I lifted my lips from the teacup and looked at him. His eyes, meeting mine, seemed to warn me of the weight of the words to come, and my mouth went dry. I tried swallowing, but it was no use.
“How about you start painting again?”
“……”
The strength in my hand loosened, and the cup slipped slightly. I caught the cup just before it fell and set it down on the table. Without realizing it, my eyes searched for Director Han—no, my teacher. My teacher gave me a gentle smile and squeezed my hand tightly. She had known this topic would come up—no, that this entire meeting had been arranged for this very conversation.
Start painting again.
Having brought up something I had never even considered, he showed no agitation, simply waiting with his pale, hazy eyes. Waiting for me to be ready to hear the rest.
His hands, which had been lightly clasped on the table, separated as he stretched out his fingers, touching them tip to tip to form a triangle.
His hands were quite large, proportional to his height, but his long, well-shaped fingers gave them an elegant and neat impression. The slightly prominent, firm-looking knuckles, the consistent thickness of his fingers down to the tips, and the dark blue veins bulging on the back of his hands seemed to hint at the aggression that existed behind the elegance, at the fierce and cool decisiveness that would not hesitate to take any risk to achieve a goal he deemed necessary.
But hands are just hands. Just as a scent is just a scent. They hint at nothing.
“I won’t bother sugarcoating my intentions or beating around the bush.”
He declared as much in an unremarkable, comfortable voice, then immediately continued.
“Phantom has about twenty affiliated artists, but to be frank, it’s the work of three or four of them that actually sustains and grows the gallery. For a small gallery like ours to hold on to even our current position in the competition against major galleries, we have to constantly discover fresh new talent. Of course, it’s also important for our existing artists to continue producing good work, but creative work doesn’t guarantee a certain outcome just because you sit down for a few hours… You never know when a slump will hit, or when the value of their work will decline. It’s just as important to consistently present new artists who can shock the public and create a buzz. Many people think of art as a lofty pursuit… and individual artists may work with that attitude, detached from money or fame according to their beliefs… but from a gallery’s perspective, it’s not art. The artist is the painter; I, who sells the paintings, am not the artist, am I?”
He said this while slightly raising one eyebrow at me as if seeking my agreement, but I was given no chance to agree or disagree.
“Who becomes a well-regarded artist, who becomes a best-selling artist—unfortunately, that isn’t decided purely by the value of the work. For one, the value of a piece itself relies heavily on subjective interpretation, so an objective evaluation that everyone can agree on is all the more difficult. To be even more frank, the power of the major galleries and mega-dealers that move the global art market today is such that they can even create the value of a work through business. The art market today isn’t so different in nature from the show business world.”
He wasn’t speaking particularly fast, but it was hard to keep up with the speed and direction of his story. I was still at the starting line, not even sure of our destination, yet I felt like he was already far ahead, pulling me along.
“It’s true that Phantom’s finances have become more solid in the last year or two, but, um… that’s thanks to the success of our flagship artists, including Shu shu. We haven’t been able to discover any new talent expected to follow in their footsteps or surpass them. It’s a big problem. We’ve searched like madmen, Director Han and I, through everything from university graduation exhibitions and small café-style galleries in the provinces to even social media… but it’s just not easy to find an interesting artist.”
Tap, tap. He tapped his index fingers together, pausing for a moment as if to place a comma, then looked at me with a gaze that felt like it was pressing me against the wall behind me.
“It was a long story, but what I mean is that I expect you, Seo Yeehyeon, to become that interesting artist.”
Though I hadn’t asked a single question, he stared at my face with the patience of someone waiting for my answer. Or perhaps he was just observing my reaction. But it was all too sudden.
I had painted long ago, and there was a time when painting was my language, but even then, I had never considered or imagined the position my art might hold in the ‘art market’ he was talking about now.
As if he had observed me to his satisfaction, he broke the triangle he had made with his fingers and leaned back in his chair.
“Now, Director Han will say the same thing in a way that’s easier on the ears.”
My teacher sighed and shook her head at him, and he shrugged as if he didn’t know what the problem was, or as if this was the best he could do.
There was no malice in his words. It was just a difference in perspective. He had simply explained things from his position as a gallery owner and a dealer who had to sell paintings; it wasn’t immoral or criminal. Realistically, if he couldn’t sell paintings, some artists might no longer be able to paint.
Gently patting the back of my hand that she held, my teacher’s careful and affectionate voice followed.
“What CEO Liu said might sound like he’s only talking about the business side of things, but please take it to mean that he feels you have that much potential. For all his talk, he’s not the type of person to do something reckless like banging his head against a wall.”
I looked down at my hand resting awkwardly near the teacup and nodded unconsciously.
It was just as my teacher said. He wasn’t the type to invest in something that seemed to have no chance of success. But no matter how perfect he seemed, even a top-tier Golden Alpha was, in the end, only human. It seemed his judgment was off this time. Why me?
“The painting you did a long time ago, CEO Liu owns it, right? The one that won the contest.”
“……”
I slowly raised my head and turned to look at my teacher beside me.
She hadn’t been in Korea at the time. She must have heard the news of my award from her Noona, who was a friend of my mother’s. She couldn’t have known what that painting meant to me. Still, I grew tense. My throat was so dry it stung.
How much had he told her? Had he asked her, he confessed it was his painting, then couldn’t even breathe, like he’d seen a ghost, and passed out. Do you know anything about it?
I looked at him with eyes that must have been openly displaying that very question, that anxiety. It was a bold move for me, but he, watching us with his arms crossed, offered no hints.
“It’s a piece CEO Lius has owned for a long time. I thought it was very impressive, too. Though I didn’t know it was yours.”
“That… was painted a long time ago… and it’s been five years since I last painted. And besides that, you’ve never seen any of my other work…”
I had barely managed to gather my wits and force out the words, but a light scoff came from across the table.
“If you need a portfolio of twenty or more works to gauge an artist’s capabilities or potential… you should give up on trying to make a living as an art dealer.”
“……”
“That might have sounded a bit arrogant, but what I mean is that one piece was enough. All the more so if it was painted at the age of fifteen.”
As if to erase the cynical sarcasm of his previous statement, he added the explanation in a more serious tone.
His candid praise for ‘Isolation’ was unexpected, and since he wasn’t the type to offer empty compliments or exaggerate his impressions in this area, I didn’t feel any more resentful… but there was no way a person who had a panic attack just from facing a painting from their past could possibly paint again. It was different from the occasional doodles I made in a notebook.
“I’ve rested for five years.”
I mumbled the words inside my mouth, but in the small room, there was no one who couldn’t have heard me.
My teacher shifted closer to me, placing her free hand lightly on my back.
“I agree with CEO Liu. The other day, I told you… that you have nothing to be sorry for, not painting right now. And while that itself is of course true, it’s also true that if the opportunity arises, and if you want to, I hope you’ll paint again. Because I know your talent.”
“Teacher… I’m truly grateful that you think that way… but that’s all… such an old story.”
“Ah, old. How old are you now, Seo Yeehyeon? Fifty? Forty? No, are you even twenty-five yet?”
He, who had seemed to be showing a little patience, once again earned a glare from my teacher with his abrasive tone.
His words might be a generalization. Not yet fifty or forty, not even twenty-five, I might be too young to use the word ‘old.’ If people knew that I was living with a part of myself cut off, a part that had rotted because it was bound by the ties of the past until the blood couldn’t circulate, they might click their tongues and say I was weak-willed, that I’d lost my passion too early.
In fact, there were many people around me who, rather than severing a part of themselves, shed the past they were trying to cut away and moved forward, even while making sacrifices, even while bleeding.
I wanted to be brave like them. I, too, wanted to live in the light of the present. But everyone has their own pace. From my current position, I wanted to move forward at a speed that suited me, the person I am, not to imitate them just to look the same.
“Yeehyeon, CEO Liu and I, we just want you to focus on whether or not you have the desire to paint again. If it wasn’t that you no longer wanted to paint, but that you had decided not to paint, couldn’t your mind change? You can take your time to think about it.”
It wasn’t that I no longer wanted to paint, nor that I had decided not to. At first, it was neither. I simply… became unable to paint.
Looking down at my teacher’s hand layered over mine, I parted my lips several times before finally speaking.
“I probably… won’t be able to paint.”
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