The Reborn Genius of an Arts High School - Chapter 22

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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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Chapter 22.
Han Gyou had returned to Seoul for the first time in ages.
His primary reason was Jung Haeyun’s exhibition.
Still, having come up after nearly half a year away, he’d taken a few extra days of vacation.
Of course, calling it vacation was a stretch—there were several personal matters waiting to be handled even now that he’d arrived in the city.
“You can’t stay in the countryside forever, can you?”
Han Gyou hesitated at the proposal from his senior colleague, who worked as a curator at the National Museum of Art.
“Yes. Well… I suppose that’s true.”
In the senior colleague’s view, Han Gyou was too talented to remain for long under just one painter.
He’d been thinking the same himself—how much more would others think it?
Yet even with his senior’s scout offer on the table, Han Gyou maintained an ambiguous stance.
“In any case, think it over. And I’m looking forward to Jung Haeyun’s exhibition too.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
After delivering his message, Han Gyou watched his senior colleague leave and sighed.
It was undoubtedly a good opportunity.
By the social standards most people spoke of, it was a no-brainer kind of good opportunity.
Especially for a museum in Seoul—openings in personnel were rare.
Rationally speaking, it was an offer he should accept without question.
But Han Gyou couldn’t bring himself to decide.
‘They’re all just other people’s standards, after all….’
Did he really need to follow them blindly?
People might think him foolish, but this winter alone had given him considerable experience.
Particularly, Lee Ye-ji.
Watching that student had genuinely stirred something within him—a kind of vitality.
Innocence, perhaps. Or pure-heartedness.
Ye-ji’s presence had sparked much reflection in him.
The way she pursued only the art she truly desired, without wavering.
And her pioneering spirit—never doubting her own talent or limitations—was almost admirable.
[Lee Ye-ji]
Looking at his ringing phone, Han Gyou couldn’t help but smile.
Not a word from her since he’d returned to Seoul.
He answered with a mix of curiosity and warmth.
“Oh, hey. Ye-ji. How have you been?”
He could guess roughly what she wanted.
With the exhibition approaching, she’d probably ask about exhibition-related details.
But what came out of Ye-ji’s mouth was entirely unexpected.
“Uh…? Plywood panels?”
At least a greeting would have been nice to start with.
Now she was suddenly asking where to get plywood panels in bulk?
Han Gyou frowned, slightly taken aback.
“What size, and how many do you need?”
You could get plywood from any ordinary art supply shop.
Han Gyou asked, genuinely confused, but what he heard next left him speechless.
“What? How many?”
For a moment he thought he’d misheard and asked again, but Ye-ji’s answer was the same.
“……300?”
She needed 300 plywood panels?!
***
“Lucky you happened to be in Seoul,” Ye-ji said.
Han Gyou and Ye-ji met shortly after at a tearoom in Jongno.
Something about meeting in the city made her look quite different.
Han Gyou, neatly dressed in a coat, bore little resemblance to the figure sweeping snow in a countryside yard.
He looked every inch the refined adult, yet he pressed ahead with his question.
“Suddenly, 300 plywood panels—what’s this all about?”
Unlike their phone call, where Ye-ji had skipped introductions, the tables had turned.
At his question, Ye-ji nodded while sipping her chamomile tea.
“Exactly as I said.”
Though recognizing her explanation had been insufficient, she added more.
“I’m planning to attach small works together to create one massive piece.”
Which meant she needed multiple plywood panels.
If she were just doing oil painting, linen or cotton canvas would be better.
“But I’m thinking of mixing materials—half East Asian painting materials, half oil painting techniques.”
This was the core of Ye-ji’s grand plan.
To demonstrate it, Ye-ji pulled a palm-sized plywood panel from her bag.
It was a reed painting rendered in Mineral Pigment, an East Asian painting material.
“Mixing Korean painting and oil painting in a single work takes forever—I’ve done it even with my grandfather’s help.”
So this was Ye-ji’s conclusion.
Some panels would be primed with Gesso or Animal Glue for East Asian work, others with oil primer.
Then multiple individual pieces would be strung together as a series.
“I visited a few art supply shops, but they said getting hundreds of panels at once is difficult. So I thought I’d reach out and ask if you could help.”
Ye-ji’s words and the small work in her hand—
Han Gyou stared at them blankly, and Ye-ji asked again.
“Oh, and I also wanted to ask about the wall space in front of the elevator where I’ll be exhibiting. Do you think I’ll need more than 300?”
Han Gyou held up the work in his hand, mentally estimating its size.
Given that it fit in his palm—
“…is this 15 by 15?”
“Ah, yes. It’s Size 1, so 15.8 centimeters.”
That should be explanation enough.
Shouldn’t he give her an answer to her question now?
Han Gyou, finally snapping to attention under Ye-ji’s expectant gaze, nodded.
“Right. Right then. Let me think about the size.”
Han Gyou picked up his phone and pulled up information on Seohwawon.
The wall in front of the elevator that Ye-ji had claimed was indeed quite spacious.
Large enough for a series display.
“Height is about 3 meters, width is 6 meters.”
Of course, those were architectural blueprint dimensions—the actual usable exhibition space was somewhat smaller.
“The area we can actually hang work is roughly 200 by 400 centimeters at the optimal size.”
It was a bit less than what Ye-ji had anticipated.
Ye-ji nodded and picked up her own phone.
“Hmm… at that scale….”
Ye-ji muttered softly as she used the calculator app, then spoke.
“If I make square Size 1 panels… ten in a row, twenty-five across….”
Han Gyou watched as Ye-ji murmured her calculations.
“So roughly 250 would look good in proportion? That’s actually fewer than I thought I’d need.”
Watching Ye-ji speak as though 250 were nothing, Han Gyou was rendered speechless.
“You… do realize that even just that many means you’d have to paint ten a day, right?”
It wasn’t merely 250.
You’d have to account for failures and redos.
And assembling them wasn’t as simple as it sounded.
In the end, she was envisioning a massive work measuring 160 by 400 centimeters.
“…….”
But Ye-ji simply stared at him in return.
Do you think it’s impossible?
Her gaze posed the question, and Han Gyou found himself reconsidering.
Brief though it was, he’d certainly watched Ye-ji work.
Though she’d had Jung Haeyun’s help, the bulk of the effort in every stage had been hers.
The speed at which she absorbed and applied new techniques.
More importantly, her ability to translate mental images into physical reality through her hands.
Even her determination—painting dozens of identical images.
‘It might be possible….’
Completing ten palm-sized works in a day might not actually be difficult for Ye-ji.
And a massive work spanning several meters?
The confidence rose in him that Ye-ji could conceive and execute even that.
“So you’re saying you’d stitch them all together to make one giant piece?”
Han Gyou set aside the instinctively negative opinion that had come to mind.
Now he was genuinely curious about the specifics of her plan.
Was she aiming for a mosaic effect?
Ye-ji shook her head at his question.
“More like a Polyptych, actually.”
Han Gyou sighed softly and fell into thought at Ye-ji’s answer.
A Polyptych was a form of series work, like folding panels assembled from several plywood sheets.
Each individual panel had value as its own work, but when connected together, they became one larger composition.
Even just the reed painting in his hands now exemplified that.
It was perfectly charming as a small-scale piece.
But attaching nearly 250 sheets together?
Rather than seeming impossible, it appeared risky given the fixed deadline.
“Wouldn’t something like Gerhard Richter or Donald Judd’s minimalist Modular Art approach work better?”
Arranging repetitive images to express artistic aesthetics is what’s called Modular Art.
It offered a far simpler and more intuitive working method compared to Polyptych.
That didn’t make it a lesser art form, though.
“Actually, the more modern and minimalist a work is, the more the artist’s sensibility shines through in composition and color sense. I think you could do it really well that way.”
But Ye-ji shook her head at Han Gyou’s suggestion.
“I thought about it, but that kind of work only has value when it exists as one large whole.”
Modular Art pieces, after all, were built from component pieces combined together.
Each individual piece was just a monochromatic wooden block, metal fragment, or glass shard.
“……you.”
Reading her intent from those words, Han Gyou found himself stammering again.
“Imagine hundreds of works spread out with diverse materials and colors.”
Ye-ji spoke with firm conviction to the hesitant Han Gyou.
Her gentle brown eyes gleamed sharp with certainty.
“Don’t you think people visiting Seohwawon would want to look more carefully?”
A piece that appears grand.
But as you draw closer, step by step, you discover that the grandeur is actually made of tiny palm-sized works assembled together—
Surely everyone would be compelled to look twice.
And this was necessarily an elevator waiting area—a space where people were forced to linger.
They would gladly spend that time examining each individual work.
“That’s why simple arrangement won’t do. I want people to regard my work like a craft, spending time with each piece willingly.”
Her work was certain—
It would command attention no matter what.
“……that’s….”
Actually pretty good.
Han Gyou, thoroughly convinced, nodded in agreement.
Besides, he wasn’t an artist but someone who planned and designed.
Naturally, he could see the added strategic benefit.
‘And if each individual work gains its own artistic merit….’
Among the people visiting Seohwawon,
quite a few would surely want to purchase one piece, wouldn’t they?
“…….”
A genius.
Han Gyou was newly convinced, looking at the student before him.
This one could accomplish anything she set her mind to.
“Oh, that’s right.”
Seeing Han Gyou’s expression, Ye-ji confirmed she’d persuaded him and belatedly spoke.
“I passed the first round of the Montrableu competition.”
She’d contacted Jung Haeyun separately, but since Han Gyou was here, he wouldn’t have heard.
The Montrableu competition, though youth-focused, operated on a global scale.
First-round passage was no small feat, but given what Han Gyou had just heard, it barely registered as surprising.
Was it because she’d just fearlessly mentioned painting some 250 works for an exhibition less than two months away?
“Anyway… you really are something. You’ll need to prepare well for the second round.”
What if by next season he heard she’d gone to France for an awards ceremony?
Entertaining something like a premonition, Han Gyou rose from his seat.
“Come on. I know a place that can make what you’re looking for.”
At least enough to get started on the work.
With that, Han Gyou stood and went to start his car.
It was a thought he’d had before, but Han Gyou loved art.
Looking back now, he could suddenly understand why the curator position at the National Museum of Art hadn’t appealed to him.
What he truly loved was the process of art coming into being.
A curator dealing with finished, already-acclaimed masterpieces—
that was comfortable and prestigious work, but not particularly compelling to him.
The reason he enjoyed working in Jung Haeyun’s studio was the same.
He loved watching the works and processes of Jung Haeyun and the other students unfold.
Yet even that had begun to feel monotonous lately.
Ye-ji’s arrival reminded him again of what he truly sought.

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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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