Van Gogh Reborn!

273

The Preliminary Battle (3)

“Throw it away.”

I had picked out a few group t-shirts to make our work more enjoyable, but they didn’t seem to like them.

They were very cool t-shirts with colorful flowers and butterflies on a black background, but they told me to toss them.

The owner of the clothing store must have felt hurt.

“What do you think, Grandpa?”

I showed them to Grandpa, but he narrowed his eyes as if he was embarrassed.

“It doesn’t seem like a very good idea.”

Bang Tae-ho nodded his head from the side.

“I think we should get our money back.”

I didn’t know what he meant.

It was a pity, but since they all opposed, I couldn’t insist and put down the shirts.

I didn’t get anything from today’s shopping.

“By the way, how are we going to recruit?”

I asked Bang Tae-ho how we were going to gather participants for the Venice Biennale.

Ralph Lufers said that since it was the first time to create an artist pavilion, we could use the commissioner’s authority freely.

Accordingly, Michel and Bang Tae-ho joined us as the heads of the artist pavilion, and they were going to act as co-commissioners.

“We have to post an announcement. I’ll take care of Korea, and Platini’s representative said he would take care of France.” I wanted to accept applicants from other countries, but I was sure that there would be thousands of applicants from both countries.

The exhibition hall was not infinitely wide, so we had to select them inevitably.

Bang Tae-ho and Michel must have a lot of worries about how to give fair opportunities.

This time, we had to settle for a Korean-French alliance.

“Then what about the name of the exhibition hall?”

We had to give a new name to the exhibition hall, which we had been calling the artist pavilion because there was no official name.

“Let’s call it the French-Korean Exhibition Hall.”

Marso came over after finishing the call.

“That’s boring.”

“What’s boring? Don’t think about naming it.”

He was always dissatisfied with my naming skills, as he was when I named Chocolatier.

“I think we should go back soon.”

I checked the clock at Bang Tae-ho’s words, and it was already past time.

We had only issued a simple press release through Michel and had dinner, but it was past 7 o’clock.

As I hurried home with Marso, Kim Ji-woo greeted me with a wave of her hands.

“Hoon!”

“Hello.”

“You’re growing up every time I see you. Oh, you dyed your hair. It suits you very well.”

“Hehe. Nice to see you.”

“Congratulations, Director. How did you manage to bring Henry and Hoon at the same time?”

“Haha. Marso and Hoon brought me along. Thank you.”

Kim Ji-woo exchanged greetings with Grandpa and Bang Tae-ho.

She must have been tired after arriving not long ago, but she was lively.

“Don’t worry about anything, just rest.”

“Ahaha. I’d like to say I’m fine out of courtesy, but I’m not in that situation. Thank you!”

Kim Ji-woo bowed her waist repeatedly to Grandpa.

I showed her to the guest room on the second floor. Bang Tae-ho was on the same floor, so I gave her the master bedroom with a bathroom in case she was uncomfortable.

“Then, have a good rest.”

“Wait! I have to interview you!”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Time is life.”

Kim Ji-woo tapped the desk without even unpacking her travel bag.

“Then I’ll bring you some juice. Is apple juice okay?”

“Totally.”

I brought her the juice and sat down.

“I saw on the way that you’re participating in the Venice Biennale national pavilion separately?”

“Yes.”

“How did that happen? There was no detailed story. Are you going with Henry? Did they propose it first?”

“I wanted to participate in the Korean pavilion originally.”

“But?”

“I was talking with Grandpa and Future Aunt before the Korean pavilion commissioner was decided, but as you know, it didn’t work out. So I wondered if there was any other way, and Lufers suggested it.”

“Ralph Lufers? The director of the Venice Biennale?”

“Yes. The Arsenale.”

The main exhibition of the Venice Biennale is called Arsenale, and the national pavilions are called Giardini.

“How?”

“I know him through my grandfather.”

“Wow. You have an amazing network. Is that how it is when you reach that level?”

I’m also amazed by my grandfather’s network.

“I was worried about not being able to participate in the Korean pavilion, but Marso told me to make one myself. Rufus heard that and suggested that I try what I was preparing originally.”

“It worked out well. But there’s something I don’t understand.”

“Yes.”

“You and Professor Jang Mi-rae, teacher, were so active, but why didn’t you do it with Curator Kim Suhyuk? What didn’t fit?”

“It’s not like that. They just didn’t answer me.”

“Hee.”

Kim Jiwu gasps.

He looks incredulous.

“Really? Without saying anything?”

“Yes.”

The commissioner has full authority over the national pavilion.

If they don’t like it, there’s no other way.

“That’s weird. Even if it’s the commissioner’s authority, they should at least say something if they get a request, right?”

I think the same.

It’s only right to explain the reason to my grandfather, who is a veteran of the art world and also a teacher to Choi Kyuseo.

“This is what Marso said.”

“Yeah.”

“People who can think like that wouldn’t do such a thing.”

He means that if they can empathize with others, they wouldn’t do that.

People who can do whatever they want don’t bother to care about others.

They firmly believe that nothing will change no matter what others say, so they don’t bother to do annoying things.

It was strangely persuasive because it was Henri Marso who said it.

He also doesn’t care about others, but the difference between him and them is the direction.

Marso, who has a minimum of consideration and leads society in a better direction, and them, who are busy filling their stomachs, are different even though they show similar attitudes.

“I guess. That makes sense.”

Kim Jiwu writes something and someone knocks on the door.

“Reporter, this is Bang Taeho.”

“Yes. Come in.”

Bang Taeho comes in and smiles at Kim Jiwu and me alternately.

“You’ve already started.”

“I’m so curious. I was talking about the Venice Biennale.”

“That’s good. I wanted to tell you something about that. Do you have a minute?”

Kim Jiwu spreads his hands and points to the chair.

“It’s about the Korean Art Association. There was no talk about it in Korea.”

“About the selection of the artists for the Korean pavilion?”

“Yes.”

Kim Jiwu hesitates for a moment.

“Well. The first reaction is that it’s possible because it’s the commissioner’s own authority. There are also people who cheer for them because they are a couple.”

Bang Taeho exhales a long breath.

“They did a great job of marketing. The celebrity couple participated in the most prestigious biennale in the world and they were on the air several times.”

Bang Taeho unfolds his smartphone.

“This is the list of participants in the international art exhibitions for the last three years.”

Kim Jiwu leans his head forward and checks the list.

I’m also interested and look at it together, but I don’t know many names.

“If you filter out the art exhibitions that the association can select, it’s like this.”

“Ah.”

Kim Jiwu sighs softly.

Bang Taeho opens another file and shows it.

It was a list of winners of domestic art competitions organized or judged by the Korean Art Association.

“Oh my.”

“It’s called the Choi Kyuseo line. Most of the people who participated and won were related to Choi Kyuseo, regardless of domestic or foreign.”

“Can I check it for a moment?”

“Of course.”

Kim Jiwu looks at the list as if he can’t believe it. He searches and compares the winners repeatedly and puts down his smartphone weakly.

“That’s crazy.”

Kim Jiwu puts his hand on the table and leans his face forward.

“How can this happen? It’s no different from 10 years ago.”

It seemed like she was talking about the time when Jang Mi-rae missed the grand prize at the national exhibition.

“Nothing has changed. The president of the association is still Choi Youngsoo, just like then.”

“…”

“The media also played a role. The Jeonghan Daily repeatedly published articles that criticized the association.”

“What about them…”

“Mr. Reporter.”

Bang Taeho called Kim Jiwu with a serious tone.

“Yes.”

“I think this problem needs to be solved for the Korean art world to develop.”

Kim Jiwu’s neck muscles twitched.

“You love art more than anyone, Mr. Reporter.”

He nodded.

He had confirmed Kim Jiwu’s love for art when he was with Marso and Demian Carter.

Who would infiltrate a crime den alone for the sake of article views?

He believed that he did it because he wanted the truth to be revealed and because he loved art.

“Will you help me?”

Kim Jiwu didn’t hesitate at all.

“What can I do for you?”

“I have some sources, but unfortunately I’m not good at writing.”

“Leave that to me.”

Kim Jiwu pounded his chest.

He was reliable.

“Ah, I was so nervous that I had to shoot a movie again. Do you know how scary it was in England? I still get chills when I think about it.”

“Haha. I wouldn’t ask you to do something like that.”

Bang Taeho smiled faintly and spoke with a serious face again.

“But it’s still dangerous. They won’t sit still over there. They might pressure Yehwa too.”

“It’s okay. I’m out anyway.”

Bang Taeho tilted his head.

“They closed down and you’re going to work in Europe. You said it was Bozar, right?”

“Yeah.”

He explained on behalf of Kim Jiwu and Bang Taeho nodded.

“You got a better position.”

“It’s the best place to break a story.”

Kim Jiwu and I looked at each other and smiled.

“By the way, how is the artist hall going?”

“We’re going to do it with French and Korean artists.”

“We’re setting up a criterion because there will be a lot of applicants. We can’t satisfy everyone, but we have to try.”

Bang Taeho added an explanation.

“Then it’s like a collaboration hall between the two countries.”

“Yes. We’re going to participate as France-Korea alliance.”

He opened the memo function on his smartphone and wrote ‘France-Corée parti’.

“Isn’t that too simple? Something more plausible would be better…”

“Marso doesn’t like unique names. But isn’t this okay if you write it in Korean?”

“What is?”

“France-Korea party, so firecrackers.”

“…”

“…”

Bang Taeho and Kim Jiwu stared at me.

“You should change it.”

It was a name that Koreans would never forget if they heard it, but he didn’t seem to like it either.

Meanwhile, in Korea, reporter Lee Inho was interviewing professor Jang Mi-rae.

“The next question might be a bit sensitive.”

“Then don’t ask.”

Jang Mi-rae laughed and waved her hand as Lee Inho was flustered.

“I’m kidding. What is it?”

“It’s about the Venice Biennale. The Korean pavilion artist was decided recently, but how are you going to participate, professor?”

It was the question he expected.

Jang Mi-rae nodded and sipped her straw. The cold coffee calmed her chest.

“I’m going to do it with the teacher. And Hun too. Marso said he would do it too, so it should be fun.”

Lee Inho didn’t know how to ask Jang Mi-rae.

He had to ask what happened in the process of selecting the Korean pavilion artist, but he didn’t want to hurt her pride.

As Lee Inho was restless, Jang Mi-rae smiled.

“Is it because of Kyu-seo?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t have any expectations anyway.”

Jang Mi-rae shrugged her shoulders.

Unlike Go Su-yeol and Ko Hun, Jang Mi-rae had given up on participating in the Korean Pavilion after Choi Kyu-seo’s husband was selected as a commissioner.

“Isn’t it cute that they believe their prestigious association will be recognized on the world stage?”

“What?”

“They’re so proud of it, but they don’t realize how embarrassing they look.”

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