Chapter 20
6. Painter of the Sun (2)
We celebrated Grandpa’s birthday over dinner.
“You didn’t have to go this far.”
I was trying to give him a portrait as a birthday gift, but he kept refusing.
“It won’t take long.”
“Yeah, you’ll be Hoon’s first portrait model, Grandpa.”
“Ahem.”
He refused me over and over, but when Jang Mirae chimed in, he gave in and struck a pose.
I quietly observed Grandpa.
I don’t know how others see him, but to me, he’s someone with a warm heart and a playful side.
It was only for a few months, but—
For the first time, I understood what it meant to have a family.
To my father, I was nothing but a shameful existence.
My uncle, even my younger sister, treated me like a nuisance.
My mother only looked at me with pity.
Only Theo believed I had the soul of an artist and cheered me on.
And then there was this man—
The one who taught me what familial warmth truly was.
He understands my paintings more deeply than anyone, treats me sincerely without any pretense.
When those sharp eyes focus solely on me, they seem filled with tender affection.
When those strong arms hug me, it feels more comforting than anything.
Even though I feel guilty about it, I can’t help but wish he were really my grandfather.
I picked up my colored pencils.
I captured both Grandpa and Jang Mirae accurately in form.
Unlike Pablo Picasso, I avoided any exaggeration or abstraction, expressing as much detail as possible.
The methods differ, but neither is wrong.
In fact, both could be considered equally masterful.
Picasso drew out the essence of things through simplicity. Grandpa and Mirae, on the other hand, painted aesthetics that don’t exist in reality as if they were real.
And yet, despite these differences, all three of them have something in common—
They dress their works in colors, using them boldly.
Particularly, Grandpa and Mirae’s understanding of color far exceeded my expectations.¹
Is there another painter who captures the emotional resonance of color more precisely than them?
Sigh…
I observed Grandpa again in more detail.
His sharp eyes and the traces of time that surround them.
Wrinkles and skin textures can be refined later after capturing the basic form.
Make it warm…
Grandpa’s skin has a healthy bronze tone, but I want to portray it in a warmer, softer way.
I laid down a base of light peach.
Then used peach beige to build texture more clearly.
Shadows in the deeper wrinkles and curves were layered with beige and peach, creating an overall bright and gentle atmosphere.
As I worked on the shadows under the forehead and eyes, I noticed how deep the wrinkles were.
He’s 64.
I didn’t get to spend his whole life with him, but—
From how he treats me,
From how he welcomes a much younger student visiting him daily, and how he treats that student with respect— I can see what kind of person he is.
The gifts piled up at the front door…
The countless artworks that fill and overflow from his studio all speak volumes about the life he’s lived.
He treats those around him with love—
And channels his resilient will solely into his art.
Is there any other painter with such character?
I truly respect this man.
Using light umber, I defined the unwavering pupils and the edges of the nostrils and other shadows.
But when my hand reached his forehead, I hesitated for a moment.
The white hairs peeking through his black hair were just marks of time.
They didn’t represent old age or frailty.
Rather, they showed the values Go Su-yeol had lived by, and how deeply rooted they were.
Instead of black over umber, I felt warm gray would be better—something softer.
I colored the hair white with warmth.
Hmm.
I emphasized some areas with slightly darker tones to bring out more life, then applied color throughout.
To give a healthy flush, I considered adding light red around the cheeks, nose, and eyes—but also lightly touched in yellows and blues.
I could increase the density for realism…
But emphasizing the texture of the colored pencils gives it more charm.
Stepping back a little, I felt quite satisfied with the result.
It was an impromptu sketch inspired by Mirae, and though it didn’t feel as realistic as hers, I discovered this kind of expression was also possible—and fun.
So painting will only become more enjoyable for me moving forward.
For now, I’m happy with this strong yet gentle grandfather.
“All done.”
When I brought the portrait to him, the same Grandpa who had refused it now looked thrilled.
“Let’s see it.”
Mirae, who had been fiddling with her tablet nearby the entire time, came over too.
“…”
“Pfft.”
It was a portrait using colored pencils in a new way I’d been practicing—but Mirae laughed.
“It’s not that I’m laughing at it. It’s really good. I thought you were weak at sketching—when did you get this good?”
I had been practicing while observing Grandpa’s paintings.
“He looks like a tiger. A dignified yet calm white tiger. You really nailed the image. Pfft.”
She giggled again.
“A white tiger?”
“Yeah. A white tiger.”
“Tiger?”
Mirae searched and showed me a picture of a tiger on her tablet.
As she said, that strength and warmth really did resemble Grandpa.
“Thank you.”
Grandpa patted my head and stared at me for a while.
But his expression seemed oddly conflicted.
Did he not like it?
I’d worked hard to capture his years of character… but maybe this portrait was a failure.
I’ll have to try drawing it again someday.
The Next Day
I stayed up all night sketching on my tablet and overslept.
By the time I woke up, it was nearly lunchtime—and the house was empty.
I took fresh milk out of the fridge—blessed invention of humankind—and just as I was drinking, Grandpa returned.
“Where were you—?”
His hair was black.
There wasn’t a single gray strand left, as if he’d painted it.
“What happened to your hair?”
“I dyed it. Makes me look younger, doesn’t it?”
“But the white suited you…”
“Don’t I look healthier now? I hate to say it myself, but everyone at the salon said I look ten years younger. Hahaha!”
…What a shame.
Tomorrow, I leave for Europe, so I was busy checking and packing.
Just as I was debating which colored pencils to bring—
“Hoon, come out for a moment.”
Grandpa called me.
Outside, a man I’d never seen before greeted me with a warm smile.
He had kind, friendly eyes.
Modern people tend to look younger than their age, so I guessed he was in his early forties.
“Nice to meet you, Hoon.”
Like Mirae’s student, he somehow knew my name. I had no idea how.
“Hello.”
“I’m Bang Tae-ho, curator at the BaEum Art Museum.”²
The BaEum Museum was the very first museum I’d visited with Grandpa.
If a curator from a place like that had come, could this mean an exhibition…?
“I saw Sunflowers at the Seoul Art Museum. It was amazing.”
“You liked it?”
“Yeah. I can’t explain it exactly, but it was full of life. That golden glow from the wounded sunflower—it felt like it was telling me I could shine too.”
He understood my intention completely.
“Thank you.”
Bang Tae-ho smiled.
“So I wanted to come see more of your work. Can I take a look?”
Grandpa gave a gentle nod.
“As much as you want.”
I trusted that Grandpa wouldn’t introduce me to someone untrustworthy—and someone who had connected with me through my painting had to be genuine.
I guided him to the studio Grandpa had set up for me.
I hadn’t produced many polished works, as I’d been immersed in colored pencils and ink painting lately.
“Take your time.”
“Thanks.”
Bang Tae-ho looked around the studio. He paused at a few pieces, but didn’t linger on most.
He stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“You’ve done a lot of ink paintings.”
“Yes, I’ve been practicing.”
“No watercolor or oil?”
“Not recently.”
He looked a little disappointed.
Though I’d done one piece a day, I hadn’t been practicing ink art for long—so none of it felt exhibition-worthy.
Except Grandpa’s portrait, I wasn’t really satisfied with any of my colored pencil pieces either.
He seemed to be looking not for “a painting by Koh Hoon, the kid who sold Sunflowers for 2.8 billion won,” but for another Sunflowers-like work.
That made me trust him more.
“Please come back in three months.”
“Huh?”
“I’m focusing on ink painting right now, so I don’t have any oils. I’ll paint a few after returning from my Europe trip.”
Even with two months of travel, I’d have a whole month left.
If I work hard, I could prepare over 20 pieces.
I had mountains of ideas I wanted to paint.
“All right. I’ll look forward to it, then. Teacher.”
Bang Tae-ho gave a slight bow to Grandpa, who bowed in return.
As we walked toward the living room to see him out, he asked about the trip.
“Are you going to Europe to study?”
“Yes, I’ll be visiting art museums.”
“Oh, which one?”
“The Van Gogh Museum.”
“Ah, that’s perfect. I figured you liked Van Gogh. Sunflowers… it felt like Van Gogh had discovered East Asian painting.”
“…”
He read right through me.
I stared at him, wondering just what kind of person he was. He raised his hands and laughed.
“Oh, no offense. I meant that as the highest praise. It really was an extraordinary yellow. To borrow Van Gogh’s own words—it was like melted gold.”
We’d only spent 20 minutes together, but I felt drawn to him.
“Thank you.”
He smiled.
“I’ll be looking forward to your next works. Enjoy your trip.”
I nodded.
“Thank you for visiting today. I’ll greet you again next time.”
“Good work today.”
As soon as the door closed, Grandpa asked,
“Why did you tell him to come back?”
“Because I don’t like the paintings I have right now.”
“Hmm.”
He nodded and asked again.
“Then why show him paintings you don’t like?”
“Because they’re still my paintings. Why hide them if he wants to see?”
Grandpa gave me a light tap on the back. I didn’t know why, but he seemed very pleased.
After viewing Hoon’s paintings, Bang Tae-ho let out a hollow laugh.
There were many good works, but none moved him quite like Sunflowers did.
He was struggling with that disappointment when Hoon stepped up first.
Told him to return in three months.
So he never planned to exhibit them yet.
It’s easy to ask someone to come back once you’ve produced better work, but—
Not when that someone is the curator of WH BaEum Art Museum.
The most visited museum in Korea. Simply being invited there is a huge deal.
Especially working with Curator Bang Tae-ho—most artists would do anything to pitch their work.
But this ten-year-old boy was different.
He might not understand how big an honor it is to be invited to WH BaEum—
But the fact that he could objectively judge his own work as not exhibition-ready—that was impressive.
More than that—
He said he was practicing.
And yet he didn’t hesitate to show his rough pieces.
Was it innocence of youth?
Most would be embarrassed to show their lack of skill.
But Hoon showed everything—flaws and all.
There were a few works that could be shown in an exhibit already, but Bang Tae-ho chose to trust Hoon—
And the Sunflowers he had seen with his own eyes.
In three months, how many works will he have? He’s going on a trip too… maybe four or five if we’re lucky.
Not quite enough for a solo show.
But Bang Tae-ho, who had entered the art world through Van Gogh’s Starry Night, placed his hopes on Hoon—who reminded him so much of Van Gogh himself.
