In my past life… or rather, my previous life.
When I was working as an assistant to a resident artist at a large gallery operated by a major corporation, I once asked this question:
“Artist Oh Yujin, would you say having awards from competitions is crucial for being an artist in Korea? It’s like a portfolio you can show before hosting a solo exhibition, right?”
“Hmm… I’m not sure.”
Oh Yujin gave a bitter smile and shook her head.
“Competitions rely heavily on the judges’ evaluations, which can be subjective. Even if those evaluations are backed by the judges’ authority… unless you’re dealing with extremely authoritarian curators, it doesn’t hold much weight. Plus, winning paintings are usually those that ‘fit the competition’s theme,’ not necessarily ones that are commercially or aesthetically ‘outstanding.’ It’s a difficult question to answer.”
It seemed like a question too complex to give a definitive answer in the art world, tangled with all sorts of unique cases and intricate interests.
Still, I persisted in questioning her as she shrugged her shoulders.
“So you’re saying that competition awards have no connection to an artist’s career?”
“Ah, that’s also a tricky question. For an artist with no track record, the title of ‘competition winner’ can serve as a name tag to present to the public. Artists ultimately thrive on attention…”
After pondering seriously for a while, Oh Yujin finally spoke.
“Do you think a rookie singer who beats a ten-year veteran on a televised singing competition can suddenly top the Billboard charts?”
“Huh? No…”
“Why not?”
I answered cautiously.
“Well, it could be that they won the competition due to good song selection and luck. The competition only tests their performance on that program, not their ability to consistently produce great songs in the future. So, winning the competition doesn’t guarantee that they’ll create popular or iconic songs afterward, right?”
Oh Yujin clapped her small hands lightly.
“Wow… Great insight, Go Hun. Even I hadn’t thought that far. Honestly, that’s a better answer than what most undergrad art students would give.”
Oh Yujin, despite being only two or three years older than me, tapped my shoulder like a teacher.
‘Well, she is a teacher. She has a master’s degree from the New York School of Arts and occasionally teaches as a lecturer at domestic universities.’
Then, she smiled bashfully.
“You already knew the answer, didn’t you?”
“Did I?”
“But.”
“But?”
“Just by beating that veteran singer once in the competition, the rookie got an opportunity to perform in front of more people.”
“…An opportunity.”
Oh Yujin nodded.
“Yes, an opportunity. The essence of art isn’t competition, so winning competitions doesn’t guarantee success, but they can serve as a chance to step onto the stage. That’s my answer.”
“I see. Thank you.”
“Of course, true ‘geniuses’ don’t obsess over every single opportunity. Like a nail in a pocket, they just naturally stand out at some point. But for people like ‘us,’ those who aren’t like natural disasters, it’s something we have to think about.”
“…Ordinary?”
Ordinary? Coming from someone working in one of Korea’s top-tier galleries?
Then who were these ‘geniuses’ Oh Yujin referred to?
‘Geniuses like natural disasters…’
But Oh Yujin spoke with conviction.
“Yes, for people like me or Go Hun… every single opportunity is precious.”
“I… I see. Thank you for answering such a difficult question.”
Oh Yujin giggled as she watched me bow my head in thanks.
Despite her age, she had a lot of laughter.
Finally, she added one last remark.
“Ultimately, surviving depends on the capabilities of that rookie singer who won the competition. But I think ‘he’ might actually pull it off.”
“Now then, let’s get back to work.”
“Oh, yes!”
Oh Yujin always respected me by calling me ‘artist’ even though I hadn’t even graduated properly.
“Is it just one?”
“Sorry?”
“Should I explain it again?”
“Oh, no, I got it. It’s the Youth Art Competition, right?”
I quickly responded to the voice of Teacher Lim Ahra over the phone.
‘Youth Art Competition…’
Since returning to life as an elementary school girl, I’d come across various school art competitions.
But I never found them particularly interesting, so I submitted works out of obligation and paid them no mind.
‘Joining small competitions where kids exchange grades or stationery wouldn’t benefit me, and it would just be a nuisance.’
In fact, most youth art competitions organized by education departments or art centers were quite similar.
What could you expect from children with no deep knowledge of the humanities or significant life experiences?
Basic ideas.
Understanding of drawing fundamentals.
Proper use of materials.
If they met these criteria, awards were distributed based on skill level.
Even this could seem like a high barrier to those uninterested in art.
However, the artists I knew regarded these competitions as little more than experiences to include in their resumes before applying to universities.
So I was about to decline again this time, but…
Lim Ahra’s next words made me flinch.
“This time, the competition is hosted by a major corporation… HU Group, which is this huge company. It’s called the <Hanul Youth Art Contest>, and I hear it’s really hard to enter.”
“…Hanul?”
“Oh, you know it?”
“That ‘Hanul Comprehensive Arts School’?”
“Yes, that’s the one! I didn’t know much about it either, but someone at the magazine’s editorial office recommended you for it because of your talent. They even wrote a recommendation letter for you.”
I gulped while half-listening to her attempt to explain it in terms suitable for an elementary schooler.
‘This just got big.’
<Hanul Comprehensive Arts School>.
The only boarding school in Korea dedicated to integrated middle and high school arts education.
Established by HU Group’s education foundation, the school was infamous for its exclusivity and prestige.
It was the epitome of an elite circle in the art world.
‘Didn’t Artist Oh Yujin graduate from Hanul too?’
If a competition hosted by a school like Hanul was on the table, it was practically a gateway for amateur artists.
But, of course, you couldn’t just walk in with an application form.
You’d need a recommendation letter from a major publication or a regional education office to even be considered.
The sheer scale of the opportunity made my heart race.
While it was still a youth competition, the stage size was entirely different.
‘I didn’t have a single chance like this in my past life…’
An incredible opportunity had suddenly appeared.
‘How did Teacher Lim Ahra even come across this?’
What should I do?
People like me or Go Hun… for us ‘ordinary people,’ every opportunity is precious.
I had nothing to say.
‘Right. If even someone who graduated from the New York School of Arts says every chance matters, who am I to sit here arrogantly debating it?’
Even at this very moment, time continues to flow, and I have no idea how many more “opportunities” will come my way.
‘If I stay like this, I’ll just keep drawing unnoticed pictures until I fade away.’
I changed my mind.
It’s earlier than I expected, but it’s about time to face something head-on, somewhere.
I told Teacher Lim Ahra,“Yes, I’ll participate in the <Hanul Youth Art Contest>.”
“So, in other words… huh? What did you just say, Hana?”
“I’ll enter the contest.”
Hearing my response, Teacher Lim Ahra practically jumped for joy.
“Oh? Ohhh~! Really? That’s great! Yes! You can definitely do it! Yes, yes! I’ll handle the application and communication! Let’s give it our best!”
“Thank you for taking care of the difficult part for me.”
“Haha, the difficult part now is what you have to do, right? Oh, and don’t forget to tell your uncle, okay?”
“Yes, I’ll make sure to let him know. Thank you so much, teacher.”
“Alright~ Sorry for calling so late! Enjoy your spring break!”
I bowed my head sincerely over the phone.
“…Thank you, teacher.”
After hanging up, I turned around to find a man in his thirties wearing bright red thermal underwear lying sideways, staring blankly at me.
The TV in the living room, left on in the background, had shifted from the evening quiz show to the news.
The man in the red thermals snorted as he looked at me.
“Hmph…”
“…What?”
Despite his strange outfit and odd noise, he was my dear uncle.
To be fair, I was wearing a stretched-out T-shirt with black thermal pants underneath, so I wasn’t in a position to comment on his fashion choices.
My uncle, Park Taeoh, scratched his back and said,“Hana, you’re entering a contest?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright. When is it?”
“April 1st.”
“Where?”
“Hanul Arts School.”
“The one in Mapo District?”
“No, Gangseo District.”
“I’ll take you there.”
“My homeroom—my former homeroom teacher said she’d take me.”
“This is something your uncle should do, kid.”
“You’re busy. You work six days a week—how would you manage if you took time off for this? You need to maintain your work-life balance.”
“Where do you even pick up phrases like that? And what’s this work-life balance nonsense…?”
“Anyway, I’ll go by myself. If it comes down to it, I’ll just take the bus.”
I said this while lying down beside my uncle in the same casual position.
In a living room without a proper sofa, this was the most comfortable way to watch TV.
The cheap CRT TV, the most expensive item in the house, was airing news about the dramatic events of February 2004.
We stared blankly at the TV like that.
‘Before smartphones, all we could do was zone out in front of the TV. Back then, it was mocked as an idiot box, but compared to 2024, it feels like a detox for dopamine overload…’
As I was thinking about this, Uncle Park Taeoh spoke seriously.
“Hana, are you going to become an artist someday?”
‘Where did that come from…?’
Well, this was a one-room apartment without a single partition.
In the corner of the room were sketchbooks I’d bought with my pocket money, piling up.
He must’ve flipped through them a few times.
He’d know I had an interest in art after seeing those.
What would he say if I replied “Yes”?
Would he go overboard, like in my previous life, and insist on enrolling me in an art academy?
Or, surprisingly, would he oppose the idea because I was now a girl?
While I was lost in thought, Uncle continued,“If you’re going to be an artist, let me brag during your biography interview someday, saying, ‘I’m the one who took Go Hana to her first art contest.’
It’d be sad if you grew up and left without me having done anything for you.”
He believed in me.
I couldn’t help but nod at those words.
“…Okay.”
“Alright, let’s go together.”
“Okay.”
As I silently felt moved, Uncle suddenly said something out of the blue.
“But Hana, if you’re entering Hanul’s contest, does that mean you’re competing against that kid?”
“Competing? It’s just an art contest.”
“Really…? Then why is that interview so dramatic?”
‘…TH?’
I followed my uncle’s finger to the TV screen.
There, a girl surrounded by a swarm of reporters was being interviewed.
“Granddaughter of the HU Group chairman, youngest participant at the New York Art Fair, and a genius artist who’s swept through various competitions, <Hanul Comprehensive Arts School> middle school first-year student “Han Mari” returns to Korea”
“Upon returning, her first decision was to participate in the <Hanul Youth Art Contest>”
Han Mari.
As soon as I saw that unique name, a chill ran down my spine.
A memory buried deep in my mind surfaced.
Uncle muttered indifferently, “Wasn’t it when you were in first grade? You said you wanted to be like her.”
“Me?”
It was something from before my regression.
“Yeah, after seeing her exhibition, you said you wanted to become a genius like that… don’t you remember?”
I remembered.
‘Me…?’
– ‘Miss Mari, you’ve already been working as a professional artist in the U.S. Why did you decide to enter this competition?’
On screen, the genius tilted her head and replied in a dreamy voice,
– ‘It looked fun.’
Oh Yujin was right.
Geniuses approach like natural disasters.