Van Gogh Reborn!

Chapter 233

233

It Wasn’t There, But Now It Is (1)

Spring came after a particularly eventful winter.

Damien Carter voluntarily returned to England and underwent an investigation. He testified about his involvement with Sotheby’s UK and Daemon.

He was sentenced to three years in prison and a fine of twice the amount he had evaded in taxes in the first trial. He did not appeal.

He received the maximum penalty for tax evasion, but his prison term was reduced because he admitted and regretted his crime and served as a court witness. Marso explained this to me.

The public criticism that had flared up like fire also subsided a bit when Damien Carter donated all his assets and his past was revealed.

I also hoped that someday he would be forgiven by his fans.

That was the only way for him to do art again.

On the other hand, Jay Jopling, the mastermind, met a miserable end.

He was found dead as a corpse. According to the investigation, he was betrayed by his employee and kicked out of the hotel. He wandered around Rotterdam in the middle of winter with no money.

He was confirmed to be murdered, and a man named Wang Chen, who was his partner, was identified as the prime suspect.

Grandpa, Marso, and Bang Tae-ho didn’t tell me much about it, so I only learned about it from the news. But I wondered if it wasn’t revenge.

There was speculation that the investigation could be closed if the suspect died, but it didn’t happen because it wasn’t Jay Jopling’s sole act.

Sotheby’s UK and Sachet Gallery were thoroughly investigated, and one media reported that both businesses had reached an irrecoverable stage.

It made sense, as both places were suspended from business and the related parties were sentenced to prison in the first trial.

Marso said that because the public opinion was so bad, the political circles also made it an issue, so unless there was a big problem, the maximum sentence would be maintained even if an appeal was filed.

In the busy February, I got an early study visa from the French Embassy in Korea.

In March, I bought a house in Paris 5th arrondissement, which was close to Henri IV Middle School and relatively quiet.

I needed a guarantor to buy a house in France, but Pierre Malo stepped in and I was finally able to escape from Marso’s vicious grip.

I didn’t know how lucky I was.

I hoped that I could eat potato pizza and dessert as much as I wanted because Grandpa was persuaded by Marso, but even though it didn’t happen, I was satisfied that I didn’t have to run because of snacks.

The new house was five stories, including the basement.

It felt a bit too spacious for Grandpa and me to live in, but it had the advantage of not having to set up a separate studio.

I renovated the garage that was used as a workshop on the first floor and displayed Grandpa’s collection in the basement.

There were many works that were sensitive to humidity, temperature, and light, so I put a lot of effort into the facilities.

I used the second floor as a living room and kitchen, and Grandpa and I each used the third and fourth floors.

But I was too lazy to walk up to the fourth floor, so I mostly lived on the first and second floors.

I also landscaped the garden like the Seoul house.

I looked forward to seeing how beautiful the flowers that Grandpa and I planted would bloom.

I wrote that story in a letter and sealed it with a photo.

“Hoon-ah, let’s go.”

“Yes.”

I grabbed the letter envelope and went down to the first floor.

Today was the entrance exam for Henri IV Middle School.

I wanted to do general admission, but they said it was easier to do activities in the art class, so I applied for the art class with a major in art.

According to the tutor that Henri Marso introduced me to, I should be able to pass without any trouble.

I didn’t need to check, because I wasn’t the one who would fail the middle school entrance exam.

“Can I mail the letter on the way?”

“Letter?”

I showed him the letter that had thickened as I wrote to Grandpa.

“I’m sending it to Si-hyun.”

“Oh. Letter. Let me see. Where is the mailbox?”

“It’s there when you turn the alley.”

He nodded when I told him about the yellow mailbox I found while walking with Grandpa.

He started the car.

“Grandpa, you used to write a lot of letters when you were young. I don’t remember when I sent them.”

It seemed that everyone was sending and receiving a lot of parcels, but they didn’t write letters much.

I understood that it was easy, fast, and convenient to use text messages or phone calls, but there were also advantages to letters.

As I wrote each sentence carefully, I could sort out my thoughts and write everything I wanted to say.

I liked to talk, so the conversation would go on endlessly, but if I wrote it, I could summarize only the necessary words, so I could have a deeper conversation than talking.

“Did you pack the stamps well?”

“Yes.”

I learned how to send a letter to Korea on the internet. I checked it several times, so it should arrive without any problem.

I put the letter in the mailbox and headed to Henri IV Middle School.

It was a luxurious school no matter when I saw it.

It was a school attached to Henri IV High School, and unlike the Korean elementary school that was romantically luxurious, it was baroque and luxurious.

I got out of the car.

“It might take a while.”

“Are you worried that Grandpa will be bored?”

“Yes.”

“You should worry about your exam, not something useless.”

“It’s just a kids’ exam.”

Grandpa patted my head.

“Grandpa will be talking with the principal for a bit, so don’t worry and do your best.”

“Okay.”

The exam itself wasn’t hard, but there were many subjects, so it would take a long time. I was glad that Grandpa wouldn’t be bored during that time.

“Hello. Welcome, Hoon.”

“Hello.”

As I entered, Margo, the staff member who guided me when I came for the admission consultation, greeted me.

“See you later.”

“Okay. Fighting!”

“Fighting!”

Grandpa raised his fist and shouted “fighting” before heading to the principal’s office, so I followed him and Margo laughed.

“By the way, Giamseong is opening today.”

“Did you know?”

Margo remembered the release date of and cared for me.

“Of course. I hope it goes well.”

“Me too.”

Since it was a French novel with a French setting, there were many screenings in big cities like Paris or Marseille, and I hoped many people would watch it.

“It will be fun.”

Margo showed me the movie theater ticket and smiled.

“Huh?”

When I arrived at the exam room, there was no one and only one desk.

“Do I take it alone?”

“Yes. Just wait a moment.”

I was the only one in the first grade and it seemed like I was the only foreign student taking the exam.

Well. It was almost April, so it was a bit late to take the entrance exam.

I took out my writing utensils and waited, and Margo brought the test paper.

As the tutor said, the exam wasn’t very difficult.

“Did you finish already?”

“Yes.”

There was no problem with the subjects that required knowledge, and the essay took a little time.

It was a question about what contemporary art is, and I elaborated that the actions of all artists living in this era are contemporary art.

Thanks to the tutor who taught me how to write an essay, I described it according to the format.

The remaining exam was related to French.

I was supposed to have a free question and answer session with the teacher for 20 minutes.

It was like an interview.

Margo took the test paper and contacted somewhere.

As I waited, a skinny old man entered the classroom.

He looked much older than Grandpa, but his eyes had wisdom and will unlike his frail body.

He had long hair and beard, a big nose, and small glasses on it. He looked like the principal of a magic school in Scotland.

He must be the teacher who would interview me.

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

The old man smiled and sat across from me.

“I heard a lot of stories from Henri.”

“Henri Marso?”

I asked incredulously and he nodded.

“A troublemaker, right?”

This guy.

I don’t know what he said to make him say that as soon as he saw me.

Anyway, if he heard my story from Henri Marso, it must be Marso’s grace that Sherry told me.

“Are you the principal?”

“How did you know?”

“I heard it from Sherry. Marso’s grace, right?”

“Ha ha. Grace. My head turned gray because of him.”

“You look good together. Dum.”

“Dum?”

I almost called him by the name of the magic school principal teacher who carried a wooden stick.

“No.”

The principal of Pusang smiled and snapped his fingers.

“So, what do you want to learn at our school?”

We had exchanged greetings, so it seemed that the test had officially begun.

“I want to gain as much knowledge as possible.”

“Various?”

“Yes.”

“Our school is a place where talented children like you are educated. We study the fields that you are interested in depth. You also applied for the art major, didn’t you?”

I nodded.

“I don’t want to study in a fixed field. I applied for the art major, but I want to have various experiences such as literature, music, society, and science rather than art.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Art is not something that can be done as a discipline of art.”

The principal of Pusang nodded slightly as if to ask me to tell him more.

“Drawing is a process of getting to know myself. I have to know myself to draw my picture.”

“You mean you want to study various things to know who you are.”

“Yes. And I can also know what other people think.”

“Keep going.”

“I think art is created through exchange. Delacroix said that. Every painter summarizes the history of painting in his own way.”

The principal of Pusang rested his chin on his hand.

“That means two things. It means that the painter’s individuality should be respected and that he cannot exist alone.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because it is a conversation in a broad sense. Both the act of creating and the act of exhibiting and appreciating are conversations. Conversation is a way of conveying my thoughts and feelings and getting to know the other person.”

“Conversation.”

“Yes. Two years ago, I expressed myself with a picture of a sunflower. Marso saw it and drew a shadow. I saw that shadow and came up with a picture of a gunshot.”

If I hadn’t been there, Marso wouldn’t have been able to draw that expressed the emerald eyes looking at my work.

I also couldn’t have drawn without Edouard Manet’s and Henri Marso’s .

No creation can be completely new.

Without anyone to start, they interpret the inspiration they received from somewhere as their own.

And the process of someone else accepting it anew.

It’s like a conversation.

“Then art classes won’t mean much to you.”

“I can’t answer for sure because I don’t know what kind of classes this school will give me. If it’s a technical part, I don’t think it’s very meaningful.”

“Because understanding yourself and others is more important?”

“Yes.”

The principal of Pusang smiled brightly.

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