Jiyong was waiting by the lobby of the gallery that In Young owned. He was watching the people in the gallery scuttle back and forth preparing for an exhibit of a new painter who is said to be creating a huge splash in Japan. He glanced upon a 60” x 72” framed canvas that was peeking through the haphazardly hanged cloth used to cover it. He only saw a deep color of red, but it was enough to pique his interest and remove the white cloth.

The frame revealed a painting of a boy with a lump of blond for his hair, jumping over a huge fallen tree log. In the painting the little boy was in a middle of a garden trying to catch a strange looking butterfly swathed in a mix of mauve, bright purple and turquoise, the blend of the three made it the most amazing color his eyes has ever seen. While there were other butterflies around, paler in color and others blending with the background, the boy was intent on catching this one. The by which this strange butterfly was painted made it deceivingly alive, as if it was continuously fluttering out of the boy’s reach. 

As he stared at the painting for several minutes more, his eyes grew big. He finally saw that the boy was actually running inside a human heart, hence the deep graduated red background. He was taken aback and thought whoever did this painting was actually nuts, if not, probably on LSD. How can a young boy be trapped catching a butterfly inside a human heart? 

He jumped a bit when In Young tapped him on his shoulders, he turned to her, “What’s with this painting?”

“I told you this painter is different from all the others we have sponsored for an exhibit. You should come to the opening and get to meet her,” In Young said. 

“Her? A woman painted this? I bet she is one sicko for doing this. Isn’t art supposed to be beautiful?”

“Don’t you find this beautiful? Her works are said to evoke a hidden emotion from anyone who looks at them. You should see the rest of her collection, which I have to say I still need to get from Japan and America. Something might interest you enough you would want to buy it.”

Jiyong shook his head, “No way. I am not seeing or buying any of her paintings. It would be a waste of money. Anyway, are you ready to go?”

In Young nodded and took hold of Jiyong’s outstretched hand. She led him out of the gallery and into the chilly autumn night. In Young knew Jiyong never appreciated art works. He was one straight-laced business man who is now the CEO/President of their family corporation. He is always dressed in dark blue or gray suits, a complete opposite to her bold colors and sometimes off the wall fashion statements. People often wondered, especially friends of Jiyong, why would he end up with an art dealer when he hardly have any artistic bone in his body. In Young is two years his senior, but she would call him “Oppa”. They met when Jiyong was barhopping in Korea with his old friend Seung Hyun and through Seung Hyun, got introduced to one another. In Young later learned that Jiyong lost his father when he was 19 years old and was forced to grow up a lot faster than guys his age would. 

“Oppa, are we having dinner somewhere or are we heading straight to my apartment?”

Jiyong smiled meaningfully, “Let’s eat first then go to your apartment.”

Jiyong got home close to midnight. He could have stayed at In Young’s place but something about the day and actually the painting perturbed him. If Jiyong would be honest the art work really did not bother him in an offensive way, he was rather more curious about what went on in that artist’s mind when she painted it. Now readying himself for bed, he could still not shake off the image of the boy and the amazingly painted butterfly from his mind.

“Will that boy ever catch his butterfly?” he mused as he settled himself on his bed, “And why the heck am I so interested in that painting?”

Why indeed, Jiyong? 

He can’t remember around what time he fell into deep sleep and could vaguely recall the weird dream he had. When he opened his eyes, it was already morning and his alarm clock stashed inside his bedside table’s drawer.