“Ms. Chloe Kent, the Senior Director of H&W Gallery’s New York branch. Before moving to H&W Gallery, she worked at Christie’s New York for fifteen years as an auction specialist in modern art.”
Noona looked like a highly competent, well-paid secretary. That was true despite her dark, smoky makeup and unique fashion, which ‘adults’ tended not to favor. The woman who had been sitting on the sofa rose to her feet, a barely-there smile on her thin lips, and offered Noona a handshake.
“To think there was a young gallerist so interested in me, I’m getting nervous for no reason. Have I been doing something bad with my life?”
Noona couldn’t even laugh comfortably at her joke. Like a child meeting their idol, she watched the woman’s every reaction with a dreamy face.
“I didn’t realize the extent of it myself. The careers of most people in this hall are probably in Yuni’s palm. Her understanding of and feel for art are excellent, she’s an incredible hard worker, and on top of that… she has ambition.”
He emphasized the last word, as if ambition were Noona’s most attractive quality. As he, who had been negative about Noona studying abroad or transferring to an overseas gallery, praised her generously in front of a key figure, Noona’s eyebrows twitched in surprise, but she gave him a thumbs-up, hidden from the others.
Chloe Kent, the holder of what seemed to be a very glamorous career as the Senior Director of the New York branch of a global gallery with a total of seven main and branch galleries worldwide, naturally led us to an empty standing table next to the sofa. A waiter roaming the hall quickly approached, cleared away the empty glasses someone had left behind, and brought us new drinks as we ordered.
“This is Mr. Seo Yeehyeon, a new artist who has yet to make his official debut. He was able to present a few pieces through Shushu’s exhibition this time, but that was, at most, an unofficial, test-level reveal. I plan to spare no support for a debut exhibition that will leave a strong impression on the art world.”
At his cautious yet confident statement, Kent tilted her champagne glass just enough to wet her lips and showed a slight smile. It was a smile that seemed to say she understood what he meant.
She set her champagne glass down on the table and spoke.
“If a new artist, not an established one who has already gained some recognition and success, were to hold their debut exhibition at H&W New York Gallery, there could be no more successful an entrance.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
As he agreed, her smile deepened.
Standing beside Kent, Noona and I, standing beside him, exchanged glances diagonally. Noona’s eyes were conveying her confusion to me, asking what on earth their conversation meant. But a debut exhibition at a famous New York gallery… Just like Noona, I hadn’t heard anything about it either.
“The offer to cooperate in exhibiting the Pettibone works Mr. Liu has in his collection at H&W… that’s the kind of… proposal it is, then.”
Noona’s gaze, which had been darting between him and Kent, turned to me once more. Our eyes met and froze in mid-air.
He was currently negotiating a deal with Kent, using my debut exhibition as a condition. Probably… that’s what it seemed like.
“I only have three pieces in my collection, but my father has been a long-time fan of Pettibone and owns over thirty major works. I know H&W also has many of his representative works, but, hmm… I’m confident you’ll be interested once you see my father’s collection list. It will be recorded as the world’s largest Pettibone exhibition.”
Finishing his words, he showed a charming smile and raised his glass to propose a toast. It was an attitude filled with the confidence and composure of someone who knew the other party could never refuse this offer. Kent, too, seemed to be taking the young gallerist’s confident demeanor in a positive light.
Noona and I joined the toast, but seeing Noona’s strange expression, which was neither a smile nor a frown, I thought she was probably thinking the same thing as me.
The thought that he, who had pulled out the card of his father’s collection as a means to seal a deal, felt unfamiliar.
“From my perspective, it’s certainly a tempting offer, but… is it possible for a private individual who owns over thirty Pettibone works to be unknown in the art industry?”
“He acquired most of them anonymously. Until recently, he was on the management team of a relatively large gallery, so he had easy access to information on works he was interested in, and he mostly participated in auctions through a proxy or over the phone. Besides, he’s someone who finds meaning in the collection itself, not in showing off his ownership, so his acquisitions were always done quietly.”
“Hmm. If he’s someone who owns over thirty Pettibone works, I doubt that’s his entire collection…. A collector of that scale is likely someone I know. May I ask which gallery he used to run?”
Noona’s gaze turned to him. Her attention seemed more focused on whether he would answer at all, rather than the content of his answer. Half-doubting, Noona seemed to be settling on the prediction that he would not answer. No, more than that, she wore an expression that seemed to hope he wouldn’t.
“He was the founder of The Face gallery in Hong Kong, and now he’s an honorary advisor.”
He answered without hesitation.
Seeing Noona’s eyes and expression immediately tense and tremble slightly… it seemed the fact that Suki Kim was his mother wasn’t the only thing he hadn’t told Noona and Hyung.
This was the first I’d heard about his father, too.
The Face Gallery.
If my memory was correct, the party held at the grand mansion I attended in Hong Kong had been hosted by none other than The Face Gallery. And it was also the place where he and the Director had first met and worked together. I didn’t know if his old colleagues, with whom I had briefly shared a table at the party, knew he was the founder’s son, but I had no memory of any conversation at the time that gave that impression.
Kent’s brow furrowed upon hearing the answer. As if she had heard something unbelievable, she tilted her head and asked again.
“Mr. Nick Liu?”
He nodded.
“Christie’s Hong Kong also purchased quite a few works from The Face Gallery.”
“I hadn’t heard any rumors that his son had jumped into the same industry.”
“My activities are probably too minor compared to my parents’ fame.”
He said so, but his smile implied his words were different from his thoughts. Kent, understanding the joke, also smiled and nodded.
“Well, I understand. In a situation where people would say it’s thanks to your parents even if you just picked up a dollar bill on the street, you might have wanted to hide it. Suki Kim and Nick Liu, they’re so famous in the art world as the Asian version of Picasso and Kahnweiler. Ah, was it rude of me to describe your parents that way?”
He smiled and shook his head.
“You meant it in a good way, why would I take it like that?”
“I’m also a huge fan of Suki Kim personally. I haven’t been lucky enough to own a single piece, though.”
Noona’s lips, which had been silent the whole time, parted slightly toward him as if she wanted to say something, then quickly pressed shut. Gripping the glass of light green cocktail tightly, Noona lowered her gaze. It seemed even the fact that she had met Chloe Kent could no longer excite her.
Because of the dim lighting and the focus on the conversation, it was hard to tell if he truly hadn’t noticed Noona’s awkward reaction, or if he was deliberately pretending not to.
He placed a hand on my shoulder, standing beside him, and squeezed it firmly as he leaned his upper body a little more toward Kent.
“Actually, starting with artist Seo Yeehyeon’s exhibition, I plan to open a New York branch of my gallery and begin activities. Of course, I want a cooperative relationship with H&W, which holds immense influence in the New York art scene.”
“CEO.”
“……”
Noona, who had suddenly called out to him in Korean, looked surprised by her own action. Kent looked back at Noona and asked if she was okay. Noona quickly composed her expression and managed an awkward smile. The suspicion that he hadn’t given Noona a heads-up about the New York branch, just as he hadn’t with me, became a certainty in that moment.
“Ah… I’m sorry. I think I need to make a call to another staff member back in Seoul. If you don’t mind… may I be excused for a moment?”
After asking for their understanding, as Noona hurriedly passed by, he caught her by the shoulder and asked if something was wrong. Noona glanced toward Kent and then asked him to make a good excuse for her, saying she thought she had drunk too much.
Weaving through the people chatting loudly or dancing, Noona crossed the hall. As I debated whether I should follow her, what I could possibly say to her if I did, or if it was best to let him handle it, Noona left the hall, turned into the corridor, and disappeared from sight.
“This is certainly a story that piques my interest beyond a one-off exhibition. There will be many people who show interest.”
Saying so, Kent immediately introduced three or four people to him on the spot. The area around the two standing tables quickly became crowded with people showing personal and business interest in the gallery that the son of The Face Gallery’s founder and Suki Kim was about to open in New York.
A few of the people gathered around the table mentioned they had seen my work at the gallery today and offered brief impressions. A few others were curious about the other artists affiliated with his gallery, and still others tried to build a connection by indirectly expressing their interest in his parents and their fondness for him.
It wasn’t a stiff atmosphere, but it wasn’t a comfortable place for me either. He was leading the mood of the gathering with the same cheerful attitude he’d had when he came out to the corridor to meet Noona, not too forward, but skillfully, yet I couldn’t be sure if he was truly enjoying himself.
I hate the jealousy that says everything is thanks to my parents, but I hate the flattery just as much. I have no intention of being sacrificed to people who love to judge others’ lives, who will whisper that it’s all a shallow show by a prince who wanted the title of a self-made man.
His stories of wanting to be just himself, regardless of his origins and background… The cautious empathy and connection we had formed that night. And the image he was showing here and now… Noona wasn’t the only one who was confused.
There must be a reason. I’m not trying to judge him right now.
I didn’t think it was immoral to benefit from one’s parents and family. It couldn’t be a reason for me to start disliking him. Perhaps this was just a second-best option, chosen with unavoidable flexibility for a higher purpose, a leap to the next stage.
I just wanted to know the reason if his thinking had changed from before. I wanted to understand him.
Suppressing the urge to leave and find Noona right now, I handed my empty glass to a waiter and smiled my thanks to the woman next to me who passed me a new cocktail. The woman, an editor-in-chief of an art magazine published in Chicago, said she planned to run an article on Shushu’s exhibition in the next issue.
Just then, someone grabbed her shoulder, pulled her outward, and offered a loud, boisterous greeting in a high voice. They seemed to know each other, exchanging brief greetings, but she didn’t look particularly pleased.
The man who squeezed into the gap created as her body was turned halfway back was, unlike most people in the hall, dressed splendidly in colorful, fashionable primary-colored clothes.
Sipping a cocktail that looked like it would spill due to his careless movements, the man stood diagonally between her and me and looked up at him askance.
“I heard some good investment talk was leaking from over here. I could smell the money.”
The man, with fine hair close to a dazzling platinum blonde slicked back neatly, felt slightly belligerent, perhaps because of his clothes or his posture, which was swaying slightly from being drunk.
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