Van Gogh Reborn!

Chapter 282:

Chapter 282:

282

The Scoundrel (2)

I had been recruiting models for the Münster Sculpture Project for a week.

More people applied than I expected, and I was on my way to meet a boy who wanted to be a firefighter like his dad.

“His name is Pippi. Pippi Becker.”

“Pippi?”

Marso asked.

It was an unusual name that meant a small puppy, and he seemed puzzled.

“He got it from a soccer player’s name.”

Pippi was the nickname of Felix, a soccer player who played for Prussia Münster, and his grandfather, who was a fervent fan of his, gave him the name.

“That makes sense for a German.”

I guess there are a lot of Germans who like soccer.

“The French like it too. Do you have a team you support, Marso?”

“Paris FC.”

I nodded, but I didn’t know anything about soccer.

“They’re going to move up to Ligue 1 this year.”

“Ligue 1?”

He explained that it was roughly divided into upper and lower leagues.

“They’re moving up this year.”

He sounded like they hadn’t been able to move up to the upper league for a long time.

“How do you know?”

“Because they are.”

He emphasized it as if he was really looking forward to it.

I didn’t know Marso liked soccer.

“I listen to music these days.”

“Music? What kind?”

“Berlin Philharmonic. I like Beethoven’s symphonies conducted by Wilhelm Furtwängler. And Baudouin’s Mahler.”

Marso nodded.

He must also enjoy listening to the Berlin Philharmonic, since he recommended it to me once.

“You have to go there and listen for yourself.”

“Maybe I’ll have a chance someday.”

“Go soon. You never know when he’ll retire.”

“Who’s retiring?”

“Wilhelm Furtwängler.”

“I read an article that he signed a five-year contract last year.”

Marso tilted his head slightly.

“An old man over eighty?”

“He must be healthy.”

There were some comments on the article saying that it was elder abuse.

Marso probably thought the same.

As we talked about our hobbies, we arrived in Münster.

We moved to a car that Arsen had prepared in advance at the hangar.

When we reached the fire station, we saw a middle-aged man with a sturdy physique and a lively boy.

They must be Julian Becker, the firefighter of Münster, and his son Pippi Becker.

“Are they the ones?”

“Yes! Hello!”

I greeted them warmly.

“Hello.”

We exchanged greetings with the father and son and settled in a small space inside the fire station.

Julian Becker checked Marso’s business card several times, as if he couldn’t believe it.

“I’m a bit nervous, to be honest. I don’t know how this works, since my son applied for it. Model, you say?”

“Yes.”

Arsen stepped in and briefly explained the situation.

Unlike his son, Julian Becker didn’t seem to have much interest in the art world, but luckily he seemed to have heard of Henri Marso’s name.

He even asked if he was really the person who appeared on the news.

“Is it okay to model for such great people’s works?”

“You’re the one who protects Münster. I’m the one who wants to ask you a favor.”

“I’m just doing my job. Haha.”

He laughed awkwardly, as if embarrassed, as I persuaded him again.

“That’s right. My dad is so cool.”

Pippi Becker chimed in.

It must be scary to jump into a fire for the sake of others.

But he called it his duty, like Julian Becker.

PP Becker, who is proud of his father like that, is a truly wonderful father and son.

“How do you feel about having your sculpture displayed in front of the fire station?”

“Well, I guess everyone will be amazed, right? Haha.”

He didn’t seem to have a negative view of the Munster sculpture project, which relieved me.

I heard there was a lot of resistance at first, but now it seems to have become a city festival.

“Then, how do I go about it in detail?”

“Do you have a picture of PP when he was your age?”

“My picture?”

“Yes.”

Julian Becker tilted his head.

I got a picture of Julian Becker when he was about 10 years old and returned to Paris.

I also had pictures of the fire station from various angles, and I asked PP Becker to pose as much as possible and took new ones.

As a bonus, I also got information on what kind of uniforms and equipment the Munster firefighters wore and used.

I had all the information I needed for the work, so I only had to execute it.

I could imagine the scene of 10-year-old Julian Becker and 10-year-old PP Becker together as soon as I read the story.

It was going in a slightly different direction from my original intention, but I thought there was enough trace left.

“Arsene.”

“Yes.”

“Look for a picture of the Munster fire station 30 years ago.”

Arsene left the room.

“What are you thinking?”

I asked him curiously, and Marso showed me a picture of the fire station on the table screen.

He split it in half and left the right side as it was and applied a black and white filter to the left side.

“Ah.”

I think I know what he’s thinking.

As expected, Marso added a picture of Julian Becker’s childhood to the left side in black and white, and put a picture of his son PP Becker on the right side.

“That’s nice. How about Julian and PP holding the water hose together?”

“There should be a connecting part.”

Marso moved the pictures and roughly sketched out the design.

It felt good.

Even though it was something I started with my own idea, Marso made the theme very clear.

The bond with family.

The continuity of the past, present, and future.

The unique atmosphere of Munster.

My intention to show love and care based on the idea that everyone is a neighbor is well blended.

I’ve felt it since , but I’m always amazed by Marso’s composition skills like .

It’s an enviable talent.

“…”

But there was still a lot to be done.

The fact that I had to express this in sculpture was also a big problem.

Marso just tapped the table and didn’t open his mouth.

There was a gap, so the expression itself wouldn’t be difficult, but I couldn’t put a big structure in front of the fire station.

In case of emergency, fire trucks and ambulances should be able to pass easily, so I shouldn’t make it too big to block the road.

“Ah.”

Henry Marso pondered over and over.

He wanted to paint half of the fire station building in the style of 30 years ago, but the authorities wouldn’t allow it.

Once he was blocked by the wall, he couldn’t think of a good idea.

“Ah.”

Cha Ko Hun, who kept tapping the table, exclaimed as if he had thought of something.

When Henry looked at him, Ko Hun jumped out of his chair.

He brought back the plaster models he had bought to teach Desange to the playground kids, such as Vida Rabani, Adley, and Olivier.

Henry opened his mouth as he watched Ko Hun put a large cone and a small cone in front and back.

“Perspective.”

“Yes. From the kids’ point of view, you don’t have to make it the actual size. It’s also an opportunity for adults to see it from the kids’ eye level.”

“…”

Henry chewed on Ko Hun’s idea.

If he looked at it from the kids’ eye level, he could make the old fire station smaller than the actual fire station building.

He could also make it very small by keeping enough distance.

Although the location and the view would be limited, it was a way to solve the realistic problem and give depth to the work.

Following , , and , Ko Hun changed the perspective and idea again.

‘He always does this.’

Henry Marceau looked at Ko Hun, who always surprised him with his lively ideas.

Ko Hun’s first work was a painting that borrowed the shape of a sunflower to paint his emotions.

He couldn’t look away from the sorrow that welled up from the depths of his heart as he watched it.

and were the same.

Even though that was enough, Ko Hun kept changing.

The boy who used to convey rhythm, narration, and emotion with just his brush strokes and colors.

He changed his way of expressing his emotions every time, from , , , to his submission for the Munster Sculpture Project.

It was an enviable talent.

“Why?”

“…….”

“What did you ask?”

Henry Marceau had admitted his inferiority towards Ko Hun a long time ago.

He decided to love himself, who was drawn to the boy’s paintings.

The narcissist who couldn’t forgive himself for feeling such a lowly emotion finally learned to love himself.

Then, the inferiority that burst out of his heart no longer bothered him.

“It’s fine.”

‘Oh, I’m going crazy.’

Baek Seolgi arrived at the interview hall for the Venice Biennale France-Korea Joint Exhibition Hall and hesitated in front of the building entrance.

‘What should I do?’

If she joined the France-Korea Joint Exhibition Hall, which was practically opened by Koh Sooyul and Jang Mi-rae, she would be at odds with Choi Kyuseo.

Baek Seolgi, who had been watching Choi Kyuseo since her college days in Korea, knew him well.

He seemed to have more pride than anyone else, but he felt inferior to Jang Mi-rae.

‘He won’t leave me alone.’

Baek Seolgi stomped on the ground.

If she, who had been working as a close junior and secretary, left him for Jang Mi-rae, she didn’t know how Choi Kyuseo, who already had a victim mentality, would react.

‘Should I just go back?’

Baek Seolgi changed her direction.

If things went wrong, she might have to give up her domestic activities.

It would be better to wait for an opportunity under Choi Kyuseo.

She wandered around the building, unable to decide.

‘No. I haven’t even passed yet.’

‘And I don’t know when I’ll get another chance like this.’

‘And…….’

More than anything, she didn’t want to miss the opportunity to participate in the most prestigious biennale.

She doubted if she would have the same chance in two years, and she couldn’t waste another two years.

‘Yeah. Honestly, what did I do wrong? I did everything he told me to do for five years. He was too much.’

She had been holding a grudge against Choi Kyuseo, who had demanded all kinds of personal things, holding the exhibition as a hostage.

“Sigh.”

As she was indecisive, time kept passing.

‘Yeah. Just do it. Try it and see. How long are you going to be scared?’

Baek Seolgi headed to the waiting room for the interviewees with determination.

She was afraid of Choi Kyuseo’s revenge and worried about the interview, but she didn’t want to give up.

‘Yeah. I’m not dead yet.’

She didn’t have any impressive exhibition records, but she had won some awards and received recognition from her peers when she was an undergraduate.

She knew the competition would be fierce, but she thought she was a good artist too, and tried to relax by thinking she had a chance.

Baek Seolgi closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

The smell of spicy pork over rice entered her nose.

‘……What is this smell?’

She opened her eyes and turned her head slightly, and saw a scruffy-looking man happily smiling with a rice burger in his mouth.