Van Gogh Reborn!

Chapter 147: Haesong (3)

Chapter 147 Haesong (3)

As Arsen took out his phone, Go Hoon spoke with concern.

“Don’t push yourself.”

“You’ve been talking nonsense since earlier. I’m Henri Marso. I can.”

“I’m not telling you to judge.”

Go Hoon cut off Henri’s words.

“I’m not saying you’re not qualified to judge. I just want to talk about art with you.”

The boy didn’t want Henri Marso to be stubborn and overdo it again.

He hoped he wouldn’t torture himself like he did when he had a signing event in New York.

“I meant don’t push yourself and take on judging when you have other things to do.”

Go Hoon shrugged his shoulders.

Henri Marso glared at Go Hoon, and Arsen opened his mouth.

“What should we do?”

Henri waved his hand to signal him to stop, and Go Hoon nodded.

He could talk about art with Henri Marso anytime, even if he didn’t judge.

“If you want to show me your work, just let me know. You can call me too.”

Go Hoon was amazed that the guy who never listened to him on the show was telling him to call him anytime.

He felt sick when he offered to do something that he wouldn’t even get if he begged.

“Don’t joke.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Of course not!”

“I want to talk a lot about art with Marso.”

Henri Marso widened his eyes and gritted his teeth.

He was absurd that the guy who hurt his pride even after he showed him kindness was now saying he wanted to talk about art.

“Then why don’t you do it?”

“What?”

“Judge.”

“What does it matter to you whether I do it or not?”

“It would be a hot topic if Marso did it. The writers would be less resistant too.”

“Don’t flatter me.”

Henri Marso didn’t want Go Hoon to flatter him like the others.

“Is it a problem with your personality?”

“This kid has been saying personality, personality! What’s wrong with my personality!”

“You get mad when I ask out of curiosity. You say I’m flattering you when I’m being honest. Don’t you think it’s a problem with your character?”

Go Hoon didn’t back down, and Henri Marso’s thin patience reached its limit.

“Are you crazy? Do you think you’ll be safe after treating me like this?”

“I’m not crazy.”

“…What?”

“I went to a psychiatrist with my grandfather. They said I’m normal.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m not crazy.”

Henri Marso was speechless at Go Hoon’s calm attitude. He didn’t know what to do but breathe.

“That’s not what I’m talking about!”

“Don’t get excited and calm down. The conversation keeps going in circles. So why don’t you do it?”

“Huh.”

A laugh escaped from Michel Platini’s lips.

It was the first time he saw Henri Marso being at a loss by someone other than his mother Sherry Gado and himself.

The two people who were having a pleasant conversation were just cute.

Henri Marso shook his head.

“Let’s stop talking.”

“I want to talk.”

“I don’t.”

“When did you ever bother me when I liked it?”

“When did I!”

“You did. You kept coming in and interrupting me on the show.”

“Interrupting? Did you even care about me?”

“Is that why you were upset?”

“Kihahanghahahat!”

Michel burst into laughter at the two’s banter.

Henri turned red and yelled.

“What’s so funny!”

“Huh? Hehehehuhuhu.”

Michel laughed even at his anger. He couldn’t help but laugh when he saw his face.

A little later.

After the meal was ready, Michel finally asked Go Hoon.

“I thought you hated Marso.”

“I do.”

Henri coughed and showed his discomfort, but the two didn’t care.

“Why did you change your mind?”

Go Hoon thought for a while.

“There were many things, but I thought he was cool.”

Michel’s eyes sparkled with interest, and Henri perked up his ears.

“The French National Art Association. They help struggling artists, right?”

“Yeah?”

“I heard Marso is funding them. That’s awesome.”

The French National Art Association had a special meaning for Go Hoon.

The French National Art Association, founded in 1861 by Goya, Delacroix, Manet, and others, was established in opposition to the Royal Academy of Art, which dominated the art world at the time.

The association was a hope for him, who had been harshly criticized and ignored by the mainstream art world in the 19th century.

He believed that someday there would be a change in the art world.

The painter who lived under the name of Vincent van Gogh continued his work with the courage shown by his seniors.

He thought it was gone, but it was re-established by Chaban, Durand, Rodin, and now operated by Henri Marso.

He respected them all for carrying on their noble spirit.

“I want to make a lot of money someday and create a community like that. Helping people in need like Marso.”

Michel smiled brightly.

He was happy that he liked Henri, not as a lover, but as an artist.

“What are you talking about?”

Henri intervened.

“I’m not a volunteer. Who am I helping?”

“Weren’t you a noblesse oblige?”

“I don’t have such a hobby.”

Go Hoon blinked and asked Michel.

“Is he embarrassed about this too?”

Michel held back his laughter and shook his head.

“He just didn’t like how the association did whatever they wanted.”

Arsen stepped in to fill in the gaps in Henri Marso’s explanation.

“The previous members of the association had a lot of problems. They rigged the contests to monopolize the national budget, or gave the national museum access rights only to the artists affiliated with the association.”

Go Hoon nodded.

It was a good story in the end, just like buying the works of unknown painters to secure the exhibits for the Marso Museum.

“They also pressured you to join the association if you wanted to exhibit at the Louvre.”

“Is that why you joined?”

“That’s why I beat them. Those arrogant bastards.”

Arsen didn’t bother to mention how Henri Marso drove away the people who hurt his pride.

He thought Go Hoon was too young to hear their miserable words.

Go Hoon didn’t ask either.

Instead, he brought up the story he wanted to confirm with Henri Marso again.

“I heard there’s a lot of talk about the judges not being decided yet, even though you can make your work freely.”

Henri Marso frowned.

It wasn’t easy to find a hundred people who had an eye for art.

“A hundred?”

Go Hoon asked in surprise.

“It’s a device for a fair evaluation.”

Michel explained.

Henri Marso had taken over the French National Art Association in 2024 and drastically reformed the related businesses, and the judging method for the contests was part of that.

He wanted to prevent the power from being concentrated on a specific person, and to ensure the universality of the subjectivity by increasing the number of judges who could not be objective.

Go Hoon had a question as he listened to the explanation.

“It’s a lot, but can’t you find a hundred people?”

“All the decent people are dead.”

“Why?”

Go Hoon was shocked.

“They died of old age.”

“…”

“The rest are trash. Either they call themselves artists and produce crap, or they just clap for whoever is famous.”

Go Hoon, who had met many great artists besides his grandfather, such as Jang Mirae, Henri Marso, Fernando Gonzalez, and Baek Dongjun, found it hard to accept.

“There are also people who make great works.”

“Go Suyeol must have only shown you those things.”

Henri Marso responded sarcastically.

“It’s not like there are only trash. The critics are the same. The problem is that you have to find them among the 99 garbage.”

“…”

Go Hoon was lost in thought.

The art he had seen so far was either masterpieces exhibited at the national museums or carefully selected works from prestigious festivals like the Whitney Biennale.

The boy nodded as he recalled what his grandfather and aunt had worried about.

“That could be true.”

“Marso is just too biased. There are young artists with a purpose. And critics too. It’s just hard to find the right people for the schedule.”josei

Michel added an explanation.

“So, to sum up, you want to solve the problems that arise in the judging process by increasing the number of judges, but it’s hard to find that many people?”

“Yeah.”

Henri nodded.

“Then how about voting?”

Henri Marso raised his eyebrows at Go Hoon’s suggestion.

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s for the sake of showing it to the art lovers anyway. Isn’t it better to let them choose? I think I can accept that kind of method.”

“…”

“Well, it sounds like a good idea, but the association won’t accept it easily. It’s their right too.”

“No.”

Henri stopped Michel’s words.

“Rather, that’s better.”

He thought the same as Go Hoon.

He thought it was more meaningful to let the public decide who was better than to find reliable people with difficulty.

The original idea of forming a hundred-judge panel was to gain credibility by gathering subjectivity for art that could not be objective, so it was more reasonable as the number increased.

Michel also thought for a moment and nodded.

“Now that I think about it, the orchestra competition also used fan voting last year.”

"The orchestra competition?"1)

“Don’t you know?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a festival that the World Classical Music Association holds every four years, and it was the second time last year.”

Go Hoon nodded.

“The first time, they matched the ratio of the judges and the fan votes, but last year they ranked them by 100% fan votes. The public reaction was better.”

As he tapped his glass and pondered, Henri Marso reached out. He took the phone from Arsen and called somewhere.

“Who are you calling?”

“Chairman Shebasson.”

Michel was surprised at the name of the chairman of the French National Art Association.

“It’s so late, why are you calling?”

Michel checked the time and stopped Henri.

It was barely 1 p.m. in Seoul, so it must have been very early in the morning in Paris.2)

Soon, the bewildered voice of Adil Shebasson came through the phone.

-Huh? Mr. Marso?

“Stop forming the judges.”

***

1)A orchestra competition that the World Classical Music Association hosts every four years.

The top 12 orchestras that passed the preliminaries travel around their home cities for a year and compete to determine the best orchestra.

*A global event in the world of <Reborn Beethoven> and <Reborn Van Gogh>.

2)When it’s 1 p.m. in Seoul, it’s 5 a.m. in Paris.