Chapter 87 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    In the previous literature, I had read this passage.


    It was an article on the theme of the difference in imagination between congenitally blind and acquired blind people.


    It said that the imagination of the acquired blind relies on memory.


    To be precise, it assembles what it sees for the first time in its mind based on the memories seen before losing sight.


    However, the congenitally blind have never seen anything since birth.


    Since they have no memories to rely on, they imagine as they have learned, but sometimes misunderstand, imagining somethingpletely different.


    For example, if I asked my brother what an elephant looks like.


    He would describe it as a veryrge animal with a long trunk, gray body,rge ears, and thergest mammal after the whale. All this understandinges from education.


    How big is arge trunk, what does it feel like when ears flutter? My brother doesn''t know. He just speaks from what he''s memorized.


    What would the elephant assembled in my brother''s mind look like?


    He might imagine a gray elephant with ears and a trunk slightlyrger than a human, or one with a trunk as abnormally long as a giraffe''s neck, or even with wing-like ears like Dumbo from the cartoons.


    I quietly looked at my brother with his eyes closed.


    In fact, my brother can open his eyes.


    But theyck focus and the color of the pupils is different from normal people.


    Ever since a neighborhood friend said my brother''s eyes were scary when we were young, he has always kept his eyes closed.


    "Brother."


    "Yeah."


    "Is school fun?"


    "Um, well. It''s okay. Since we''re all together, we understand each other."


    ""


    That''s a lie.


    I heard from mom. My brother really dislikes going to the blind school.


    In my opinion, as an ordinary person, I thought people in the same situation would understand and care for each other, but in reality, they are people who find it hard to live without someone''s help.


    So, they don''t have the luxury to care for others, they understand each other, but can''t look after one another.


    My brother says that when he goes to school, it feels like someone is constantly reminding him of the hell he lives in.


    He doesn''t want to hear or face the reality he keeps whispering about.


    But my kind brother never told me such stories.


    "What do you learn at school?"


    "We learn everything, Korean, math, English, social studies, science, physical education, and art."


    Art?


    Do blind people learn art?


    "Do you do art?"


    "Yeah."


    "How?"


    My brother smiles, ying with his hands.


    "Have you heard of the phrase ''blind men touching an elephant''?"


    ""


    I dislike this proverb. I know the meaning, but I''ve never used it.


    "Yeah, I know."


    "In our art ss, we mainly use y. We touch and feel something, then create it."


    Ah, it''s not about drawing pictures.


    "It''s like sculpture."


    "Yes, and we draw pictures too."


    "Pictures?"


    "Yeah, isn''t it amazing?"


    ""


    It is amazing. But I don''t want to say it. My brother adds an exnation.


    "There are people who donate their talents. They create masterpieces with stic, giving light and shadow. Then we touch them and imagine what the painting is like. We don''t know the colors, but we can understand the shape. Based on that, we draw pictures."


    I see. There are really good people in the world. My brother said with a slightly self-mocking smile.


    "Do you remember when we were twelve? When we first went to the War Memorial of Korea in Yongsan."


    ""


    I remember.


    It wasn''t long after we moved to Namyangju following our father''s death when mom took us to the museum.


    At the time, my brother was older but still young like me. While exining a painting rted to the Korean War, he touched the painting out of curiosity.


    And then we were chased out by the caretaker.


    Visitors who dare touch the paintings are uneptable, he said.


    I remember.


    Im so grateful to those who made touchable paintings. It allows me to imagine the art. Ever since we were kicked out of the museum, I thought art was irrelevant to my life, and it was where I felt most inferior.


    I see.


    My brother stretches andughs.


    I wish there were more touchable paintings. Ah, now I''m sleepy.


    Yeah, go to bed, bro.


    As my brother stretcheszily and gets up, I help him, but he refuses, saying,


    I know my way around the house, dont worry and rest. You must be tired.


    Okay.


    My brother slowly heads to his room.


    I watch his retreating figure, recalling hisst words.


    I wish there were more touchable paintings.


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