celebrities on TV or models in magazines possessed. He has the kind of beauty that reminisces of an old soul. The kind of beauty that stands the test of time…timeless– like an old painting people would want to preserve for years, decades, centuries, or even forever. Not a carve of the statues or stroke of paint in the museum, even made with impeccable skill and control, do not have the force to distract her from his coincidental beauty.

She then realizes that looking at him for too long beyond abuses normal courtesy and she should look away before he notices. However, she can’t seem to take his eyes off him. As she continues to stare, he seems to feel her eyes on him, and shifts his eyes to meet hers. Her blood rushes to her head, defying gravity, resisting to flow anywhere else in her body.

She tries to follow the pendulum again with her eyes, but they resist her. As if acknowledging her constant desire to look at him, he smiles at her, erasing the worried expression he had for a moment. As if playing peek-a-boo, the pendulum covers him for half a second, and reveals him again, only becoming more beautiful with each sway. She feels a fleeting wave of euphoria before–

SNAP! BOOM! “Mon dieu!”

The ball of the pendulum hits the ground with an echoing boom, disturbing the serenity, rolling off of the marbled floor, and trailing the wire that held it. Her abruptly wakes up from the spell and covers her mouth in disbelief that the Foucault pendulum, which has been swaying for years, just snapped from above. As an advocate for the arts and museums, she knows the gravity of the situation.

She looks back at where the boy was but he was nowhere to be found. A guard picks the ball up and checks it for any indentations or damages. Since it’s almost closing time, the museum is left with only a few visitors, and only a few more who are near the pendulum’s vicinity. The guard directs them away and commands them to give the area some space. Forced, the visitors, including Her, start drifting to other corners of the museum.

She walks without direction, only following the direction of a couple of people scattering from the area. Out of nowhere, she feels a tug on her long-sleeve, hurling her to face someone’s body.

“Whoa-”

She looks up and see the beautiful boy so close that she can almost see the branches of his light jade orbs. She notices more up close that his clothes and patches of his skin were tainted with random splotches and streaks of paint. He turns his head to the side and observes another piece of art she didn’t even notice was right in front of them.

“What a weird incident right?” he says in the direction of the mural. His voice is surprisingly baritone low and velvety that she feels it resonate her vessels.

She manages to voice out, “yeah…must have been an accident.”

“Some guy is proooobably in big trouble,” he chuckles.

“I mean…that pendulum has been swinging since it’s been here,”

“Not really, just since 1902. It’s been going back and forth between here and an art museum near here. You won’t even know which one is the copy anymore,”

“H-How do you know that?”

He looks at Her with a cheeky half-smile.

“I just read the sign that was behind you…when you were staring at me too much,” he shifts his head back to the mural, “Yeah, I’m aware I’m good looking,” he gives her a glint of his lip curved at one side.

So this is his personality.

For some reason, she feels anxious that this boy will soon get her first impression and she tries to find what to say to try to distract him from her impolite behavior. She also doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing a compliment after that statement.

“I-IIII notice you have paint on your hands. Do you paint?”

“Yeah, I painted this piece right in front of us,” he gestures complacently with a smile from ear to ear.

“What?” she looks at it again confused, “But this is Puvis de Chavannes’.” Being here at the Panthéon many times, Her’s come to know each and every piece.

“Ah, so you’re a lover of the arts too,” he says with a smirk as if she doesn’t look it. She feels this boy trying to toy with her and in her own safe haven nonetheless. She can’t help but feel a little violated by this new character in her domain, all of a sudden collecting pieces of her as if he’s a scientist gathering data.

He continues, “So what’s your favorite type of art?”

“I like…Impressionism and Post-Impressionism, why?”

“Ah…so you’re one of those…I’m guessing you like Van Gogh and all those other lunatics,”

“Excus–”

“Shh!”

He holds his finger over her lips and looks at the guards. Her figures the boy doesn’t have any concept of personal space demonstrated by his sudden behavior. He seems pleased with himself earning an aggravated reaction from her, as if trying to tug her from the confines of her usual docile and timid personality. His expression impish as he nods his head up and whispers,

“Be quiet and follow me.”

He takes her hand and dashes across the humongous platform, flying by histories of sculptures of French leaders, skidding on the intricate designs of the ivory marble floors, and passing by grand murals of glorious heroes and angels. She almost can’t keep up with the strides of his infinitely long legs with her shorter ones.

They go from pillar to pillar under the dome architecture of the museum, eventually reaching a dark opening framed with geometric details that uncovers a dark spiral staircase below. He lets go of her hand and goes down the stairs with ease as she pauses to think about going down.

“Come on, slow poke!” his voice vibrates the cold marble walls and she sees him smile like a child while looking above at her through the clefts of the stairs.

“Where are you taking me?” she tries to ask but is only replied with more of his steps. She tries to process her situation before she goes down.

Why should I follow this boy?

Even though she’s acknowledged he’s a little outlandish, there’s something interesting about him that draws her in and her curiosity grows with each ticking second. She goes down with prudent steps and catches up to him.

“Come on, haha,” he gestures to a small crevice.

How does this boy know where these are?

The boy moves with too much familiarity as if this is his home. Her realizes her ignorance claiming this museum to be her sanctuary, when in fact, there’s someone else far more acquainted to it than she is.

Eventually, they end up in the crypt, which is filtered with gloomy yellow lights, giving it an eerie vibe appropriate for its type of place. In the crypt lies some of the most notable French people who’ve contributed to the world such as Voltaire, Rousseau, Victor Hugo, Marie and Pierre Curie, and many more. Tourists are now nowhere to be found.

Coming to a halt in front of a dull door, he rustles his pocket around and pulls out some old-looking keys. Her’s eyes widen in shock.

“You work here?”

“Shh!” reminding her of what she should be doing. “You know, those powerful dead people are just over there. You don’t want to disturb their rest do you?” he jokes.

Her can’t help but notice that he seems to detect her unfaltering reverence for the place. Again, he gives her that smirk while he turns the key in its hole and her heart flutters in response. One more smirk, she thinks, and it might be ingrained into her memory forever.

He opens the door and inside are slews of paintings of Van Gogh. She becomes filled with joy when she sees them but it was only fleeting. As a lover of his works, she sees that they’re not authentic as soon as she scrutinizes the strokes. She also notices some are just patches of paint waiting to be filled with The Starry Night, or The Sunflowers, or The Night Café which made her nostalgic about the time she used to pass by the cafe in the painting every time she walked home from school back at in Arles.

The Night Café by Vincent Van Gogh (Year 1888).

She looks around and there are a couple of carts that lay askew in random spaces in the room that’s filled with different-sized brushes, half-empty tubes of oil paint, too-many-to-count paper towels, and various-shaped painting knives. The boy looks like this room just gave birth to him, all covered in paint like his mother.

“You can tell, huh?“ he scratches the back of his head and gives me a wink. Her’s body is churning with adrenaline at the moment, with her heart trying to calm down from running, and that unexpected wink pushes her heart above its threshold, forcing it to somersault. She nervously ignores it and tries to speak confidently.

“I can tell they’re not real. Figured since this is not their home. But why do you have fake Van Gogh’s everywhere?”

“Well, I made these,” he crosses his arms as he bites his bottom lip and looks around the room. “I sell them to people as imitations…some people are more gullible than others though,” he chuckles to himself and sighs, looking like he’s recalling a mischievous memory.

So, he’s a witty con artist.

“That’s a little sly, don’t you think?” she squints, trying to understand why a sly playful boy would be trusted with keeping a museum that require gentle care. It bothers her also since all Her’s life, she’s been an upstanding person, always following the rules.

“I’m a student at the art university here. I work here as a keeper and paint when I got time. The Panthéon can get exceptionally boring you know, so I found a way to make some extra bucks from dead time! Gotta pay that overpriced tuition, am I right?”

“…you don’t mean PCA, do you?” I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Of course PCA! Where else?” he chuckles. “Because…I study at PCA,” he looks at me with wide eyes. PCA, short for Paris College of Art – my art school. “Didn’t know we go to the same college.”

“All the more to trust you!! Now, since you’re an expert in these, why don’t you tell me what’s wrong with these paintings, eh?”

“No, I’m not gonna help you do your evil deeds. Plus…” She looks at her watch, “I need to go home by 7:30 and catch the next bus to campus,”

“What about I show you a shortcut out, huh?” he takes out his keys and jiggles it in the air. “I know a way that will lead right to the bus stop! And you don’t have to see it that way. I’m interested to know some of Van Gogh’s techniques too! Take it like you’re lecturing me huh?…for educational purposes,” he raises both his eyebrows and looks at her with a comically coy face.

He has a way with words, I’ll give him that.

She looks around and points out his obvious flaws that she automatically sees. She eventually settles on a painting she sees the most mistakes in, The Red Vineyard. She remembers how she used to visit her first crush by the river when she was nine, Jungkook. He taught her how to skip rocks on the water and she taught him how to catch grasshoppers. Jungkook now works at a winery in another part of Paris that's being supplied by the vineyard back in their hometown.

The Red Vineyard by Vincent Van Gogh (Year 1888).

“You know, I lived here.”

“Lived where?”

“Arles. Where this painting was made. I used to play around by this river here,” she traces the curved shape of the river on the right side, painted with stubby but glistening yellow and blue shades. “Well my family, to be exact. Of course I live in the dorms now, but I go home on the holidays.”

“Interesting! It’s like you see the world in his eyes!”

“Hah-I guess,” Her timidly says as she’s reminded that even though they’ve lived in the same city, she will never be as half of a good a painter as him. Her then starts to converse about how to make the painting better.

“Well for these,” she takes the paint brush in her hand, “you have to take burnt umber with some carmine yellow, and mix them slightly on the actual canvas and not on your palette,”

She feels him get close to her face as they stare at an area of the painting together. As she continues to speak and demonstrate, she senses a small whiff of his saccharine scent and his shoulder softly touches hers while he eagerly observes her hand move in close proximity. She’s reminded of his nonexistent concept of personal space once more.

Her and the boy talk for a time about the process of how Van Gogh creates his pieces and she advise him of his techniques. She’s not sure where the conversation turned but he actually started teaching her some things.

“Well, can’t you wash first before you paint over it so it’s not noticeable? It would save a lot of time. Plus, you don’t even have to use oil paint, just use acrylic so it dries faster until it hardens so you get a good texture…”

She’s taken aback by his innovative ideas on using materials non-traditionally. In her time attending art school so far, even art class in high school back home, she has never heard of the peculiar techniques the boy talks about. Her curiosity piques how he’s acquired his knowledge. In addition to talking about paintings, the boy doesn’t think twice dismissing what he thinks are relatively preposterous ideas of their mutual professors that they forcibly instill on their students. Her finds it amusing and it makes her laugh the way he describes them.

Ever since Her was a little girl, she’s had the habit of inspecting things in great detail, preserving it in her memories as best as she can to draw it at a later time. She observes how the saturation of colors change on a surface of a bubble, or how the ears of people lose its opacity and become pinker when the sun hits it from behind. At this moment though, what she want to draw the most is the scene that is presented right in front of her— him. She even thinks that maybe one day, her paintings of people will be as good as how Renoir famously paints his if she uses his features as inspiration.

Luncheon Of The Boating Party by Renoir (Year 1880-1881).

“Professor Jacques? Pfffttt- More like Professor Color-Within-The-Lines!” he laughs.

She responds to the boy, giving him her ears at times, but she more or less lets him talk as she looks at him to try and memorize his face.

His eyes glisten as he speaks– so much engagement in them. However, the life in his eyes are almost… overshadowed by their tiger-like personality. So focused and striking in between his long lashes. His eyebrows are sharp and fierce. His nose is straight and tall. And its placement between his eyes? Really proportionate. His lips are…what’s this oil paint color?…like Permanent Rose? mixed with a little Cobalt Violet to make it almost cherry-like. They’re shaped peculiarly though…that it really lets him easily have this scowled look. Maybe it’s because the top is more plump than the bottom…His complexion is flawless- luminescent, you’d probably need a hint of Pale Cadmium Yellow- and…what? N-No trace of blemish..hold on, there is a scar by his right lip, but it really only adds character to his looks. Still….actresses must be endlessly envious of his skin. His- Wait…how long has it been?

“Oh my I’m going to miss the bus!” she exclaims as she catches a glimpse of her watch.

Out of nowhere, she hears a man with a croaky voice coming closer to the room.

“Taehyuuuung? Taehyuuung? Where are you boy?”

The foot steps come closer and the boy jolts up from his seat, taking Her’s elbow in his hand quickly.

“Shit, Monsieur Cosmo…” he curses under his breath. “Shhhhh! Come on!” he whispers sharply.

“What’s happening?”

“That’s my boss sweet pea! We have to get out of here! C'mon, you turtle! Run!” he sharply whispers back.

He takes Her’s hand to exit, closes the door, and turns off the lights as quietly as he could. Then they run quietly through the darkly lit halls, past multiple epitaphs and tombs of the buried. Her has no choice but to rely on him on where to turn through the mazes of the museum and he becomes her sight. He looks behind her and flashes a big peculiar boxy smile that Her never spotted when she was observing his face. Her mood at the moment is a hard contrast to when she was looking at the pendulum. Her lips curve up slightly and she quickens her pace as she tries to match his.

He’s definitely an exciting one.

All of a sudden, the boy stops in his tracks and looks around the perimeter, “YYYYoouu might have to catch the next bus,” his voice drags out.

“What?!”

Her’s perfectionist side overrides and she tries to explain the bus system, her responsibilities, her homework, and her schedule the next day that would all have to be rewritten if she misses this bus. However, he does not put his finger on her lips this time but he covers her whole mouth instead, trying to keep her silent.

“Ok, ok, here’s what it is, babe. There are guards everywhere and I can’t be seen, ok? And I know you don’t know how to get to the shortcut to the outside so you’re going to have to stick with me if you want to get there. Hidden. Got it?” Annoyed by the situation, Her yields inevitably.

Her and the boy run and hide from the guards, tiptoeing as best as they can until the guards lock the doors behind them. They wait in the dark a few times until the coast is clear and moving becomes safe again. There were a few times Her made a mistake, catching the attention of some guards, but the boy protects their every movement; tugging her away if a guard comes too close, or slightly pushing her into crevices behind some pillars or statues.

At times, they try to fit themselves in small spaces and he tries to hold her as close as he could to prevent their shadows from being seen. She tries not to think about the skin contact since she doesn’t know what it would do to her judgment that she most certainly needs intact right now.

Shoot, 7:30. I missed it.

“Well! I missed the bus. Thank you but there’s no point in sticking with you now. The guards don’t know who I am, so…I’ll just walk out the front door. Nice to meet you though,” she stands up from kneeling down and pivots her heels to walk away, but the boy catches her wrist.

“Can you be quiet?? And yeah you still need me, honey. Can’t you see? We’re locked in,” he reaches into his pocket and shows off his keys, “I’d give them to you but you don’t work here, do you?” he smirks.

With slight irritation from missing the bus and from Her’s clouded mind of thinking about rewriting her schedule in her mind, she completely forgets this fact.

“Now, stick to me,” he grabs her and embraces her behind the statue of Marianne and the soldiers, then again behind the miniature architecture plan of the Pantheon.

“I said stick to me…now,” the boy must have felt that she was trying to preserve some space in between their bodies. They become startled as a guard walks only a feet away from them and she can’t help but follow his orders.

In half a second, she places her feet in between his stance and presses her body against his. Her arms fold against his chest and her head burrows in it to flil the space. His arm encircles her waist and his hand clasps the back of her head as she feels a slight force to encourage her to press closer. After a second of monitoring the guard, he moves their bodies ever so slightly away from the guard’s movements and squinting gazes. She feels him hold his breath and she mimicked his movements. In the silence, she feels and hears his heart race like a horse from the suspense.

Geez, it must be around 120 beats per minute.

While stupefied in place, she realizes he’s strangely stealthy that it makes her curious to the point of concern how he’s very good at it. The lights then turn off and they hold their position for a few more seconds.

“This is terribly intimate for a first meeting, you know, especially in the dark,” she whispers with a tone as they wait until the rustling of movements stop.

“What? Do you want a kiss too?” he says sarcastically.

“I don’t kiss people I don’t know,”

“I do,”

“Stop joking around,”

“What? We’re in France. Ever heard of a French kiss?”

She ignores his comment as she checks her watch, wishing the hands would turn counter-clockwise.

Eventually, they reach a door and the boy opens them with his keys. Without a knowledge of what might be on the other side, he exposes the night with the lovely moon and the bustling faint sounds of the city outside. A hush of the spring-born wind brushes her skin as if to say hello, wanting her to acknowledge its presence. She turns and sees the bus stop just around the corner.

“The next bus will come in 30 minutes, don’t worry,” the boy assures.

He pants to calm his heart, lays down on the cold grass, closes his eyes, and concentrates on trying to catch his breath. His newsboy hat topples from his head and his long hair falls delicately on his forehead and around his face. Her can’t help but admire how the moonlight touches his features as she slowly sits down next to his body, also concentrating on slowing down her respirations. He peeks through his closed lid and closes them again.

“You know, you’re doing it again,” he says between breaths. “Oh sorry…”

“It’s not polite to stare you know. Even more so that I don’t know your name,” “Oh…my name is Her, Her Lune, you?”

“Well, if you haven’t figured from my boss shouting it out, my name is Taehyung. Taehyung Soleil,” he smiles with eyes closed.

After a moment of huffing, he sits beside her and picks on the helpless grass.

“I guess this is my way of timing out of work,” he naughtily chuckles under his breath, “I bet that old fart was going to make me take care of that pendulum that just fell. It was actually my fault it fell but…I can’t be bothered right now. It’s almost the end of work anyways,” he rationalizes.

“You did that?! That’s why you were running from the guards?!”

“I-IIIIII didn’t mean to ok? Heh…I’m supposed to check the clicker that lets the pendulum go back and forth without losing its energy but…one thing led to another and it snapped from the hinge. I’ll understand if he yells at me the next time I go to work,” he rubs his neck. Her's skepticism and first impression just became validated.

As they wait for the next bus, he then looks at the moon with endearing eyes. Her doesn’t realize it but she looks at him again, taking advantage of his ethereal beauty under a different kind of light. To her, his side profile looks as if all the Old Masters like Leonardo and Boticelli, who tried to capture beauty in Mona Lisa and Venus, had the wrong notion of beauty– that what she’s looking at right now, is true beauty.

Mona Lisa, who?

The Birth of Venus by Sandro Boticelli (Year 1484–1486).

“Her.” his deep voice stern and low. “One more stare and I might have to do something about it,” he bites his lower lip and furrows his eyebrows. She nervously tries to land her eyes somewhere acceptable but she only finds it to follow his gaze at the moon.

“So why do you like that whacko Van Gogh? I only paint his paintings because they sell,” he scoffs while he leans back, propping his posture with his arms. Her is unsure how to feel about his sentence. He’s dissing her idol painter but at the same, she’s glad he acknowledges that other people like his works. Plus, she’s amused by his rhyming nickname.

“Well, mostly because I can’t paint like him,” she discloses. “I know how he painted his works, I’ve studied it many times and if I have to do an imitation like you, I think I’ll do well. I just- but I can’t seem to make my own paintings like his. He uses such saturated colors and his strokes are unplanned but he somehow is able to take his decisions and pull it off in the end like it was planned in the first place. When I try to do it, it doesn't look as good or as professional as his,”

“So he’s a good bullshitter is what you’re saying,” he taunts and laughs. She gives him a generous glare. He annoys her but she can’t put a finger what it is about him that makes her not be put off. She guesses it’s his brutal honesty. It’s refreshing.

She continues, “Being in art school…yeah it’s great they give you a lot of techniques to capture perspective and blah blah blah…but what they can never teach you is how to be creative. And I can’t help but take those techniques too seriously…” she sighs heavily, “My paintings always come out unremarkable- bleak- but oh, professor gives me A’s!” she said with sarcasm as she lays in defeat and stares at the moon.

Her finds herself disclosing personal things about herself to this boy she just met that she wonders if she really is that unsatisfied with her life. With her timidity, she only tells her closes friends things as insecure as these.

“IIII don’t know Van Gogh as much as you…but I learned a thing or two about him in the time I’ve been imitating his works. He said ‘I put my heart and my soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process,’” he looks into her eyes after his words reaches her ears as his hair catches the breeze of the night.

Her becomes stunned at his words. He’s never met anyone who knows something about Van Gogh’s life other than the usual trivia. How he’s able to recite a quote by him leaves her astounded and curious.

“T-That’s right,”

“Well, of course, hahaha…I love that quote ‘cuz it’s sooo funny. You know he really did lose his mind and him saying that just makes me think wow, he’s got some sense of humor,” he chuckles slightly in ironic admiration, “But you know, that’s not the point…the point is maybe you think too much and it restricts you from really giving yourself to your works. You’re supposed to project your feelings into your art, not your mind like what others think. We’re artists, Her. Our job is to convey emotions.”

“Wh-Ye-I guess,” Her’s never heard someone talk about philosophy about art before. She’s talked about life as an art student, but never about life as an artist.

“We’re supposed to give the audience what we want them to feel, not what we want them to think. Take the most famous painting in the world for example. The Mona Lisa. There’s so many things Leonardo did right in that one, but why is it so famous? It’s not because it’s painted perfectly. It’s because of that smile. It gives people an eerie feeling. It connects with you because it’s so…eughk damn eerie,” he shrugs. “Never really liked looking at that one.”

Mona Lisa by Leonardo Da Vinci (Year 1503–06).

“That’s really a new way of looking at things I suppose...”.

“Well have you ever just done something out of a whim? Like…you just do it ‘cuz it felt right at the moment?”

“I-I…not really…no…” she sighs, “I like to…plan things out. It’s how I grew up to be,”

“I guess now you know where the problem is…” he says as he looks back at the moon. “Your paintings are really just an extension of yourself. In a way, they’re you. If you say your paintings are unremarkable and bleak, then that’s probably how you are…unless there’s something in you that wants to change,”

Her is taken too aback by his response to the point that she’s at lost for words. No one’s ever really said it out loud before, not even her. His words are like a dagger to her heart but she can’t seem to reply or defend herself because deep inside her, she knows they’re utterly true. All she is able to reply back is a mixture of a frustrated groan and a sigh as she puts her arm on her forehead.

“Heh, now I see why you kept coming here just to stare at that boring pendulum all the time, looking all frustrated” he looks at the moon intently and she looks at him with wide eyes. “You’re like one of those people who cry and stare at the mirror when they do,” he chuckles.

“You know I come here often?”

“Yeah, I work here, Her. Of course I’ll remember my frequent flyers, especially the cute ones,” again he smirks at her. Well, now she thinks it’s ingrained in her mind forever. But then again, she notices he has a way of making her have mixed feelings about his words.

He just made fun of her self-pitying tendencies, but reveals I’ve caught his eye? Who is this guy?! It’s as if he wants be nice but his innate mischievous nature gets in the way.

“Don’t worry, we all have hard times,” he looks at the moon as if he’s time traveling decades through his eyes, perhaps recalling a serious time in his life. Feeling slightly comforted, Her reflects on his words for a time while she leave him in his memory.

Yeah, I guess my self-pitying tendencies are a little funny, ha.

Eventually, she finds herself looking at the underside of Taehyung’s jaw and even his nostrils from her position below as he loses his presence reminiscing. She observes the moonlight hit his face at an angle from below. She follows the trace of light with her eyes, trying to consolidate it in her memory. However, it was too late to retract her eyes before Taehyung looks back at her and rolls his eyes annoyed.

“Thaat’s it- You’re staring again. That’s more than three strikes I believe,” he slaps his hand on the grass by her head and hovers over her.

He replaces her view of the moon with his face, which is now only inches from hers. If the grass was someone’s skin, their skin would be indented with a big red mark from how much Her’s pressing against it to distance herself from the tip of his nose. His long hair falls down in her direction, framing the outline of her head. However, what is very astonishing and a little frightening is the big change in his expression. He looked like an angel from the moment she saw him, but now, he looks like the devil himself.

“Here. Take a good look!” he says sternly and angrily. His striking eyes pierce at her with eyebrows furrowed, only becoming scarier as she sees his pupils dilate and his nose flare. His jaw clenches and cuts the moonlight’s trace she was just tracing a while ago. She’d like to take him on his offer but his emanating vibe is unnecessarily terrifying. She understands why he could be annoyed by her by now but it seems as though she struck a very sensitive nerve by his radical reaction.

“I know I’m handsome, cute, hot, good looking, whatever you wanna call it. But seriously, curse. this. face! Lots of girls and teachers, even guys at the college have made me their model since day one, like I’m just some object to them but you know what? I’m not some disposable model. I’m a painter, just like them! This damn face overshadows everything else. I’d like to think I have a brain and some skills you know,” Taehyung looks at her with his piercing eyes until he rolls it back and closes them in frustration. He brushes his hair with his hand as he gulps down his next words, trying not to snap again.

“…I-I don’t think you’re just that…I think you’re a-actually smart” she stutters. She can’t help but feel there’s more to his story. How can anyone not like their good looks?

“Well…good.” she slowly sees the child-like angel in him resurface again.

Assuming the confrontation was over, she tries to get out from under him like a worm but he follows her down, trapping her between his arms again.

“Nuh-uh, sweet pea. You have to make it up to me. Come to the third wing studio tomorrow and I’ll think about forgiving you.”

A flash of the headlights of the long-awaited bus illuminates the side of his face.

Ch. 1 fin.

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