Van Gogh Reborn!

Chapter 279:

279

Caterpillar and Pork Rice Bowl (4)

“Let’s see. They should have arrived by now.”

Go Soo-yeol checked his watch.

It had been about an hour since his grandson left. He wondered if he had reached Münster, Germany.

He waited for a call from Ko Hun, who had promised to contact him when he arrived.

“You must be worried.”

“Of course. How can I be at ease? But Hoon needs to learn how to travel alone, so I have no choice but to let him go.”

Bang Tae-ho nodded.

He understood both the parental desire to keep their child close and the concern to teach them how to stand on their own.

“There won’t be any trouble. Aren’t Hoon and Marso getting along well these days?”

“Yeah. They might forget to call if they’re having fun. I’ll just wait.”

Go Soo-yeol put his smartphone in his pocket.

Henry Marso felt that the eyes around him had changed recently.

At first, he thought it was a mistake and doubted it, but he became convinced when he heard words he had never heard before.

‘Lately, you only bring Mr. Ko Hun’s works. Is this cute Pinocchio also Mr. Ko Hun’s work?’

Pierre Malodo.

‘What are you talking about? Don’t mind the nationality and work in France. We’ll apply the Antermittang system for you. Don’t tell me it’s because of that kid?’

Chevasson Simon.

‘You seem to eat too much chocolate lately.’

Arsene.

‘Can you get aggravated punishment for slapping someone with kimchi? … Did you just say it was a drama?’

Shultz.

‘Did you just smile? Did you smile?’

Michel Platini.

‘You look like you could get married with Hoon. Don’t you have anyone to date? You never talked about it before.’

Even Sherry Gado, whom he loved, casually brought up things he had never mentioned before.

Henry Marso, who had ignored the words around him, couldn’t help but care when Sherry Gado and Michel Platini said he had changed.

He had fallen for chocolate and trashy dramas, which were nothing but symbols of desire for the noble Marso family’s jewel.

He would have avoided smiling lightly in front of Michel Platini, but he did it anyway.

‘It’s because of him.’

Henry Marso glared at Ko Hun.

“Hmm.”

Ko Hun was eating a sandwich instead of pizza.

He was in a bad mood because he couldn’t eat potato pizza, but he barely suppressed his anger with the duck sandwich he bought from Blangery Utopia.

He felt a little better when he sprinkled a lot of mustard sauce on the smoked duck.

“…Is it good?”

“Don’t talk to me.”

Ko Hun was still not willing to forgive Marso, who had ruined his happy Sunday lunch.

He decided not to say a word to him until he brought him potato pizza, while they were traveling in Münster.

“Is it good?”

Henry Marso asked again, but Ko Hun didn’t answer.

It was a very strange experience for him.

No one dared to treat him rudely, who had a huge fortune, a noble bloodline, and a reputation as an artist.

He had inherited the title of Duke of Angou from his uncle Louis de Bourbon, and the French Ministry of Justice recognized it, so the French upper class favored him as the successor of the Bourbon royal family.

He was the largest shareholder (31.9%) of BNP Paribas, the largest financial group and the highest average balance in the eurozone.

He was also a major shareholder of Inditex, the world’s largest fashion group, and L’Oreal, a cosmetics company (7.1% and 5.3%, respectively).

He was revered as a hero of the art world in France, and loved as a rare global star as a painter.

There was no one who could ignore his words.

“Ah.”

Henry Marso snatched the duck sandwich from Ko Hun.

Ko Hun, who had barely endured the loss of his potato pizza, opened his eyes wide and glared at Henry Marso.

Henry Marso bit the duck sandwich as if to show off.

It was not bad for a commoner’s food.

“It’s not that good.”

Henry Marso put down the sandwich and Ko Hun, who was so angry and speechless, shouted.

“What are you doing!”

A moment later.

Peter Neuer, the head of the publicity team for the Munster Sculpture Project, was puzzled when he went to the hangar to welcome Henri Marso.

Henri Marso and Ko Hun, who had just got off the private jet, were covered in yellow paint.

‘What’s going on?’

Peter Neuer didn’t know how to greet them. He had hoped to guide them well in Munster and see their good works.

‘Did they paint something on the way?’

He had never heard of anyone painting on a plane, but he thought it was not impossible for Henri Marso, who was famous for being unique among artists.

He just couldn’t understand the faint smell of mustard sauce.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Marso. Mr. Ko Hun. I’m Peter Neuer from the Munster Sculpture Project publicity team.”

“Hello.”

Henri Marso ignored Peter Neuer and only Ko Hun replied.

“Arsene.”

“Yes.”

Henri Marso gave Arsene a hint.

His loyal secretary stepped forward and asked Peter Neuer for his understanding.

“Good day. I’m Arsene Leblanc. Thank you for welcoming us, but the artist seems a bit tired from the trip. Can we see you again in an hour?”

“Excuse me?”

Peter Neuer was confused.

It wouldn’t be too hard to meet again in an hour, but he couldn’t easily accept that they were tired from a flight that took less than an hour from Paris to Munster.

“What are you going to do? My clothes.”

“You wouldn’t have snatched my sandwich if you had endured it.”

“You ate a bite of a sandwich.”

“A bite of a sandwich? It was my lunch. The lunch I traded for a potato pizza. You must not know how precious food is because you have a lot of money. You’ll get punished for that.”

“Why do you always talk so short?”

“If you want me to respect you, don’t steal my food.”

“I’m your teacher and you’re my student. Call me teacher from now on.”

“Who’s a teacher when you’re taking my painting.”

The two renowned artists were fighting over a sandwich and a potato pizza.

“Hmm.”

Arsene coughed to get Peter Neuer’s attention.

“Let’s meet in front of the Munster Cathedral in an hour.”

“Oh, yes. Okay.”

After taking off his clothes stained with mustard sauce and sending them to the laundry, he took a shower and put on the new clothes that Arsene had bought for him.

“My sleeves are short.”

“They were the closest size I could find.”

“Damn it.”

Marso complained about wearing ready-made clothes.

He had been grumpy for a few days, but now he was even picking a fight.

I thought we had gotten closer lately, but I don’t know how to please him.

When they arrived at the Munster Cathedral, Peter Neuer, whom they had met earlier, greeted them warmly.

“Did you get some rest?”

“Thanks to you.”

He started walking side by side with Peter Neuer.

“Do you know about the Munster Sculpture Project?”

“I know it’s an event where you can freely exhibit your works around the city.”

“That’s right. It started with the hope of making the citizens and art closer.”

Henri Marso was walking a few steps behind with a sullen expression.

He didn’t know who was to blame for this.

“It was in the 1960s. Henry Moore wanted to donate his work to Munster, but the citizens of Munster at the time didn’t accept his work as art.”

Peter Neuer told him that there was a lot of conflict between Henry Moore and the citizens.

In the meantime, the city of Munster commissioned the Munster City Museum of Art to buy a work as part of the city environment project.

The Munster City Museum of Art recommended George Rickey’s work, which was more modern than Henry Moore’s.

“But when they heard that they were buying a strange sculpture for 130,000 marks, the citizens couldn’t stay still. They thought it was a waste of the city budget.”

It was a similar case to the story I had with my grandfather and Jang Mi-rae.

It was a problem caused by the isolation of modern art.

“What happened then?”

“The city hall had no choice but to give up.”

It was inevitable.

The citizens wanted their precious taxes not to be wasted, and they had no reason not to oppose the trade of a meaningless sculpture for a large amount of money.

“Then, Busmann, the curator of the city museum of art, felt the gap between modern art and the citizens. He thought this couldn’t go on.”

As artists and the public drift apart, nothing remains.

I don’t like artists who say they don’t want to be understood, because they are arrogant enough to think they can exist on their own.

To make a work, you need money.

And money doesn’t come out of thin air.

“Busmann appeared on several broadcasts and tried to make the public more familiar with contemporary art. Fortunately, the citizens of Münster appreciated his sincerity.”

“Is that how it started?”

“Yes. The Münster Sculpture Project is both an event where contemporary art reaches out to the public and where the public seeks out art.”

“What a wonderful event.”

I smiled at Peter Neuer.

He guided me around the city of Münster and introduced me to the sculptures located here and there.

There were works that looked like someone had dumped construction materials, and I also got to see statues and plaster figures resting around a small artificial pond.

“What do you think?”

After a while of sightseeing, Peter Neuer asked me.

“I don’t know.”

It was hard to feel Münster in half a day.

I had no idea what to do, so I told him honestly and he nodded as if he understood.

“Take your time to think about it. If possible, it would be nice to stay a few more days and think about it.”

But I had too many things to do, like going to school, personal broadcasting, Venice Biennale, Kassel Documenta, Art Basel, and so on.

“That’s it for the tour.”

Henri Marso, who had been following me silently, opened his mouth.

Arsène stepped forward and greeted Peter Neuer.

“Thank you for your hard work today. We will arrange our schedule separately from now on. Thank you for your consideration from the committee.”

“Don’t mention it. I feel heavy-hearted that I couldn’t be of much help.”

“No, it’s enough.”

Thanks to Peter Neuer, I was able to understand what kind of event the Münster Sculpture Project was.

It was just that I didn’t have enough time.

“Well then.”

Peter Neuer left.

It was evening, and soon it would be dark around.

It would be hard to look around anywhere.

“Let’s go.”

Henri Marso turned his feet.

He said he would go back before dinner, so I had to look for another opportunity.

“Ahh!”

I was about to move on with regret, but a man suddenly popped out of the alley next to me and I was startled.

The man fell down and didn’t move at all.

I was so shocked that I froze, and Arsène quickly blocked me in front of me.

“What is it?”

“…I don’t know.”

Arsène protected me while keeping an eye on the fallen man. He didn’t look like a homeless person by his clothes, but I had no idea what kind of bolt from the blue this was.

I wondered if he was dead, but then the man reached out his hand.

“Are you okay?”

He seemed to be conscious.

The man slowly lifted his head and blinked his eyes.

“Ko Hun?”

“Yes?”

“Is it really Ko Hun?”

He was a Korean.

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