"How much will it take? How much do you think it should cost?"
What the hell? Kang Seok frowned, feeling uncomfortable with Go Doo-han's face so close to his own.
Kang Seok pulled his head back as if he'd tucked a tangerine between his neck and chin—a desperate attempt to get some distance.
"What are you suddenly talking about?"
"The painting. The painting."
Painting?
Kang Seok turned his head. At the same time, Go Doo-han naturally lifted his elbow to give him more room. Instinctively slipping sideways, Kang Seok looked back.
Over a hundred small sketches of people drawn with red pencils were pasted on a huge panel.
They were Kang Seok's own sketches.
Before making sculptures, he used to draw dozens or hundreds of sketches meticulously. Each piece was careful and detailed. Of course, Kang Seok wasn't satisfied. He could draw better now than back then. He had been improving all along.
Just as his yearning for perfection stirred again—
Go Doo-han spoke again.
"Sell them to me."
Just as Go Doo-han repeated the same words, Kang Seok turned back and suddenly felt that Go Doo-han's eyes burned with a stronger desire than his own.
No way. Kang Seok immediately rejected the thought. Even though Go Doo-han wasn't always close by, Kang Seok had seen him well for two years. He knew Go Doo-han well.
Though he was a meritocrat with a romantic view of sketching, Go Doo-han was basically a cynical and prickly cat.
A streetwise alley cat who had tasted the bitter realities of society. That was the Go Doo-han Kang Seok knew. What kind of desire would such a man have...
"I'll make you a great master of Korean art. You, who made this work, deserve that."
…Apparently, he did.
Kang Seok stared, surprised at how Go Doo-han clung to the words like a lifeline. Others might not have noticed it, but…
"Go Doo-han is clinging, right? Asking to buy the work, right?"
"I'm watching too."
"But that kid Kang Seok, seriously impressive. Even though the teacher is clinging like that, he doesn't even blink."
"Look at those raised eyebrows. If he doesn't move away, it's a deadly glare... Shouldn't someone intervene?"
"His expression's scary. If I were the teacher, I'd have bolted 300 meters away by now."
Unbeknownst to Kang Seok, his expressionless face often looked quite fierce. And Go Doo-han saw that too.
Go Doo-han felt frustrated being glared at as if he was trying to kill him, misunderstanding his offer.
"I'm your teacher; why would I do anything bad to you? Why are you glaring? You don't want to sell?"
Growing anxious, Go Doo-han spoke rapidly.
"No, Seok. Kid. Do you think there are many people who'd buy works like this before they're even finished? People willing to pay full price like me are rare."
"..."
"In today's world, unknown artists don't get decent prices. No name, no value. People just try to pick up works cheaply at market price."
"...."
Go Doo-han's words weren't lies. Usually, when unknown artists submit works, hardly anyone offers to buy them at a high price.
Most of those who do are speculators hoping to buy low and sell high, or scrimpers waiting to snap up unsold works for cheap.
Thus, unknown artists' paintings often sell only at market price, determined by panel size.
"You don't know, but the first sale price sets your market value. Your unit price starts from there. If you don't get a fair price initially, you'll have to sell at a loss until you become famous."
This was why Go Doo-han insisted Kang Seok sell his works. Though abrupt, it was to prevent a naive kid like Kang Seok from selling cheaply with good intentions.
If only Kang Seok understood.
But Kang Seok just looked at him silently.
"Seok, do you think I'm like those speculators?"
He wouldn't hoard the work waiting for its price to inflate.
"Look, Seok. Do you think your painting is something that should be sold at street market price?"
Go Doo-han's eyes followed his own hand toward Kang Seok's works. As he faced them, his eyes trembled slightly.
It wasn't just a good drawing. Was there a piece that matched this exhibition's theme,
He swallowed his breath, looking at a work more intuitive and direct than his own.
"Absolutely not. Trust me. I'll give you a proper price."
Go Doo-han spoke as if entranced.
"If I buy this, I'll show it every time at my solo exhibitions. I'll make you famous. This work… this group portrait deserves it."
No. It had to be so. Go Doo-han intended to be the cornerstone polishing this diamond raw stone. His name was well known enough in Korean art circles to make that happen.
Looking up at the drawing, Go Doo-han felt a surge of mission, as if a newly knighted warrior.
"I can't sell it yet."
If only Kang Seok hadn't spoiled the moment.
What?
Go Doo-han looked at Kang Seok with a stunned expression, as if doused with cold water. Though half his face was shadowed by a hat, making him look fierce, Kang Seok calmly continued.
"I haven't even finished half of it."
"Hm?"
Not even half finished?
Everyone, including Go Doo-han, was shocked, turning to look at the drawing. That vividly red line wasn't finished yet?
Eyes shifted from the red line to the empty white paper outside it. So the white space wasn't an aesthetic empty margin but just unfinished?
Go Doo-han asked suspiciously,
"This isn't finished…?"
"Yes."
Kang Seok's firm reply silenced Go Doo-han. He wanted to say "Do you really need to add more here?"
"When it's finished, we'll talk again."
Even now it was perfect; Go Doo-han couldn't imagine what more could be done. Too much fiddling doesn't always mean a better work.
But Go Doo-han couldn't say that.
Not because he cared for Kang Seok and didn't want to be harsh. Not because he feared Kang Seok's dislike.
Simply because Kang Seok's eyes shone too brightly. So brightly with conviction that Go Doo-han couldn't find the words.
"Makes you want to believe."
Eyes that make you want to trust someone.
.
.
.
Early evening. Navy sky. Under a white star sharply etched in the night sky. In the quiet residential area of Yeonhui-dong, a commotion arose.
"Careful moving it! Careful!"
"Hey! If you drop the frame on the floor and ruin the work, are you going to take responsibility?! Hold it properly!"
"One, two, one, two…! Keep in sync! Move in sync!"
The sound came from Go Doo-han's studio. The front gate of Go Doo-han's studio, which usually only opened a small side door, was now wide open on both sides like arms stretched out for an embrace.
Between them, a wooden panel tightly wrapped in silver plastic slowly came into view. It was the artwork Kang Seok had been working on.
Forty minutes earlier, Kang Seok had stood up to go home and declared he needed to take his artwork with him. Go Doo-han immediately stepped in, saying the work must not get scratched — and that was the start of this situation.
Usually, for such large-scale works, artists don't move them before a solo exhibition; and if they do, they usually disassemble them to carry more safely. But Kang Seok's works were an exception.
"But what are you going to do with that once you take it?" someone suddenly asked Kang Seok, who had been watching. Though it was his own work being moved, he was excluded from help because of his youth, so he turned his head.
The person speaking was Bae Ji-min. Her usually neat bun had come undone somehow while helping move the work.
Not knowing Kang Seok's hair had gotten messy, she smiled warmly at him. Kang Seok awkwardly returned the smile and answered,
"There's a necessary process I have to do with the piece."
"Really? Could you tell me what it is? Ah… if it's not too much to ask. If you tell me, I'd even be willing to do a trade — an installation for my own work in exchange."
Bae Ji-min's overly polite words continued without pause. Kang Seok half-listened with a smile, then quietly refused.
"It's a secret."
"A secret… okay, that's fair. But can you really take such a big work home?"
Bae Ji-min pressed her lips shut after that. Inside, questions churned like clothes tangled in a washing machine.
Is your house that big? Are you rich? Do you have a private workspace at home? Does your house have all the tools ready for work?
All these were questions Bae Ji-min felt it would be rude to ask outright. Whether she knew or not, Kang Seok smiled and spoke.
"Not at all. My parents run a furniture store. I'm taking it there."
While they exchanged brief words, one or two tall windows of the neighboring house opened and closed. Apparently, curiosity had been piqued by the commotion.
Then, with the sound of another window closing, the headlights of a truck appeared down the alley.
The truck was adorably printed with "[Seok's Furniture Store]." The moment Bae Ji-min pointed at the name "Seok," the truck door swung open in response.
"Seok-ah!"
Kang Hyun-do got out of the truck, his bright face searching for Kang Seok. Stepping forward slightly, Kang Seok met his gaze. Naturally, Go Doo-han and several others gathered around.
"Today, it looks like Go Doo-han really likes you a lot."
Inside the quiet truck, Kang Hyun-do's gentle voice dropped. Kang Seok, half-closing his eyes as a song played softly on the radio, opened them.
"Ah, really?"
"Yeah. Everyone's helping move your work, and it looks like our son's getting a lot of attention."
Kang Hyun-do looked pleased.
Only a month ago, he was advising Kang Seok to give up art school, so this was a pleasant change for him.
Leaning against the window, Kang Seok felt a chill. It was a temperature contrast to the hot heater.
Watching the quickly passing scenery beyond the window, Kang Hyun-do cautiously added,
"Son, how about sketching or Western painting?"
Kang Seok let out a deflated laugh at his father's subtle attempt at a power play. He knew exactly why his father was asking.
After all,
Deep inside him was an old cunning soul, carrying memories from an 88-year-old past life.
Though in that past life he'd been a stubborn, foul-tempered Michelangelo, the years numbered 88.
A sculptor, painter, architect, and poet, he had met countless people and suffered endless troubles born of human relationships. He had been drawing since he was thirteen — 75 years of practice.
That meant 75 years of subtle social maneuvering. Thanks to recalling his past life, Kang Seok's social intuition was now faster than a sports car.
'Dad wants me to change my major.'
His father didn't know Kang Seok had awakened his past memories.
From Kang Hyun-do's point of view, his son's reputation skyrocketing day by day could be simply attributed to this major issue.
"Hm?"
Kang Hyun-do urged a response with expectant eyes, genuinely believing his son's talent was in sketching or Western painting.
Even after seeing Kang Seok's sculptures.
Kang Seok laughed again, deflated.
He was a sculptor through and through.
His favorite and best field was sculpture.
No matter how much his father wished it otherwise, Kang Seok would not waver. And if his father thought his talent was in painting, then Kang Seok would simply have to show his talent as a sculptor.
But for now, it wouldn't hurt to play along. Kang Seok answered kindly.
"It's fun."
"See? I knew it."
Kang Hyun-do's excited voice came from the driver's seat.
"I think painting is a really cool genre. Isn't it cool, painting?"
Kang Seok smiled at his father's obvious question.
Painting is cool, huh.
He looked at the traffic light and drifted into memories.
He hadn't always felt positively about painting. More precisely, he once hated it.
He was obsessed with sculpture, the grander and more majestic art.
But that was long ago.
When was it… Kang Seok thought back through his past life. Probably after turning seventy. He had succeeded in making peace with painting over many years.
[ I believed sculpture was the lighthouse that lights the path for painting, and never gave up on that thought.
Just as the sun and moon have different roles, these two arts differ similarly.
But now, reflecting philosophically, I know they have the same purpose and are essentially one and the same…
I have changed my mind.
A painter is not inferior to a sculptor, nor should a sculptor not be good at painting.
I now believe these two can harmonize and coexist.
Rather than wasting time on futile debate, I'd rather spend that time creating one more figure.
Such debates must be thrown behind us. ]
— Excerpt from a letter Michelangelo wrote at age 73 to historian Benedetto Varchi —
With a loud thud, Kang Seok's artwork was placed on the floor. Kang Hyun-do marveled again at its size but couldn't hide his admiration.
"Our son is really amazing."
When he was Kang Seok's age, he hadn't attempted works on this scale. Kang Hyun-do was excited and curious about how his son had inherited such talent.
And yet, one question remained.
"Son, what is it that I can help with on this piece?"