Jimin and Eileen held hands as they climbed the seemingly unceasing ascent of steps to find the artist district displayed on a hill overlooking the beautiful city of Paris, France. Montmartre was a lovely part of the city. Even before they reached the top, Jimin and Eileen began to study the magnificent cathedral that had been built there many decades ago. Jimin stared up at the huge white dome of the Basilica of the Sacré-Couer while Eileen’s artist’s eye traced the smaller, whitewashed twin domes gracing the great cathedral. She never grew tired of searching for this masterpiece crowning Paris’s famous hill.
Jimin wanted to enter the basilica, but he knew their time was limited this afternoon, so he propelled her past the massive structure that shone like a beacon in the sun, the cathedral’s white surface reflecting those benevolent rays. As they stepped into the shadow of the great basilica, Jimin discovered a much older church. It was nearly a millennium old. It boggled his mind. A thousand-year-old building!
Saint Pierre de Montmartre was not as stately as the cathedral, but it retained a humble beauty all its own. It was a gorgeous stone building with a graceful bell tower. As Jimin studied it, he found he liked it more than the basilica. It reminded him of Jungkook, who had once lamented the differences between his true self and his persona. Jungkook thought the larger, whitewashed image was the more beautiful one, but Jimin much preferred the natural colors of the true man. The one-of-a-kind qualities of Jungkook’s character and personality that made him special, rather like the individual and unique stones of this parish.
Jimin loved Jungkook’s precious heart, his servant attitude towards others, his quiet self, the self that had been forced into hiding on the stage. Something came over Kookie, transforming him, every time he was on the stage. He loved to perform. But off the stage, out of the spotlight, he was someone else entirely. Someone few people had actually had the privilege of knowing. And that precious person was the one who had become one of Jimin’s best friends and most trusted confidantes.
Yet even in his own life, Jimin had to admit that he had worked hard on his own white-washed image. It was, after all, what ARMY loved about him. Very few of them had been with him when he’d debuted. He had put in the time, effort, and sacrifice to transform his body into a more acceptable image for a K-pop idol. And even that version of himself was often airbrushed. He’d spent hours in the gym building a body that girls would admire. He applied makeup to his face to accentuate his eyes and hide his flaws. He’d dyed his hair so many different colors. When he looked in the mirror now, he could barely find the boy he’d once been. Only the eyes staring back at him were the same. And even in them, something had shifted. So why was it that he could love the real Jungkook so much, but he still struggled with loving the real Jimin?
Even now sometimes he assessed himself with a critical eye, mentally dissolving added layers of fat, again almost falling into the trap of wondering if he was slim enough yet. He still felt self-conscious during photo shoots. Was he going to look the way he desired? Would ARMY love him still?
Jimin stopped to stare up at the statuesque, old building. It had a beautiful, stone façade with captivating, arched windows carved out. It seemed to stand as a testament to the beauty found in the old, in the original design. In years to come, when Jimin thought of this church, he would remember the value of his true self, the older one, the real one. The image that wasn’t whitewashed or airbrushed. The true Jimin, with all his flaws and all his gifts.
A few steps past the smaller church, they entered the Place du Tertre. This was the artist district. It was littered with artists bending over their easels, intently working on creating. Eileen watched in wonder as artists painted people’s portraits or caricatures. Some creators were capturing the beautiful weather on their canvas, highlighting the horizon, or revealing the beauty of the city itself. Their use of color and light was stunning, drawing the eye to the minutest detail on the canvas.
This part of Paris never ceased to floor her. She was actually here. In the place of her childhood dreams. She had read about the artist district. She had studied the world’s greatest artists, the Old Masters, poring for hours over the books her sweet savior had let her peruse every time she had visited her farmhouse. The very first day she had sat with such a book in her lap, this dream had been born in her heart. She had desired with every fiber of her soul to come to Paris to study art and to become a master painter herself.
All her favorite Old Masters had worked here, living nearby. Monet, Picasso, Pissarro, and Van Gogh, all brilliant artists, had breathed the air here and painted the landscape. Their eyes had looked out at the same lovely city, the crowning jewel of northern France. They had drunk the water and the wine of the region, eaten its baguettes and cheeses, and all had stared up at the same blue sky and glowing moon that she did. This was part of the reason she’d come to Paris, to recapture something they had once first laid hold of. To relive their moments here in the birthplace of so many of the world’s artistic masterpieces. Prints of their more popular creations were still available for sale within the shops lining this hilltop. She was tempted every time she visited to buy at least one. Monet was her favorite: she loved the beauty and hope conveyed in impressionistic paintings. Her work echoed his. Her heart’s desire was to one day be as amazing of a painter as he had been. If she could only be compared to him, she would rejoice, her dreams fulfilled.
Jimin studied the paintings on display. Eileen’s work was every bit as good as these, and as far as he knew, she had had no formal training. She must have a God-given eye for color, and line, and form. He turned to stare at her in amazement. They had stopped to chat with several artists. Every single one had boasted an impressive resume, including study at a world-renowned art college. Many had worked for famous news journals as caricaturists. All had a similar background creating beautiful artwork around the world. Each was so very talented.
Jimin and Eileen had stood for half an hour watching several artists bending over their easels as they painted a portrait or a caricature of their customers. Jimin’s eyebrows rose in shock as he watched them complete each masterpiece in under thirty minutes. Most took fewer than twenty minutes. How on earth could they create something so beautiful so quickly? It amazed him.
He had been watching one particular artist. He loved this woman’s work. It reminded him of Eileen’s. When her current customer left, he stepped forward and asked if she could create a portrait of him and Eileen, but that he needed two copies. She agreed, informing him that each would be unique, and it would take her nearly an hour. He decided they had enough time, so he quickly agreed. This was worth his time. This chance would likely never come again.
“Normally, I would charge you 80 euros per piece, but since you want a set, I will agree to 150 euros. Yes?” The raven-haired painter pierced him with her crystal blue eyes.
He nodded. “Oui, oui, c’est bien.” He employed the little French he knew, and the artist set to work.
His mind traveled back to a very recent conversation he’d had with one of these artists. He’d asked him how one came to work on this hill. Each had to pay by the square meter for their tiny workspace, and it wasn’t cheap. Perhaps this was why Eileen hadn’t set up shop here yet.
As his eyes traveled around the square, they took in all the little bistros and cafes that lined the artist district. They were cute. One was two stories tall and had been painted a bold pink with contrasting green shutters. He was certain it must be world-famous. It was so unique. Each cafe boasted an area of bistro tables sporting umbrellas. Chairs were set up at each table to comfort the weary walker and those who had climbed the endless steps to reach the summit of this hill.
His eyes traveled back to the artist and her work before moving on to linger on Eileen’s beautiful face, her auburn hair blowing back behind her head in the stiff breeze that had just found them. The artiste had already perfectly captured the glowing green of Eileen’s eyes, and Jimin felt his heart soaring as he looked forward to hanging this portrait over his bed. Eileen’s eyes would follow him home and keep him company on lonely nights.
As he studied her lovely face, he thought of all the portraits she could be designing even now on this hill.
“Do you need money to set up here? Is that why you’re not working up here with the other artists?”
Eileen turned wide, emerald eyes towards him, a look of astonishment blanketing her features.
“What?”
“You belong here, Eireen. In the artist district. Your art belongs here.” Jimin was looking intently at her out of those incredible, chocolate eyes of his. Her heart was melting again. Her soul sighing.
She shook her head. “No, no. I’ve not studied formally yet anywhere. These artists,” her hand flew out to encompass the entire group, including the one sketching their portraits, “are stunning. They’ve done this for many years.”
“So have you. Your work is also stunning.” Wow, English was easier when he could simply repeat what someone said before him!
But she was shaking her head. “Jimin, you are so sweet! But I’m not ready. And no, I don’t have the necessary funds either. I’m only making it right now because I work two jobs. It was simply a miracle that I didn’t have to work last night, or I would never have met you.”
And my life would have been the poorer for it.
She blinked back a tear as she remembered their time was almost up.
But Jimin wouldn’t be dissuaded. “I am not being sweet, Eireen. I’m telling you the truth. Do you not realize the amazing gift you’ve been given? It’s your responsibility to bless the world with it. And right now, you are simply hiding in a cave.”
She turned wide eyes to his once again. “Jimin! I’m not hiding! I’m not good enough yet!”
“That’s a lie, Eireen. It’s simply not true.” Jimin turned to the artist. “When you are done, would you allow my friend here to use your paints and your canvas and draw a portrait of me? I will pay you for your time as though you were the one painting. However long it takes. Say, 150 euros an hour?”
Eileen’s eyebrows disappeared under the auburn hair being blown across her forehead. Some had found its way into her mouth too. Using her fingertips, she drew her hair from her lips as she sputtered, “Jimin! No! You don’t have to do that.”
The artist simply smiled as she gazed from one to the other before nodding her head at Jimin.
He turned towards Eileen, his dark brown eyes challenging hers. “Prove it. Give me everything you’ve got on that canvas, and let’s just see how poor of an artist you truly are.” His gaze was unflinching, like a steel blade drawn to defend the weak. Only in this case, he was defending her against herself.
Jimin’s voice was gentle now. “Eireen, for just one hour pretend this is your spot.” He waved his hand around them. “Every day you make your way up this hill to set up your studio under the sun. You can create anything you want to. So, what do you want to create today?”