The Art of Misunderstanding

Had he come alone, Seungjun would undoubtedly have opted for an audio guide. He swallowed a sigh of regret as he gazed intently at a single painting. Author Won Gyuri’s highly abstract style made it challenging to discern her message immediately. ‘It appeared to depict environmental themes, yet the specifics eluded him.’ Lost in thought, Seungjun subtly shifted his gaze to Nam Yiwon. From the casual way Nam Yiwon merely skimmed the artwork, Seungjun couldn’t gauge his thoughts.

Even if Nam Yiwon wasn’t intimately familiar with Author Won Gyuri’s oeuvre, his frequent visits to exhibitions suggested he possessed his own unique approach to appreciating art. Seungjun cleared his throat with a deliberate ‘ahem’ before speaking.

“What kind of painting do you think it is?”

“I’m not sure. The colors are pretty. They use contrasting colors so freely.”

Nam Yiwon’s observation was glaringly obvious, a mere surface-level remark. While Seungjun hadn’t anticipated such a shallow assessment, he found himself without any other pertinent questions to pose.

‘He had foolishly hoped for a more profound discussion.’ Seungjun followed in Nam Yiwon’s wake as he drifted toward the adjacent painting.

“This painting is quite nice too.”

“What kind of painting is this? It seems to depict nature. This reddish color somehow looks like water.”

Seungjun made a concerted effort to interpret the piece. Given the exhibition’s overarching theme of nature and environment, this painting, too, would undoubtedly align with it. He reasoned that since Author Won Gyuri was renowned for her innovative and unconventional color palettes, she would deliberately avoid depicting water in its traditional blue hue.

Nam Yiwon read the title attached to the painting.

“Hmm. , then.”

“The sun reflecting on the sea is the theme, but didn’t she intentionally paint this half dark? It means nothing reflects in the water anymore. It signifies water pollution, doesn’t it?”

As Seungjun fervently articulated his analysis, Nam Yiwon, who had been listening in quiet contemplation, let out a soft chuckle. Turning to Seungjun, he posed an entirely different question.

“Why do you think this artist appeals to younger generations?”

“Because it’s abstract, free, and creative. And it carries a social message.”

For Seungjun, well-versed in critics’ columns, the answer came effortlessly. Yet, despite his fluid and articulate response, Nam Yiwon offered no discernible sign of being impressed. He simply continued walking, idly swinging the bouquet he held in his hand.

The subsequent painting proved even more enigmatic. The canvas was awash in a dazzling, vivid blue, punctuated only by scattered yellow dots. As Seungjun scrutinized it, trying to decipher any hidden message, Nam Yiwon broke the silence.

“It’s blue.”

“…Are you stating the obvious?”

“What do you think these yellow parts are?”

“Yellow and blue are complementary colors, so they create contrast. It’s just like the previous painting.”

“Could they be microplastics floating in the vast ocean?”

‘Was this fellow truly serious?’ Seungjun furtively glanced around, relieved that no one was within earshot.

By all accounts, this individual hardly struck him as a connoisseur of art. To simply declare ‘It’s pretty’ or ‘It’s blue’ was a remark even a child could utter. Nam Yiwon exhibited no particular interest in Author Won Gyuri’s work, nor did he seem to derive any profound appreciation from the paintings. Seungjun found himself feeling utterly foolish for having conducted prior research, all in a futile attempt to meet this man’s perceived intellectual level. He narrowed his eyes, fixing his gaze on Nam Yiwon.

“Why do you even come to exhibitions?”

“They’re fun.”

“You like seeing things that are blue and pretty?”

“Yes. I find it very entertaining.”

Nam Yiwon gazed up at the painting before him, a smile gracing his lips. His expression alone could have fooled anyone into believing he was an expert, fully comprehending and relishing the artist’s intent. This, despite his earlier absurd conjecture about microplastics adrift in the boundless sea.

He contemplated the painting for an extended period, his thoughts unfathomable, before finally speaking.

“They say this artist’s work is selling like hotcakes these days.”

‘So that was his true motivation for coming.’ It wasn’t a fervent passion for popular culture that had drawn him here, but rather a casual curiosity about what was currently trending and selling well. Nam Yiwon ambled along, effortlessly bypassing an entire section of the wall, ignoring the artworks with a nonchalant air, not even bothering to offer them a perfunctory glance.

“To attract attention, showmanship is crucial, regardless of the field.”

He mumbled, surveying the exhibition hall. ‘Showmanship? Why the sudden shift in topic?’ Seungjun’s gaze drifted to the paintings Nam Yiwon had so casually disregarded. He found himself intrigued by the artist’s message, a blend of the comprehensible and the utterly perplexing. ‘Perhaps it wasn’t too late to consult the audio guide.’

Nam Yiwon drew closer to Seungjun, who remained engrossed in the artworks, and began to speak, offering unsolicited information.

“The artist collaborates very actively with corporations. They also give lectures, appear on TV shows frequently, and are very active on social media, so they have many followers. It’s said that several popular celebrities, especially those popular with younger audiences, have this artist’s paintings hanging in their homes.”

“That’s impressive.”

“That’s why everyone is curious, isn’t it? Whether that yellow is microplastics, or just paint splattered in a corner.”

Nam Yiwon leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. Though his words were barely audible, a mere murmur against Seungjun’s ear, Seungjun instinctively scanned their surroundings. ‘The artist was undoubtedly somewhere in the exhibition hall; what if they were to overhear such a comment?’

A sigh involuntarily escaped him. He had harbored a fleeting hope of seeing a different facet of Nam Yiwon, but that had proven to be a grave misconception. The reason this man had come here was no different from his motivation for ordering a honeycomb drink at a cafe—purely for the sake of novelty or trend.

Nam Yiwon retreated a few steps, deftly sidestepping the flow of visitors along the designated viewing path. Seungjun followed, a premonition that Nam Yiwon had something further to impart. As soon as Seungjun was close enough, Nam Yiwon’s arm encircled his back in a surprisingly gentle gesture.

“Since we’re meeting today, I thought it would be good to briefly discuss your script, Senior, so I re-read it yesterday. A righteous lawyer who defends wronged people with good intentions. It’s still a good theme, even on a second read.”

‘What ulterior motive was this fellow harboring now?’ Seungjun’s ears perked up, bracing himself for the inevitable ‘but’. Nam Yiwon, gently leading Seungjun forward, continued to speak.

“The episodic structure is good, and while the cases are realistic, the lawyer character, who resolves victims’ grievances, is unrealistically heroic, which people will like. I particularly liked the protagonist of the first episode. The way a family gradually collapses due to a medical accident was well-done.”

Seungjun, who had been listening with a rather glum expression, finally raised his eyes. Nam Yiwon’s face was as impassive as ever, yet there was a subtle, uncharacteristic shift in his demeanor. For that fleeting moment, Seungjun found himself believing that the words were genuinely heartfelt. He couldn’t quite articulate why, but the conviction was undeniable.

Despite this, Seungjun remained silent, bracing himself for the inevitable ‘but’. He reasoned there would be strengths, yes, but also points Nam Yiwon would wish to alter ‘for the sake of a best-selling drama’. Having heard that familiar ‘but’ from the director and the professor countless times, he doubted Nam Yiwon’s rendition would strike him with any renewed impact. However, Nam Yiwon merely offered a quiet smile.

“I look forward to working with you.”

In the very heart of the exhibition hall, he extended the bouquet. The scene itself felt utterly surreal: a vibrant individual presenting a colorful bouquet amidst a kaleidoscope of paintings. Neither his assertions of genuinely appreciating Seungjun’s work nor the astonishing reality that a story Seungjun had nurtured for years was soon to become a drama truly resonated with him. It all left him feeling profoundly adrift and bewildered.

Seungjun accepted the bouquet, a lingering question in his mind: if this indeed were a dream, would it prove to be a nightmare or a harbinger of good fortune?

****

“Let’s overhaul everything, shall we? Starting with the protagonist’s name.”

Nam Yiwon declared, a wide smile gracing his lips, during a full production meeting attended by the CP (Chief Producer) and assistant directors. Seungjun, who had painstakingly prepared, meticulously organizing his original synopsis into a more digestible format, printing handouts for every attendee, and fully intending to spearhead the discussion for his own work, could only stare at Nam Yiwon, utterly dumbfounded.

While Seungjun had anticipated some desired alterations, he was entirely unprepared for Nam Yiwon’s opening gambit at the meeting: ‘Let’s tear everything apart, beginning with the protagonist’s name.’

As Seungjun remained speechless, utterly dumbfounded, Nam Yiwon nonchalantly leafed through the handouts Seungjun had so meticulously prepared, rambling on incessantly.

“And I think it would be good to change the characters a bit. Change the supporting character settings and add about two main characters?”

“Wait, wait.”

Seungjun, who had been listening in a daze, hastily interjected. It felt like only moments ago Nam Yiwon had been smiling radiantly, saying he looked forward to working together, and now he was attempting a complete overhaul of everything from the protagonist to the supporting cast.

“You want to change the settings and add characters? And change the protagonist’s name too?”

“Yes. To make it even more appealing to viewers than it is now?”

Nam Yiwon arched one eyebrow, then casually tossed the handout onto the table. He continued speaking without a pause, as if he had already committed every detail of the content to memory.

“The age range of the protagonist and supporting characters is too high. Ultimately, the audience for this genre of drama is younger people, and if the main and supporting characters are all too old, it inevitably raises a barrier.”

“To prioritize helping people who have been wronged, one needs to handle various cases and develop convictions, so they should be in their late 40s. These days, even after serving in the military and graduating college, people are in their thirties.”

Seungjun calmly countered each point. ‘Forty is hardly considered old these days, and there’s no shortage of charismatic actors in that age bracket.’ ‘To convincingly portray a seasoned lawyer, one simply couldn’t be too young.’

There was no conceivable way he could have failed to comprehend, yet Nam Yiwon’s eyes widened in feigned surprise as he repeated the question.

“So the protagonist had a backstory? In your head, Senior.”

‘That bastard.’

He yearned to strike that smug, curving smirk. Seungjun pressed his tightly clenched fist against his thigh, restraining himself. The protagonist’s backstory wasn’t meant to be elaborately explored in the drama. He had embarked on writing this series with the intention of highlighting the victims’ narratives, rather than focusing solely on the lawyer protagonist. It infuriated him that Nam Yiwon would point out something explicitly stated in the project proposal, feigning a sudden, profound realization.

Perceiving the sudden shift in atmosphere, CP Jo Seonghyeon, who had been silently observing the exchange, intervened to mediate.

“Oh, come on, why are you talking like that again? You’re being mischievous.”

While Seonghyeon worked to defuse the tension, Seungjun deliberately unfolded the first page of his script, where the project proposal was clearly outlined, placing it before him. Then, he lifted his gaze, meeting Nam Yiwon’s eyes directly, eyes that had never once strayed from him.