The Reborn Genius of an Arts High School - Chapter 134

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 134.
The theme of the class where Ye Ji had missed an assignment was this:
‘Let’s resurrect the artwork you regret most and reimagine it.’
For Ye Ji, there was only one artwork that came to mind as her most regretted piece.
The painting from her past life. Other than that, she hadn’t yet created a work in this life that left her with lingering regret.
So, she couldn’t complete the assignment.
“I don’t want to dwell on something that’s already passed.”
At Ye Ji’s firm answer, Young shrugged her shoulders.
Since she’d skipped the assignment that replaced the class, it would significantly impact her grade.
But Ye Ji didn’t seem particularly bothered by it.
Though her grades were decent, that was merely an effort close to self-satisfaction.
Someone else was the one truly invested in it.
…….
So Min looked at Ye Ji with a subtle expression before turning her head away, pretending not to have noticed.
If Ye Ji wasn’t first in the Special Class, then naturally So Min would be.
But perhaps because it was due to a missed assignment and an absence,
So Min’s expression didn’t look particularly pleased.
“Well, anyway. It’s your choice!”
Young nodded at Ye Ji’s answer and shifted the mood with a round of applause.
“Now, shall we have the final class of this semester?”
The final class.
Ye Ji glanced briefly at the clock on the classroom wall.
Quite a bit of time had passed with explanations about the assignment and various other matters.
Since it was the final class, today’s lesson needed to be something that could be completed during the period.
As if reading Ye Ji’s thoughts, Young said a word that was both familiar and strange.
“Beauty of Emptiness.”
With all eyes on the confused students, Young continued.
“Leave more than 80% of the canvas empty and complete the work with minimal elements.”
The concept of Beauty of Emptiness that Young mentioned and leaving the canvas empty to complete the work with minimal elements
were similar yet different.
Emptiness in Western art was literal void.
That empty space was filled with a plausible ‘concept,’ elevating it as art itself.
Thus, a single line could become expensive art in this world.
It was a method frequently seen in contemporary art and had received much recognition.
Rather, works like Ye Ji’s that filled the canvas with all manner of elements were closer to analog methods that ran counter to the era.
…….
To intentionally avoid such thinking, and now she was told to draw exactly that.
Ye Ji looked at the No. 20 canvas about 70 centimeters wide with an odd feeling.
Only So Min, familiar with the theme, began her work first, while most others stared at their canvases without even picking up a brush.
‘To empty… and….’
Empty, and empty again on the white blank canvas.
If she were to place just one thing, what would it be?
Ye Ji, pondering, dipped her brush in pitch-black paint and created a hairline crack about a hand’s breadth across the center of the canvas.
Acrylic paint dried relatively quickly, so in the meantime Ye Ji got up and made a quick trip to the school canteen.
Usually while the paint dried, she would continue planning.
She would use the drying time zone by zone on a single canvas to densely fill in every element.
But getting up and leaving a work unfinished felt quite refreshing.
After gathering a few snacks to share with the other friends in the Special Class, Ye Ji picked up her brush again.
Then, above that crack, she began delicately layering bright colors as if sculpting light.
First laying down deep shadow, then carefully adding bright light on top,
she began transferring paradoxical transparency onto the canvas as if working glass art.
A painting was taking shape—like a crystal shard piercing through the canvas and jutting out from behind.
“Aren’t you working the orchid theme to death?”
“……That’s an insult to Korean Painting.”
“Drawing it again and again and again is more insulting.”
“They’re all different each time?”
When did Young and So Min get so close?
The way they bickered over the work, each getting a jab in without backing down, made them look like carefree peers of the same age.
So Min still had an edge to her, but she wasn’t as aggressively sharp as before.
Her atmosphere had changed quite a bit, in fact.
She’d only heard the story of what happened in the meantime.
According to what Han Gyu mentioned in passing, Mirae’s final appearance had been rather pathetic.
Compared to the type like Mirae who schemes behind the scenes, So Min seemed far better.
But regardless, what happens when you become overly conscious of others’ evaluations.
So Min had witnessed it from a distance, so she must have been affected one way or another.
“All right then, thanks for the hard work till the end.”
When Young announced the end of class, everyone set down their brushes.
As always, the final part was each student explaining their own work.
“My work is….”
So Min’s work was an unremarkable orchid painting—the most common one that came to mind.
The sort of orchid painting people think of when they hear Korean Painting.
And there followed an explanation of the aesthetic of emptiness unique to Korean Painting, different from the West.
Emptiness in Korean Painting was not mere void.
It was a kind of communion with nature that left room for wind and mist and breath—a humility that acknowledged not everything could be expressed.
“Hmm, it’s nice, but it’s not fun. Right?”
“Anything classic is the best.”
So Min grumbled back at Young’s remark.
Neither was wrong, so even Ye Ji smiled a little at what she heard.
Regrettably, the works of the other friends that followed had nothing particularly special.
Ha Eun’s work was a morning glory vine climbing up from one corner.
Ji Ho drew footprints as if the white canvas were a snowy field, and Woo Jin painted an antique frame around the edges as if the canvas itself were a picture frame.
But none of them clearly imbued the emptiness with meaning.
Then came Ye Ji’s turn.
“I painted this spatial feeling as the world’s framework, and symbolized the possibility of breaking those rules and moving forward.”
Ye Ji’s explanation still didn’t contain sweeping concepts.
Rather, for her, works that held more meaning than the painting itself were difficult.
What came naturally was to paint the images in her heart—to hold them in her mind and visualize them.
So that process was familiar; like the white crystal painting that had broken through the white canvas frame and thrust forward,
the intuitive meaning reaching toward the world was easier to express.
And Young’s work was….
“This vertical line in the work can be seen as a kind of zipper.”
Quite literally, all she’d done was draw a straight line down the center of the canvas.
“By dividing the screen, the viewer’s intuitive perception of that space and….”
As Young’s explanation continued, Ye Ji’s frown deepened slightly.
That explanation….
“……That’s plagiarism, isn’t it?”
Ye Ji said it as if bewildered, and Young laughed with a snicker.
It was language reminiscent of Barnett Newman’s representative work, the Zipper Series.
Young added to Ye Ji’s comment.
“Then how about this—what if we did the same work like this? Actually, it’s not a vertical line; it’s a horizontal line.”
What followed was something close to sophistry, a ‘concept.’
“Don’t base it on human perspective alone; expand your thinking. If someone were lying down here right now, would it still look vertical to their eyes?”
A completely different concept—expressing how perspective is relative.
“Still sounds like plagiarism?”
It was a playful question, but one that gave much to think about.
Seeing the students unable to answer readily, Young spoke cheerfully.
“All right! Your vacation homework~: contemplate contemporary conceptual art like this and find your own answer!”
…That seems almost like philosophy.
Ye Ji inwardly complained a little too, but the other students around her did more so.
Young cheerfully savored what was almost mockery in response.
“This is the fun of it—look at your teacher.”
With the students’ protest, the scheduled final Special Class ended.
While everyone tidied their materials and gathered their things,
Ha Eun, as always, pouted at Ye Ji.
“Ugh, since it’s the last day, I wanted to help you clean up and grab food together, but you have another tutoring session later, right?”
Perhaps because final exams were just around the corner.
By the time the Special Class ended it was nearly nine at night, yet she apparently had another schedule afterward.
“See you next semester!”
Still brimming with energy, Ha Eun said a cheerful goodbye and quickly disappeared.
The other third-year students also had their own busy schedules, so they left after a casual greeting.
So Min, of course, didn’t say goodbye separately.
Probably because it would be awkward to suddenly be warm now, so she was just pushing forward as always.
Ye Ji had a lot to organize since she’d brought even the assignment from the class she’d missed.
“Ah~! I didn’t think about this~ how did you bring it when you came to school?”
Seeing Ye Ji’s struggle, Young approached, puzzled.
“I brought the finished ones over one at a time beforehand.”
There was no way she could carry them all at once.
Come to think of it, she’d assigned too much homework.
She’d only considered painting the work and hadn’t thought at all about how to transport them.
At Ye Ji’s explanation, Young reacted brightly with an “Ah!” and helped her organize.
“Should I drive you home?”
“Oh, that’s all right! My dad said he’d come pick me up.”
She’d made the arrangement with her father beforehand, just in case.
Since it took time for him to arrive, she could have organized more slowly.
But with Young’s help, the timing had become oddly awkward.
Going out right now would just be hot.
Ye Ji gazed at the dusky school scenery when Young suddenly asked her a question.
“How does it feel?”
“Feel like what?”
When Ye Ji asked back, Young asked more specifically.
“Money. How is it earning it?”
Suddenly?
But Young was one of the few people who knew Goyo’s true identity and roughly how much profit Ye Ji would make.
While it seemed like a question Young would ask, Ye Ji couldn’t answer right away.
In truth, Ye Ji had little sense of reality about the money she earned from her activities.
Even with tens of billions accumulating in her account, it didn’t feel particularly real.
She didn’t do what people who make big money typically do—buy buildings or stocks.
At most, she’d paid off some debt her parents had on a house and bought them a car.
The rest of the money, from what others would see, was foolish to just keep.
She simply held onto it as it was.
Of course, she indulged in luxury without reserve when it came to materials for painting,
but even that wasn’t luxury compared to artists who used real gems or gold in their works.
“Not really… I haven’t thought about it much. Of course, it’s better to have money than not to have it.”
She had no need to make excuses to anyone, anywhere.
For Ye Ji, earning money well didn’t hold much meaning.
“Yeah, that’s true. You did say you don’t do Commercial Art just for money in the first place.”
I understand.
With Young’s added comment, Ye Ji nodded.
“……Actually, there’s not that much difference between what they pay as a contract fee and what the works sell for in Paris.”
Fine Art may be fine art by name.
But it was a market where a single work could fetch tens of billions.
Others thought there was a huge difference between Commercial Art and Fine Art, but for Ye Ji they were much the same.
If anything, it was merely a difference in the intended audience.
“I’m just trying to paint works I can show to a diverse range of people.”
“Just showing them is meaningful?”
“…Mm.”
At Young’s question, Ye Ji fell into thought again.
Whether just showing them held meaning was a question she wanted to confirm once more for herself.
She was, after all, seeking recognition from them and finding joy in that recognition.
So then, was she showing her paintings in order to be recognized?
She thought more carefully about the sequence of cause and effect, and an answer emerged.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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