Van Gogh Reborn!

296

The Final Showdown (1)

“I was curious about what happened to you. I’m sorry for eavesdropping.”

“It’s okay.”

Gosuyeol sat face to face with Baekseolgi.

“You’ve been through a lot. How scared you must have been.”

His warm words made Baekseolgi choke up again.

She felt like she was left alone in the world.

She didn’t know where to go.

She had to walk, but she couldn’t bring herself to step into the dark place like pitch black.

The longing that she had been gnawing away at alone in the despair and loneliness surged up.

Gosuyeol and Jang Mi-rae looked at Baekseolgi, who was sobbing with her head down, with pity.

“It must have been hard. You must have had a lot of worries in your own way. But Seolgi, you have no reason to quit the Biennale.”

“But.”

“Don’t overthink it. You said it yourself. You can’t give up.”

She didn’t want to give up.

If she could, she wanted to do anything to participate in the Biennale.

Ever since she drew a family picture in kindergarten at the age of seven and her parents were happy. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

When she was twelve and her art teacher praised her observation skills and suggested that she enter an art contest.

When she won first place in the National Student Art Exhibition at the age of fifteen.

When she was admitted to the Korea University College of Art at the age of nineteen.

When she received the grand prize in the National College Art Competition at the age of twenty-two and sold her work for the first time.

When she compromised with reality and joined Cyclamen at the age of twenty-four and endured all kinds of hardships.

She never forgot for a single moment in five years.

She wanted to make a great work someday. She wanted to hang it in a splendid exhibition hall and show it off to people.

She was envied and jealous.

Sometimes she felt her limits, and she was frustrated by the situation that didn’t improve at all, but she never put down her brush.

Even now, at this moment.

“But… there must be another way.”

“I felt the same way at some point.”

Baekseolgi lifted her head.

“At some point, my paintings stopped being exhibited. They all hoarded them and waited for the price to rise.”

It was a famous story.

Gosuyeol’s paintings were highly sought after by art speculators.

It got overheated and at some point, the works disappeared from the market.

He was not a prolific painter, and the people who were looking for Gosuyeol’s works kept increasing, so the price skyrocketed.

“So I stopped working.”

“…”

“But after a while, I realized that wasn’t the answer. I don’t know how much I envied other people. I also resented the ones who drove me into that situation.”

Gosuyeol sighed and shook his head.

“I hope you don’t regret it like I did. Even if you get criticized, it’s better that way.”

“Teacher…”

“I hope you don’t regret your choice after a long time. You’ll end up blaming yourself.”

Self-blame and resentment made his life sick.

“Leave this matter to me.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry and just think about the Biennale. No one will touch you. Whether it’s Gyuseo or Choi Youngsoo.”

An environment where his grandson could live happily.

Protecting him so that he could draw sweet and joyful pictures like the name Chocolatier.

Gosuyeol had no other wish.

But the art world was corrupt both domestically and internationally.

At some point, works became objects of speculation, audiences dwindled every year, and groups and some artists used their power and connections to build their own world.

He didn’t know where the spirit of the artists who started from the Impressionists and the Separatists had gone.

Three incidents warned Gosuyeol that he couldn’t stay still any longer.

The gun terror at the Marso Gallery by Jerome Kerbier, who was dissatisfied with the Antermittang reform.

The collusion between the British Sotheby’s, Sachi Gallery, Damien Carter, and Jay Jopling.

And the corruption related to the operation of the Korean Pavilion at the 2030 Venice Biennale.

He thought it was okay until then.

But the corrupt ones were affecting his grandson without him knowing.

Gosuyeol decided to start what he had been thinking about for a long time.

-It’s been a while. Haesong.

He heard the voice of Choi Youngsoo, the chairman of the Korean Art Association, over the phone.

“Don’t bother with greetings, I’m not happy to see you.”

Ko Su-yeol’s attitude made Choi Young-su smile faintly.

-So, what did you call me for?

“Don’t play dumb. We have nowhere to back off now, do we?”

At Ko Su-yeol’s words, Choi Young-su narrowed his eyes.

He had judged that this matter could jeopardize the existence of the association.

That’s why the Korean Art Association had not responded to this issue on the surface.

He had stepped back and waited for an opportunity, but he was puzzled by Ko Su-yeol’s insistence on confronting him right away.

“I’ll give you until the end of this week. Get your hands off the Korean Pavilion.”

Choi Young-su laughed again as he listened quietly.

-You haven’t changed a bit.

“…”

-You’ve always been emotional since you were young. You never compromised.

Choi Young-su reminisced about the past.

Ko Su-yeol, who was fed up with the corruption of the art world, left the art market and stayed at the university.

-Who do you think took care of our artists when you were comfortably living at the school?

“Do you want me to say it was you?”

-Of course. Who else would have taken in the association and the juniors that you abandoned?

“You only cared for the ones who listened to you well.”

-It’s only natural for me as a human being. What’s wrong with selling works well and giving opportunities to friendly friends?

“That was wrong.”

-Strange. If you thought so, why didn’t you come back? Isn’t 20 years too long to say you had no time?

“It was because I trusted you. Foolishly.”

Ko Su-yeol growled.

“There’s no need for a long talk. Get your hands off the Korean Pavilion by the end of this week. And stop pressuring Seol-gi.”

-…Pressuring?

“Don’t act innocent! Aren’t you ashamed of harassing a kid who’s barely grown up?”

Ko Su-yeol hung up the phone.

Choi Young-su looked at the smartphone that had been disconnected and furrowed his brow.

There was only one person who could pressure Baek Seol-gi without his knowledge as the chairman of the association.

‘Kyu-seo, that bastard.’

He couldn’t turn the tide in any way when the public opinion was at its peak.

He should have bowed his head and waited for the right time, but he was running wild without knowing his place. It was frustrating.

Choi Young-su called his daughter.

Ko Su-yeol, who returned to Paris, was busy moving to end the misdeeds of the Korean Art Association.

He needed people to keep the association alive.

He was preparing a boycott movement against the Korean Art Association in alliance with domestic artists and museums.

Bang Tae-ho, who had been working as the chief curator of the Baem Museum and had been in contact with domestic museums, galleries, and related workers, played a big role.

“How’s it going?”

“They’re still watching, I guess.”

“Hmm.”

“They’re definitely dissatisfied with the association, so they’ll surely join if something explosive happens.”

“Right.”

“We have to deal with it for sure. We need to move together to make an impact.”

“Yes. We have to fix it this time. How about Professor Jang?”

Bang Tae-ho asked Jang Mi-rae.

“The students are also unhappy. They seem to be the most active.”

Ko Su-yeol and Bang Tae-ho nodded.

They wouldn’t be a big help right now, but if the students stepped up, the association would feel a lot of pressure.

They couldn’t recruit new members, and the students’ movement meant that they had the parents’ opinion on their back.

The political circles had to react as well.

“What did Teacher Seo say?”

Jang Mi-rae asked Ko Su-yeol.

Seo In-ho, Ko Su-yeol’s senior by one year, had been protecting the artists who had left the association by forming the Korean Artists’ Union.

“I’m meeting him next week. He said he’d welcome me anytime.”

He needed a bigger organization to make the association insignificant.

The union had to take over the functions that the association had taken on, such as artists’ welfare, rights protection, etc., for them to work properly.

“Then, will you decide on the joining ceremony then?”

Bang Tae-ho asked.

“No. I decided to do it right away.”

“Okay.”

“Is it delicious?”

“It’s delicious.”

“If you move, the other writers will feel the same. They will surely follow you.”

The most desirable situation was for the artists who were tired of the association’s misdeeds to follow Goseoyeol and join the union.

An organization without people was useless.

“I wish that would happen.”

“It will surely happen. Even those who are attached to the association hardly benefit from it. Besides, the Venice Biennale organizing committee also moved for you. It’s thanks to you, sir.”

Goseoyeol, Bang Taeho, and Jang Mi-rae turned their heads.

Kim Jiwu, who was sharing snacks with Ko Hun, felt their gaze and smiled awkwardly.

“Ahaha. What did I do?”

“No, it’s thanks to you that the public opinion in Korea has changed like this.”

“Ralph said the same thing. He ran to the organizing committee after reading your article in the morning. Thank you.”

The Venice Biennale organizing committee decided to send an audit team to check whether the operation of the national pavilion was normal, persuaded by the director Ralph Rufus.

After the decision was made, the organizing committee announced that the opening of the Venice Biennale might be delayed until the audit results came out.

The unprecedented event of postponing the opening ceremony was all thanks to the organizing committee taking the national pavilion operation corruption case seriously.

“You’re right, sir.”

As Jang Mi-rae, Goseoyeol, and Bang Taeho expressed their gratitude in turn, Kim Jiwu felt embarrassed.

Ko Hun, who had finished his snacks, opened his mouth.

“The problem is whether the members will leave the association, right?”

“Right.”

Bang Taeho agreed with Ko Hun’s point.

“Actually, if the writers move, there’s nothing to calculate for the museums, galleries, or contests. The association can be gone, but without the writers, there’s no exhibition at all.”

Goseoyeol, Jang Mi-rae, and Kim Jiwu nodded.

“Actually, they all know. They’re just scared. There have been many people who have been forgotten after standing out.”

“Actually, there’s no benefit to being a union member right now. Maybe after the association collapses completely.”

“I know what you mean.”

Ko Hun understood their feelings well.

He knew better than anyone how harsh life was outside the mainstream.

“Grandpa.”

“Hmm?”

“I want to give the union members a chance too.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to host a solo exhibition for one person every month at my gallery.”

“What?”

Goseoyeol, Jang Mi-rae, Bang Taeho, and Kim Jiwu were all surprised.

“I can’t do it for everyone, but without duplication, someday the opportunity will come. It’s a good condition to have a solo exhibition in Paris, right? It’s much better than staying in the association and paying dues and doing nothing.”

“No. I mean, that’s true, but.”

Bang Taeho intervened.

“That’s your space. You worked so hard to save that money.”

“It’s a space for Chocolatier.”

Ko Hun smiled brightly.

“I made it for people who want to do art happily. It’s not for the whole year, and there’s still room for exhibitions, so one is fine.”

“No, Hoon. You don’t have to do that much.”

“Yeah. They’re all working hard, so you don’t have to do that too.”

Goseoyeol and Kim Jiwu dissuaded him.

“I have to do it.”

Ko Hun shook his head.

“Grandpa, aunt, uncle. And Henri. You always say you’re improving for the future, but I’m a part of it too.”

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Jang Mi-rae looked at Ko Hun and smiled.

“Were you jealous?”

“I was jealous.”

Goseoyeol, Jang Mi-rae, Bang Taeho, Henri Marso, and everyone else were fighting against the corruption of the art world.

In that situation, Ko Hun was always regarded as someone who needed protection.

“I’m an artist who’s active now.”

“Hoon.”

“I don’t want to pretend I don’t know and live comfortably while everyone is fighting hard. The paintings I draw like that are meaningless no matter how cool they are.”

The people sitting around the table changed their minds.

He was not the protagonist of the future.

Ko Hun, who they only thought of as a young child, was an artist who was active in the present.

He had been leading the discourse more than anyone else for the last three years.

He was a contemporary painter who talked about harmony and happiness while avoiding discrimination at Dallida Square, Bugrenelli Shopping Mall, and the Venice Biennale Korean Pavilion.

I was proud of my grandson, who boldly painted an era with his own brush.

Jang Mi-rae, Bang Taeho, and Kim Jiwu were no different.

“Isn’t he amazing?”

Jang Mi-rae reached out to stroke Ko Hun’s head, but then withdrew her hand.

Ko Hun smiled and high-fived her.