Chapter 985
Chapter 985:
Their admiring glances and subtle nods spoke volumes about their reverence for the artwork.
Curran’s eyes gleamed as he studied the paintings. Fernanda had no doubt that if these weren’t museum collections, he would have eagerly purchased them all. Though he had seen these masterpieces countless times before, they still captivated him.
The brilliance of these medieval works had not faded with time—they remained as striking as ever.
Bobby had disappeared into the crowd some time ago. Fernanda continued assisting Curran as they moved through the first and second floors before reaching the third.
As expected, one of her own paintings was displayed among the contemporary works.
A small rose was tucked discreetly in the lower right corner—her signature.
She had created this piece in her dorm room six months ago, when a fellow artist invited her to contribute to the exhibition.
In their artistic circle, connections were built purely on creativity. They shared their work under false names, never disclosing their real identities. Some professional artists occasionally stepped into the spotlight for solo exhibitions or lectures. Others, though less inclined toward public attention, stayed active in online communities, exchanging insights and critiques.
Then there were artists like Fernanda—completely anonymous, content to let their work speak for itself. It wasn’t unusual. In fact, many believed that a touch of mystery only added to an artist’s allure. Over time, it became an unspoken belief in the circle that she was an old soul, detached from the trivialities of everyday life. Her work carried a vast, uninhibited energy—each brushstroke infused with a kind of effortless freedom.
Take this painting, for example. On the left, towering mountains and dense, verdant trees stretched toward the sky. On the right, a deep abyss, veiled in swirling mist, created an air of mystery. In the midst of it all, eagles soared fearlessly into the unknown.
What truly captivated viewers, though, was an unexpected detail—a pair of children playing at the cliff’s edge. One, just steps from the precipice, had turned mid-stride, as if calling out to his companion. It was this contrast—the vast, imposing landscape against the fragility of those tiny figures—that sparked endless debate.
As expected, Curran halted before the piece, his gaze lingering. “This one stands out,” he remarked, clearly impressed. “Without those two children, it would just be another scenic painting. They give it life. More than just life—it adds a sense of unease. The entire piece feels dynamic because of their presence.”
gⱯ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀.𝗰𝗈n – 𝗥𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼
“I feel like this could be refined,” Fernanda murmured to Curran. “If the two kids were replaced with a single child picking flowers, it might feel more natural. It’s a cliff, after all—kids playing here seems a little unrealistic.”
Before she could say more, a chuckle came from behind them.
Fernanda turned to find a man in his thirties. The moment their eyes met, a flicker of surprise crossed his face, softening some of the condescension in his expression. “Miss, I think you’re missing the point,” he said. “Watercolor is about evoking emotion. What you’re suggesting leans more toward realism.”
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