June 2007, a week before the Biennale opening.
The early summer breeze was cool.
The two-month-long installation period had come to an end. Surrounded by lush trees and waterways, Venice’s Giardini Park and its exhibition halls were now preparing to welcome visitors ahead of the grand opening.
VIPs, journalists, and art professionals from around the world were arriving one after another.
Since this was an exhibition featuring the world’s top contemporary artists, the preview period for experts was being held before the general public opening.
Under the bright blue early summer sky, an orange boat a water bus gently rode the rippling canal and arrived at the Giardini Park.
Stepping off the boat were a man and a woman in their early to mid-forties. They were Ahn Soo-young and Jung Jeonjin, two adjunct professors from Hanul School of Fine Arts.
Ahn Soo-young stretched as she pushed up her sunglasses. A faint crackling sound came from her spine beneath her white blouse.
“Ugh… Getting older really takes a toll. My back hurts so much I can’t even sit for long periods anymore. Once we finish attending the Biennale preview and the awards ceremony today and tomorrow, we have to rush back to Korea for the students’ entrance exams. I hope they pass smoothly in one go, like Yujin did last year…”
“Isn’t it a teacher’s job to make that happen?”
“Well… Yeah, I suppose so. I was just complaining about the long trip.”
Ahn Soo-young cleared her throat and changed the subject.
“Hmph, in New York, you just hop on the subway, and you’re there in no time. But European cities are like a tangled mess. Can’t they just lay the roads out nice and straight?”
“That’s how it is with newer places like America. Other countries have traditions.”
“…”
Despite the temperature exceeding 25 degrees, Jung Jeonjin was dressed in a black suit.
Ahn Soo-young eyed him and grumbled.
“…Honestly, it’s exhausting.”
Jung Jeonjin, still looking at his phone, replied indifferently.
“If you’re tired, you can head back to the hotel first.”
“What? Haha! Professor Jung, you actually joke? Why do you think we came all this way?”
“I’m not joking.”
“…”
‘Ah, this guy is seriously the same as ever.’
Was he looking down on her just because she was an artist from the U.S.?
Clicking her tongue, Ahn Soo-young put her sunglasses back on. The two of them stood in silence for a moment as numerous art professionals and VIPs from around the world passed by, chatting noisily.
“…”
“…”
“Professor Jung.”
“?”
Jung Jeonjin finally looked up from his phone.
Ahn Soo-young raised her eyebrows slightly behind her sunglasses.
“…Aren’t we going in?”
“You go ahead.”
“What? We’re here together, aren’t we? And I heard they check the identities of all invited guests. Our group’s representative name is listed under you.”
“I can explain if needed.”
“…Forget it.”
After a few minutes of silence, Jung Jeonjin finally put his phone away in his pocket.
“…Fine. Let’s go now.”
“Who was that? A girlfriend you left behind in Germany?”
“It was a mentor of mine—one of the Biennale judges. I met him back at university in Germany. He just shared some information about this year’s judging process.”
“!”
Ahn Soo-young’s eyes widened in surprise. Instantly, the young artist they had come to see flashed through her mind.
‘No way…!’
“…H-hmm. And what did he say?”
“He said they will give the awards to the artists who truly deserve them.”
“…”
This was bad. Talking to these rigid, by-the-book Germans would drive her crazy.
‘So, in short… he means that this year’s jury doesn’t have any politically favored artists…’
‘But at the same time, they’re not going to give out awards just because someone is young.’
There were four awards that participants in the Venice Biennale could win, the Golden Lion (Grand Prize), the Lifetime Achievement Award, the Special Award, and the Silver Lion (Emerging Artist Award).
In Ahn Soo-young’s mind, the most realistic target for Go Hana was… the Silver Lion.
It was the most achievable goal.
For an Asian artist in a Europe-centered competition, this was, realistically, the highest possible honor. It was the ultimate prize that countless Asian artists aimed for.
‘If the jury was feeling sentimental, I thought Go Hana might get extra points for being young…’
But if Jung Jeonjin’s mentor was right, that possibility had just vanished.
Ahn Soo-young let out a complicated sigh.
“I wonder if Hana’s been holding up well…”
Honestly, making it this far was already a huge success. Just being invited to an international Biennale and having an exhibition was enough to secure Go Hana’s status as a promising new artist.
But.
But…
“…”
Ahn Soo-young could still picture the scruffy little “Thumbelina” she had met back in elementary school. A child who, without any formal education, could create breathtaking pieces as if it were second nature. That kind of overwhelming talent—she had been beyond imagination.
“…If Go Hana was the kind of artist who showed that level of skill from the start, I feel like she might just exceed all expectations again.”
“…Perhaps she will.”
“What?”
Ahn Soo-young turned to Jung Jeonjin, startled.
It was the first time she had ever heard him compliment a student.
“Professor Jung, you do say nice things about students sometimes.”
“What are you talking about? Go Hana is not my student.”
“…Huh?”
“She has already perfected her philosophy, technique, knowledge, and goals… A student like that isn’t a student at all. She’s just a new artist who happens to share the same space as us. I’ve always seen her that way.”
“…”
“Go Hana and I are simply fellow artists. I have no right to evaluate her. All I can do is support her if she works hard.”
“…I can’t tell if you’re strict or kind.”
“More importantly, it’s time to enter. Let’s go.”
Jung Jeonjin abruptly ended the conversation and strode forward.
Ahn Soo-young watched him for a moment before sighing again.
“…After all that waiting, and he just walks off.”
*
The Biennale hall they entered felt like a small town in the midst of a grand festival. Amidst parks with streams of blue water flowing through them, exhibition halls in vivid colors were arranged like a village.
The artworks in each hall were either by world-renowned masters or emerging artists receiving global attention.
It truly felt like an international art festival.
Naturally, the first place Ahn Sooyoung and Jung Junjin headed toward was the Korean Pavilion. After all, the star of this biennale at least in the hearts of Koreans was likely preparing their exhibition there.
As Jung Junjin studied the map, he spoke.
“The Korean Pavilion is just ahead.”
“Huh? There are a lot of people gathered there.”
“The exhibition has already begun.”
“…Ha.”
Ahn Sooyoung decided not to make any more remarks in her mind.
They made their way through the murmuring crowd.
The Korean Pavilion was situated in a serene space in front of a fountain.
At that moment, a man’s voice reached them. It was British English, spoken with a peculiar accent.
—Ugh, damn it. If it’s modern art, they might as well just put a dot on the canvas…!
“!”
“!”
Ahn Sooyoung and Jung Junjin turned toward the voice.
A man dressed in an impeccably tailored suit stood near the fountain, quietly sobbing. People around him patted his shoulder as if they understood.
—George, are you okay?
—Yeah… No… It’s just… I… I have a lot on my mind.
—I see, I understand. You’ve been through that phase too.
—Damn it, I can’t stop crying like some girl.
—Who would have thought that the great George would cry over an Asian artist’s work?
“…”
“…”
Jung Junjin studied the man’s face closely before speaking.
“…George Ashford, the famous stage actor.”
“What? An actor?”
“He was born into a working-class family and found success as a stage actor later in life. His recent play Amidst the Ashes was a huge success across Europe.”
Ahn Sooyoung turned back to look at the weeping man.
For a long moment, he gazed wistfully at the entrance of the Korean Pavilion before slowly walking away.
The place he had been staring at bore a simple title.
Walking Together
As people emerged from the small entrance, their expressions varied. Some tilted their heads as if they didn’t understand. Others murmured, “That was heartbreaking,” their faces heavy with emotion.
And then there were those like George, moved to tears by something profound.
But regardless of their reactions, everyone who left the Korean Pavilion
took one last, wistful look at the words Walking Together before departing.
Watching them, Ahn Sooyoung felt an inexplicable sense of reverence.
It was the kind of emotional depth only seen in exhibitions by true masters.
“…My god.”
“…”
A familiar voice spoke from behind them.