âIâm amazed you managed to make time for me amongst your schedules. Thank you for your help. I promised my friends Iâd draw their pictures but I need to practice first.  âŚRectangle with legs, arms and hair-â Seohyun echoed, cubistic images painting themselves in her head. That very visualisation was the reason behind her tremulous lips, amused smile creeping onto them from the semidarkness of her concentrated mind. Every single part of Seohyunâs perceptual system was wrapped around Hyuna, around her body which was divided into colour schemes. Her surroundings were dark and blurry while her features were sharpened in idolâs eyesight. As if Seohyun took one photograph and then decided to erase unnecessary details while zooming more onto others.
âI think Iâll try one more time and then Iâll show you both versions. Lets see if Iâve managed to improve.â Monochrome sketch was cast aside when the wannabe artist took another sheet with her pale digits, smoothing it across the wooden desk which rested on her lap as a solid sturdiness. Squinting at Hyunaâs outlines the woman returned her attention to the pencil, letting the image convert in her mind and be spread on the paper.Â
âThere was this one teacher in Dongguk. He taught scenography to the students interested in other aspects of theatre than performance itself. He was a photographer and he told us that in reality we donât exist. What exists is the light refracting itself over and over. Colours are sliced pieces of that very light, the essence of everything. So when Iâm drawing you, Hyuna, Iâm drawing my interpretation of your light. Itâs my own portrait in that sense too. Strange, isnât it?â
âOh, please, donât mention it. If I wasnât doing this, I would be modeling on my couch anyway--except that in much less glamorous and graceful way than this. Youâre basically the one doing me a favor here... Thanks to you, Iâm not stooping too low even on a free day.â Hyuna explained with a small laugh, almost tempted to move and hide it behind her hand--years of public etiquette be damned, she had the habit even in private--yet remembering about her current situation just in time to hold the gesture back. She wanted to be the best training model that the idol-artist has ever had; even though this was just a casual meeting and personal activity like any other, the older female always had the desire to excel in everything she was doing, no matter how small or insignificant in the big picture it was.
While modeling itself was quite a dull task--she couldnât do much aside from sitting still, and there wasnât that much room for a conversation either, as she didnât really want to negatively impact Seohyunâs concentration and whatever artistic vision of the reality she was drowning herself in while drawing--Hyuna found it rather entertaining to watch the artistâs ways of working. The barely-there movements of her hands and arms, tiny shakes of her head that she might have not even realized happened, quirky little squints of her dark eyes -- ones that sometimes were clearly an expression of annoyance over some mistakes, and ones that were just a sign of what Hyuna identified as deep concentration. In a way, Seohyun -- a woman she didnât know all that well just yet -- was like a living painting herself, right there for the older female to observe, analyze and interpret, with all its details, and colors, and artistic irregularities.
Noticing that a sheet of paper was changed, Hyuna took that moment to shift her position a bit, sitting in a very similar way but with slightly adjusted angles -- enough for her joints and muscles to feel comfortable again, but not to alter Seohyunâs perception of her too much. What the younger female said caused her to tilt her head slightly, long, dark hair sliding off her shoulder a bit as she did so. âWe donât exist?â She echoed the otherâs words, giving it a longer thought in the silence, only soft brushes of the pencilâs cohl against the paper cutting softly thorough it. âItâs a slightly terrifying idea. Strange, yes... But also beautiful. To believe that weâre nothing but light--imagine the lightâs death. Layers of accumulated illumination slowly dispersing and merging with all the other colors and lights around, like smoke -- but brighter.â
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