The Reborn Genius of an Arts High School - Chapter 36

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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 36.
Park Sungsu was a successful photographer.
Everyone told him as much.
Yet even so, there was an inescapable question that haunted him like destiny itself.
‘Where does photography end and art begin?’
This debate, endless since the technology of photography was born, continues to this day.
Between documentation and art, photography’s legitimacy is forever under suspicion.
Mere documentation that ceases the moment you press print.
Can data that yields thousands of copies truly be worth tens of millions of won?
People often raise such doubts.
Yet within that uncertainty, certain photographs are undeniably recognized as art.
‘Beauty? Scale?’
What was the benchmark by which people acknowledged his work as art?
Was it simply because the image was beautiful?
Or because it captured something that others, camera in hand, could not casually reproduce—
An uncommon scene composed through deliberate direction?
When Sungsu first saw Yeji’s work, he found himself wrestling with the same question.
The work titled “Four Seasons,” depicting landscapes through the seasons, held nothing remarkable in its subject matter.
Everyone had experienced that seasonal sensibility before.
Yet there was something distinctly special about how it was rendered—something that came from Yeji’s choice of expression.
The beautiful color palette and composition.
On the day Sungsu first saw Yeji’s work, a question took shape in his mind.
“Are the moments captured in your work purely imaginative, or are they scenes infused with the artist’s own experience?”
The opening day at Seohwa Gallery.
That unfamiliar voice asking the first question about Yeji’s work—it had been Sungsu.
***
As Yeji listened to his story, she nodded with an expression caught between understanding and uncertainty.
“That was… your question, then?”
Sungsu nodded at her words and added, “Just call me Uncle. You’re Sehee’s friend—that makes you family to me too.”

“Then… okay!”
Sehee, who had been listening silently to their exchange, nodded and chimed in with encouraging sounds.
All the while, she was carefully picking through the Malatang, choosing only vegetables.
Yeji hesitated for a moment.
Calling him Uncle felt strange, but she couldn’t very well call him “sir” either.
And if she kept using “artist,” it might seem like she was keeping her distance.
“I understand. Back then, I thought the voice sounded older, so I had no idea you were an uncle.”
“Ah… I guess I got a bit tense and my voice dropped. That must’ve been it.”
Yeji accepted his awkward laugh as explanation.
He really did seem to be the shy, sensitive type.
Only when talking about his work did he become decisive and articulate; in other matters, he seemed fumbling and clumsy.
“Do you remember what you answered back then?”
At Sungsu’s question, Yeji nodded.
Of course she remembered her own answer.
Her work was rooted in her own actual memories—filled with inspiration drawn from lived experience.
As Sungsu poured Cola into the cups on the table, he continued speaking.
When he discussed his work, his voice became crisp and clear, easy to follow.
“Do you know the difference between painting and photography?”
“Hmm, is it about space?”
“Exactly. Painting is the art of filling empty space, while photography is the art of removing from fullness—that’s what people usually say.”
Sungsu pressed forward with his explanation.
“Taking a photo and preserving it—that’s what it really is. Hiding what you don’t want to show, selecting what you do. That’s the work.”
For Yeji, who had only ever painted, this was a perspective she’d never considered.
Yet even thinking about something as simple as taking a commemorative photo or posting to social media made it clear.
“Which parts you choose to frame within that rectangle. Your skill as an artist lies in that selection.”
“Does that… relate to what I said?”
Yeji asked, unable to quite see the connection.
Sungsu nodded.
“I always thought painting and photography started from different places. But after hearing you speak, I realized something.”
All art begins from the same origin.
In the end, despite the difference in method, photography and painting share the same starting point and conclusion.
The moment he heard Yeji’s words, Sungsu grasped this simple truth.
They had merely chosen different paths; the foundation of both arts was—
“Experience and Memory.”
They spring from the experience and memory of the one who expresses.
As Sungsu spoke, Yeji felt something tingle and buzz at her fingertips.
She had always thought this way unconsciously, so her answer had come easily, without much weight.
But as he said, her answer had pierced straight through the foundation of what she did.
It was an obvious truth in some ways, yet it felt distinctly special to Yeji.
Her own unique experience and memory, carried forward from a past life.
And her memories in this present age.
The result of these two intertwined.
That her work earned others’ praise and inspired fresh appreciation was, in that sense, inevitable.
Because two perspectives merged rather than one—she could draw out insights that others could never perceive.
“For a while now, I’ve been thinking vaguely about my own work.”
Sungsu had lately fallen into a subtle slump.
The burden of needing to surpass my previous work no matter what.
Because of that, he’d lost sight of something.
All art arises from the artist’s experience and memory.
He’d forgotten that, obsessing instead over what would become popular, what would be brilliant.
Buried in such thoughts, he’d abandoned the essence.
“Sitting there stupidly, wracking my brains—of course nothing came of it.”
Art, true art, emerges only when you turn your gaze inward.
How to make it beautiful, how to express it better—that comes next.
I was trying to build columns and walls without laying a foundation, so of course only thin, calculated ideas came to mind.
“I figured something out because of you. And honestly, I really do like your style.”
Sungsu continued speaking with the same clarity and conviction.
“I believe human experience and memory ultimately spring from environment. And that environment is usually nature.”
In that respect, Sungsu felt that Yeji’s paintings aligned well with his work.
“From what I can tell, it seems you draw a lot of inspiration from natural subjects, don’t you?”
At Sungsu’s words—mentioning the various works he’d seen her draw in school through Sehee—Yeji nodded.
“Oh, yes… I suppose I do.”
She’d never consciously thought about it, but it was certainly true.
Every emotion and memory she conjured, she expressed through nature.
Flowers and trees, wind, sunlight.
All of it fell within the broader category of nature.
It was a way of expressing herself that had carried over from her past life.
He had the precise observational eye of a true photographer.
“You might call that an inborn trait. There are people born with the disposition to gaze upward at the sky.”
Sungsu’s words were an ambiguous metaphor, so Yeji couldn’t quite grasp them fully yet.
But she sensed she could understand the feeling, at least dimly.
Perhaps one day she would understand it clearly?
As Yeji sat in thought, Sungsu crumpled an empty Cola bottle and spoke.
“I’m confident you’ll suit my work perfectly. Of course… I admit there’s also a rather cowardly element to my judgment.”
Cowardly?
As Yeji sipped her Cola with a puzzled expression, Sungsu muttered,
“It would be pretty difficult to find another painter better suited to my work than you at this point.”
“Ah…”
“Even if I did search, I’m not sure I’d find anyone, and I have no idea what language they’d speak or who they’d be.”
And I don’t know what to propose or how to persuade them…
As Sungsu’s words trailed off awkwardly, Yeji found herself smiling uncomfortably.
She understood exactly what he meant, which somehow made it more awkward for her.
Sehee shot her uncle a reproachful look.
“Why would you say that? Everything up until now was cool and perfect!”
“Well, maybe not cool, but honesty is easier to deal with, right?”
It had more weight than suspicion…
In truth, his reasoning made it perfectly clear why someone of his caliber would ask her to collaborate.
As a fellow artist, she could sympathize with it completely.
“But when would you start the work?”
“I’ve already started the conceptual work, but the actual shooting will probably…”
Sungsu paused, calculating in his head for a moment before finally answering,
“…around summer?”
Sehee, who had been glaring at her uncle in dissatisfaction, jumped back in.
“The first shoot will be in Korea, with me!”
Isn’t that exciting? Isn’t it?
With Sehee emphasizing it several times over, Yeji found herself responding almost reflexively,
“Yes… yes.”
Though her answer was vague, Sehee was delighted.
She seemed like an overgrown puppy somehow.
Accustomed to Sehee’s scattered energy, Sungsu continued,
“Until then, I’ll be traveling around, mapping out the overall scope of the Series of Works and various other things.”
From locations to concepts.
He planned to spend time accumulating the experience and memory needed to bring it all together.
Every corner of Korea, and if necessary, overseas.
Because seeing and feeling those places directly would surely help the work.
“While I’m deciding and preparing what to shoot, you can paint pieces to support that vision.”
Photography isn’t just about deciding what to shoot.
There’s location scouting, acquiring and arranging everything needed for the staging.
Even if Sungsu handled all the planning, the actual shooting would still take considerable time.
“Do you usually take a long time with your work?”
If needed, Sungsu explained, he could allow two weeks or even a month per piece.
But Yeji shook her head.
“Depending on the size, I can usually finish within a week or so.”
“That’s a relief. Does this explanation make clear why I need you?”
At Sungsu’s question, Yeji nodded.
Painting and photography merging.
It would certainly be a new experience for her too.
“For now, yes, I’m willing. At least for the work here in Korea, I’ll definitely help you.”
“Great thinking!”
Sungsu answered her cheerfully.
He must have been worried she’d refuse.
“I really appreciate it! If there’s ever anything I can help with, just let me—”
“Uncle!”
Suddenly reaching for a handshake, Sungsu caught the edge of a cup on the table, sending several drinks clattering to the floor.
With Sehee’s cry of alarm, Yeji also jumped up and backed away.
“Oh no… did any get on your clothes or shoes?”
Startled, Sungsu bent down to wipe the floor.
Now Yeji truly understood Sehee’s exasperation with him.
“Wait, hold on…!”
At this rate, he’d carelessly stand up and overturn the whole table.
“Uncle, just stay right there!”
Without quite meaning to, Yeji spoke with such authority that she carefully pushed the table laden with food to the side.
In just an hour or two of meeting him, Yeji’s image of Sungsu had solidified.
When it came to his work, he seemed brilliantly clever and impressive.
But in everything else, he was clearly a type you couldn’t trust.
“Haha…”
“Uncle, go stand over there!”
Leaving the awkwardly laughing Sungsu standing alone to one side, Yeji and Sehee made quick work of cleaning up.
At least they’d already drunk most of it.
Once Yeji had roughly tidied up, she could finally return to what Sungsu had been saying.
“Earlier you said if there was anything you could help with, I could ask?”
“Of course.”
Even Sehee was nodding beside him as he answered readily.
“Then, would it be okay if I asked you for one favor?”

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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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