Van Gogh Reborn!

Chapter 288:

Chapter 288:

288

Scoundrel (8)

Interference and bribery in the assignment of judges for the Korean Art Grand Exhibition.

Misappropriation and personal use of national subsidies by Cyclamen Gallery.

Involvement in the selection of the Artist of the Year Award by Seonghan Ilbo.

Purchase of personal real estate with national subsidies and membership fees by the Korean Art Association.

“…”

Kim Ji-woo couldn’t close his mouth as he received a USB flash drive from Baek Seol-gi.

The files he collected were only a part of the corruption committed by Choi Young-soo, the chairman of the Korean Art Association, and his daughter Choi Kyu-seo and Kim Soo-hyuk, a married couple. She warned him that the evidence was not perfect either.

But Kim Ji-woo thought it was more than enough source to use as an article.

“He’s out of his mind. What the hell is this?”

He was speechless.

Chairman Choi Young-soo assigned the judges for the large-scale competition like the Korean Art Grand Exhibition as he pleased, and gave awards to whoever he wanted.

He not only took care of his daughter Choi Kyu-seo and the association members, but also received money from those who wanted to win the awards in exchange for promising them.

‘This is ridiculous. Ridiculous. What is this?’

Cyclamen Gallery, run by Choi Kyu-seo, was also abnormal.

She registered as a company that operates for the purpose of expanding art business from the Korean Art Association, and received 100 million won of national subsidies every year to her personal account.

‘The rich get richer.’

That wasn’t all.

Chairman Choi Young-soo’s influence also worked in the selection of the Artist of the Year Award and the Work of the Month by Seonghan Ilbo.

And the most astonishing thing was that Choi Young-soo used the national subsidies that came out in front of the Korean Art Association as his personal investment fund.

‘He has connections with Kim Dong-yoon, a lawmaker of Goryeo Party. And Seonghan Ilbo and OBC too.’

Baek Seol-gi asked him to be careful.

It was worrisome as an individual to deal with a congressman, a powerful daily newspaper, and a broadcasting station.

But Kim Ji-woo didn’t think it was a big problem.

Korea, which had gone through many incidents, knew how to deal with criminals.

Especially, they were furious beyond ideology about stealing national taxes or unfair things.

Naturally, there were power institutions and media that watched the eyes of the people.

Especially, the National Daily, which competed with Seonghan Ilbo, would report this big.

Kim Ji-woo called Lee In-ho. As soon as the call rang, Lee In-ho answered with a cheerful voice.

-Yes. Mr. Ji-woo. Did you get home well?

“Yes. Do you have time?”

-Now?

Kim Ji-woo checked the clock.

It was pointing at 8 p.m.

“Yes. I have something to tell you.”

-Oh. Then where should we meet?

Kim Ji-woo hesitated for a moment.

There were too many eyes to talk outside.

“Please come to my house. I’ll send you the address.”

-Yes? Your house?

“Yes. I want to talk quietly.”

-Oh, okay. Then.

After finishing the call, Kim Ji-woo sighed.

It was not something he could solve alone by being greedy.

Seonghan Ilbo and OBC, which were large media outlets, could only be confronted by media outlets with different tendencies.

And Kim Dong-yoon, a congressman of Goryeo Party, would be taken care of by Silla Party and Baekje Party on the opposite side.

‘Should I contact Baekje Party? Or maybe the ruling party…’

As he continued his thoughts, the bell rang.

Kim Ji-woo opened the door and widened his eyes.

Lee In-ho, holding a bouquet of flowers and wine, looked at Kim Ji-woo’s face and stammered.

“I haven’t greeted you properly today since we met for the first time in a long time. You’ve been in Paris for a while.”

“…”

“And I couldn’t just congratulate you with words for getting serialized in Bozar.”

He made up excuses as they came to his mind, but anyone could see that he came to confess.

He had been in touch with him often and had a good atmosphere, so he took today’s meeting as a signal and asked carefully.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. That’s so.”

“Thank you for the meal.”

“Sure. Take it easy.”

“I will.”

He finished dinner and went straight to his studio.

I have been thinking about the theme of the Venice Biennale for a few days, but it is not easy.

There is no such thing as the same relationship with different people.

I love my grandfather so much, but I can’t be the same as my mother and father.

Henry, Si-hyun, Rabbani, Fabre are all friends, but I can’t see them together.

With that thought, I can’t decide what kind of relationship to draw and I’m just playing with the brush.

I cleared my head and put paint on the canvas.

The autumn leaves I saw while walking with my grandfather this morning were so beautiful.

When I face the graceful figure of the maple tree dyed like a sunset, my heart sinks and I feel depressed.

Maybe it’s because the green leaves are ripe and fall soon.

I don’t know if it’s because that beauty won’t last long.

Come to think of it, the sunset is the same.

I set the position of the mountain and the sea in the distance, and put a maple tree branch in front of me.

It’s sunset, so the shadows have to fade, so the maple color doesn’t show well, but that’s not important.

I made a hole in the dark maple leaf with the shadow.

The sunset will shine through, so the color is not different from the maple.

I stopped the brush and stepped away from the canvas for a moment to observe the picture.

I accidentally painted the sunset and the maple together, but it might be a good picture if I touch it well.

The maple that resembles the sunset.

Did it drink the light every day and turn red? Did it miss the sun that left?

Was it like a sunflower that resembled the sun by looking up at it?

Having such a delusion made me feel very close to each other.

I sat back in the chair and moved the brush as my hand went.

‘Come to think of it.’

The sun that repeats rising and setting every day and the maple that changes color and falls every year live in different times.

They can’t be the same.

But if the end is similar, can’t they be together?

It coincides with what Ferdinand Gonzalez said with two wall clocks.

Relationships are really cool.

The sun and the maple tree are so far apart, but they resemble each other.

I suddenly wondered how far the sun was and searched it.

The distance between the earth and the sun is 149,597,870.696 km.

How much did they love each other that they could resemble each other so much over such a long distance?

I can’t grasp how far 149,597,870.696 km is, but it’s probably not farther than the underworld.

Or if you can convert 200 years of time into distance, maybe it’s not farther than that.

The sun and the maple also share their hearts, but can’t I be with Theo who died?

Can’t I feel my mother and father?

Physical distance is not an obstacle when you communicate with someone.

It’s just that the earth rotates, so depending on the direction of your heart, you can face each other or get away.

It’s important what’s between them, like a solar eclipse that covers the sun with the moon.

By the way, I heard that I can see a ring eclipse next June, so don’t forget to watch it.

“Hoo.”

The maple that holds the sunset.

Its graceful figure is so pitiful.

I have to draw it differently tomorrow.

“How is it?”

Henry Marso, who faced Kohun’s , was speechless.

It was tears.

The tears that the sun shed fell on the canvas and spread as they were.

Henry Marso was captivated by the intense maple leaves that burned like fire and couldn’t take his eyes off.

, , , Kohun had been criticized for his compositional aspects recently, but this time it was different.

reminded him of Kohun’s first work .

He told the story with a strong color as if he had painted pure emotions.

‘He finally found his place.’

Henry Marso finally judged that Kohun had established his own style.

Until , he showed a tendency to absorb, change and develop various styles.

touched the depths of his heart as and did.

Longing.

At first, he thought it was a feeling for his parents who died too early.

But after and , he realized that it was not all.

The regret and the sad feeling for his brother Theodore in his first life.

The sad feeling of drawing his parents.

The embarrassment of being alone in the era when the heavens and the earth opened, and the difficulty of getting attached to various countries while moving around.

Kohun’s longing was complex.

As a stranger, Henri Marso could not know everything, but he could understand Ko Hun a little when he saw .

‘Is this how Klimt felt?’

Henri Marso finally had some sympathy for Gustav Klimt.

He recalled the anecdote of how the young artist, who had said that new artists must rise by stepping on the old ones, had lamented that his own time had come too soon when he saw his disciple Egon Schiele.

Henri Marso opened his mouth after a long admiration.

“You’re submitting this to Venice?”

“Yes.”

Henri Marso looked at again and asked.

“Why this title?”

“It’s the distance between the sun and the earth.”

“It’s too long.”

“Yes. It’s too far.”

Henri Marso glared at Ko Hun, who shrugged his shoulders and snorted.

He took another look at and got closer to what Ko Hun meant.

He guessed that he wanted to talk about two beings that were together despite being so far apart.

“Don’t keep it.”

“Is it bad?”

“No.”

Henri Marso paused for a moment.

“It’s great.”

Ko Hun’s eyes widened.

It was something that could not come out of Henri Marso’s mouth.

The boy checked the expiration date of the chocolate that Henri Marso had given him earlier.

“What are you doing?”

“I wondered if it was spoiled.”

They looked at each other for a while and then looked away.

“Why do you tell me not to keep it if you like it?”

“Sell it.”

“This?”

“Yes. How much do you want?”

“I don’t want to sell it. I’ll submit it and then display it in my gallery later.”

“How much do you want?”

“I said I don’t want to sell it.”

Ko Hun firmly refused.

He needed a work to display in his gallery that was under construction, and he especially liked .

He didn’t have many works left that he had published so far.

“Sell it.”

“No. I don’t have anything to display.”

“Why not?”

Henri Marso frowned.

He didn’t buy the excuse that the guy who drew one piece every day had nothing to display.

But Ko Hun also had a point, since he couldn’t draw a satisfying work every day to display.

“You took them all!”