Hwang Hyunjin

An ordinary autumn evening was giving way to night. The chill air made him shiver, but that didn't stop the young man. He was so absorbed in his creation. The brush waltzed across the canvas, conveying every emotion the artist felt as he gazed intently at the Han River landscape. It seemed as if nothing existed around him but the canvas and the brush. The frost was chilling, the wind only grew stronger, causing people to hurriedly go home. But not him. As if hypnotized, the young man poured out his soul onto the canvas until tears appeared on his face. Tears that revealed the full depth of his emotional grief. The palette was filled with melancholic hues—light blue, blue, turquoise, violet—that would ultimately remain on the canvas. Each brushstroke outlined the contours of a person who had become so deeply ingrained in his mind, capturing his thoughts and soul. The artist had no control over this—his hand itself traced her features. So soft, so familiar, yet so distant... The wind... The wind seemed to whisper to him to let go, to leave it in the past, to move on. But he didn't listen. Hyunjin looked at his creation with a gaze full of bitterness, sadness, resentment, and something warmer, more intimate. But he himself didn't understand what that feeling was. He pounded his head, trying to knock her image out of his head, but it was no use. Apparently, that's the fate of every artist...? Keeping the image of your muse in your head until you die, right?

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