Can Murder Be a Workplace Accident? Chapter 3.1

The flower of the gallery was, without a doubt, the exhibition.

This was because, to the average person, a gallery was a place one came to see paintings. From planning, artwork installation, catalog production, and ticket and merchandise design all the way to publicity, the gallery poured all its efforts into preparing the exhibition.

If they were lucky, it would be talked about on social media, and if it showed signs of becoming a hit through word of mouth, news companies, broadcasting stations, or magazine publishers would come in for coverage. If an article went out with keywords like ‘weekend date recommendation’, from then on, it would sail along smoothly as if with a favorable wind.

From the organizer’s perspective, the most important thing in an exhibition was, in the end, the revenue. Assuming a ticket was ten thousand won, if just ten thousand visitors came during the one-and-a-half to two-month exhibition period, an income of one hundred million won would be generated.

Naturally, the total number of visitors exceeded ten thousand. It didn’t stop at ticket purchases but also led to merchandise sales and registration for educational programs, so the expected profit the gallery anticipated each time an exhibition was held was around four hundred million won.

Easier said than done. Four hundred million was a very large sum of money. However, it was impossible to buy a 6.1-billion-won masterpiece like this Youhwan with the income earned from holding two large-scale exhibitions and ten small-scale exhibitions a year.

In that it was the subject of many people’s gossip, the exhibition was also the flower of the gallery, but from an insider’s perspective, there was a different reason for calling it the flower.

To the curators working at the gallery, an exhibition was a type of showroom, in that it displayed works available for sale.

Unlike public or foundation-affiliated art museums, private galleries had to sell paintings to make a living. The tens of thousands of visitors who paid for tickets were important, but not more so than the single high-roller who purchased one large painting.

To put it bluntly, what was called an exhibition at a gallery was a product display case cleverly disguised by the word ‘curating’. In particular, large-scale exhibitions with names like ‘special’ or ‘planned’ were no different from a major department store’s special product fair.

If one were to ask why, then, they mobilized curators to attach long, complicated, and incomprehensible explanations—that even the speaker likely didn’t understand—to what should be the simple task of acquiring and hanging expensive, so-called luxury artworks, the answer would have to be because of the special nature of the ‘art’ product.

The wealthy who purchased such things emphasized that they were paying tens, or hundreds of billions of won not for a mere sheet of paper, but for the artistic value attached to that work. They were purchasing value, not paint slathered on paper. But funnily enough, the buyers also couldn’t stand for the monetary value they paid to decline.

The professional who dug into this dualistic niche was the gallery curator. They selected artists and artworks whose monetary value would be maintained, or would rise, and attached all sorts of academic discourse to them to create a value worth paying for.

The final outcome of the exhibition depended on how well this work was done. The curator’s aesthetic eye, academic knowledge, ability to recruit artists and works, and even the ability to filter out artists who might cause trouble and bring down the artwork’s price—all of these abilities had to be fully mobilized to achieve the best results for the gallery to sell paintings and for the curator’s own value to rise.

Even if an exhibition drew a hundred thousand visitors, if not a single painting was sold, it was nothing but a failure.

“The theme of this planned exhibition is ‘portraits’?”

A long silence fell over the conference room after Curator Songhee’s presentation. The friendly atmosphere from lunchtime felt like a lie. No one even thought to turn on the lights that had been switched off.

“…Yes, that’s correct. Director.”

Songhee, who had her hands neatly folded in front of her, clutched the laser pointer in her hand. Throughout the presentation, she had tried to meet the new director’s eyes to read his expression, but he just tilted his head and stared intently at the screen.

“Hmm…”

She couldn’t figure out if that long, drawn-out sound he made was because he liked the proposal’s contents or because he disliked them. Even when the other curators secretly gave her a thumbs-up after the presentation, saying she did a good job, she was only anxious.

The new director had yet to say a word after his perfunctory question asking about the theme written on the proposal’s cover.

Help me, Chief Curator!

Songhee urgently turned her eyes toward Min Isak. The chief curator’s seat was to the director’s left. Wouldn’t the chief curator be able to guess the director’s intentions?

Glancing over, she saw him leaning back in his chair, having taken off his glasses and now sweeping back his bangs. That was, without a doubt, a bad sign.

We’re going to get torn apart.

She bit her lip. The other curator and the exhibition designer who had co-authored the proposal also clenched their fists.

“Who decided on the theme?”

“Yes! The former director decided it.”

Min Isak buried his face in his hands and wiped it down. The other staff, including Baek Girim, glared at her.

“…Ah, we all decided it together! I misspoke when I said it was a theme decided when the former director was here. We all decided on the theme together!”

Silence followed again.

The air was even heavier than when she had finished the presentation. Some staff members rubbed their solar plexus, feeling like they would get indigestion, while others, at a loss for what to do with their hands on the desk, pretended to drink coffee from an empty paper cup.

Taking comfort in the whirring of the air conditioner and the beam projector, the staff members barely endured the silent reprimand. If not for those sounds, some faint-hearted person might have already screamed and run out.

Thud. Rattle…

The metal laser pointer slipped from her sweaty hand. The sound of it rolling across the tile floor seemed exceptionally loud. Songhee hurriedly bent down to pick up the dropped object.

“Chief Curator Min.”

Breaking the silence, Namgung Tree finally opened his mouth.

“A new director has arrived, yet you push ahead with a theme decided by the former director. What are your thoughts on that?”

It was a fundamental challenge. The displeasure was evident on his scowling face.

“Isn’t this a bit… rude?”

The staff clammed up like shells.

Even if it was something already decided, it was the duty of a South Korean office worker to make the impossible possible at a superior’s command. After all, even national policies that needed to maintain consistency were overturned from the ground up when a new president took office.

As large as Gallery Spring was, it wasn’t as big as the country. The nation wouldn’t fall, nor would anyone die, just because one exhibition theme changed. Namgung Tree’s point was valid.

“Chief Curator Min. If your subordinate was going to present a proposal with the existing theme, shouldn’t you have stepped in and ordered a change? Why are you making me say something harsh about such a basic issue?”

Namgung Tree’s reprimand fell not on Songhee, but on Min Isak. The tension that had made her shoulders rise fell away. It was out of relief at having escaped the immediate scolding. The other staff members also turned their heads away from Min Isak.

“Surely, you don’t still think Lee Yanghee is the director, do you? Or is it that you don’t want to acknowledge me as the director, is that it?”

“…No, sir.”

Min Isak denied his words in a small voice. But from the way he held his head stiffly with only his eyes lowered, one couldn’t find any sign of him admitting fault.

“That must be it. Is that why you didn’t inform me about today’s exhibition planning report meeting? Are you trying to bypass me and hold a retrospective exhibition for the former director’s achievements?”

“…”

His impudent attitude was extremely infuriating.

They said he’d worked with Lee Yanghee for a long time, and his loyalty to her seemed immense. He even turned a blind eye to her sleeping her way up, so they must be in cahoots. In that case, they should have left holding hands. Why is he pulling this crap in front of my face?

The speech that had begun in a low voice ended with a scattering of papers.

He felt it might be excessive. But Namgung Tree made no effort to hide his anger. The staff, including Min Isak, had to consider him their top priority. Because the director of Gallery Spring was no longer Lee Yanghee.

If he didn’t put a stop to this the first time it happened, it would happen again and again.

If there were traces of Lee Yanghee left in the first exhibition he was in charge of as director, there could be nothing more ridiculous.

“I apologize, Director.”

Amid the silence, a wooden chair was pushed back with a blood-curdling screech. Min Isak, who had risen from his seat, bowed at a ninety-degree angle toward Namgung Tree.

“I have no excuse for this happening at our very first meeting, but I would be grateful if you would give me a chance to explain.”

Min Isak said, his head bowed toward the floor. There was no excitement, nor any sense of injustice, in his voice.

“Explain? …You mean make an excuse.”

“…”

He silently maintained his bowed posture. In modern Korean society, where social status has disappeared, bowing at a ninety-degree angle to someone was a near-complete act of submission.

Min Isak did not raise his head even after the customary time for such a bow had passed. It was as if he was trying to show with his own body that the person he must be loyal to was not Lee Yanghee, but Namgung Tree.

Namgung Tree lifted his chin and took a deep breath. He nodded and crossed his arms.

“Fine. I’ll give you the stage. Raise your head and let’s hear what you have to say.”

Permission was readily granted.

Min Isak quickly straightened his posture. It was quite pathetic to see him trying to stand straight, stumbling a couple of times as dizziness washed over him from having lifted his bowed head so abruptly.

Blinking his eyes rapidly, as if to fight off the dizziness, Min Isak spoke.

“Ms. Lee Yanghee has broken the embargo.3)”

“Oh, has she?”

Just moments ago he had been calling her ‘the former director’ or ‘former Director Lee Yanghee’, but he had now lowered her title to ‘Ms. Lee Yanghee’. Depending on how one heard it, it could even feel like a contemptuous form of address.

It seemed his threat asking if he didn’t know who the new boss was had worked. Leaning back in his chair, he tapped his shoulder with his fingers before uncrossing his arms.

“Lee Yanghee did?”

Namgung Tree dropped even the word ‘Ms.’ The content of what Min Isak had said was serious enough to make one wonder if he was crazy for even attaching that dependent noun ‘Ms.’ to her name.

“Fuck.”

A raw curse immediately burst out.

The horrified staff flinched. It took some time for them to realize that the contempt-filled curse was directed at Lee Yanghee.

“If you’re going to leave, leave gracefully. Has she lost her mind? She has no business ethics.”

The direction of the anger sharply pivoted from internal to external. Once it became known that the cause of this mess was Lee Yanghee, the staff members, as if finally relieved, straightened their stiff postures.

On the contrary, as if they could attack her at any moment, they began to grumble amongst themselves, recalling the corruption and abuses of power Lee Yanghee had committed.

“How far has it spread?”

He asked, his voice somewhat mollified.

“To major media outlets, our exclusive artists, and… our VIP clients.”

“Was it impossible to handle it at the chief curator’s level?”

“…”

Only after that remark did Min Isak’s face become colored with humiliation and guilt. His expression confessed that he had attempted to resolve it, but it had been beyond his abilities.

“…I have no excuse.”

He bowed to Namgung Tree once again.

“No matter how much of a chief curator you are, what can you do when your words don’t carry the same weight as the director’s?”

Namgung Tree, surprisingly, defended Min Isak.

It truly was a matter beyond his control. Moreover, people would have been even more intrigued by the attitude of someone pushed out of their position by the owner’s son, ready to expose anything and everything.

It was a situation that could only be resolved by the director or someone of a higher rank.

“Is the owner aware of this?”

“Yes, I reported it to him. At the same time, I suggested changing the exhibition theme, but I was instructed to proceed as planned, as this matter is directly linked to the gallery’s credibility.”

“…Lee Yanghee.”

Namgung Tree clutched his head. Was the position of director at Spring so great that someone, whom he had never even met, would harbor such animosity just for being pushed out of the seat? Namgung Tree was afraid to even imagine how far this person’s hostility might have spread.

The most important thing collectors considered when purchasing a painting was the gallery’s reputation. Reputation was, in short, credibility.

Exhibitions at a particularly successful gallery drew many eyes even before they began. This was because even if a work wasn’t selected for the exhibition due to space limitations, collectors would be hell-bent on acquiring other works by the exhibiting artist or paintings in a similar style.

When an exhibition was successful, it led to a corresponding rise in prices, not only in the auction market but also in transactions between private collectors. In the case of a rookie artist, simply having participated in that exhibition could fill up their production schedule for years to come.

Skill attracted reputation, and reputation attracted more artists and works. And that, in the end, brought in greater income. This was why collectors paid keen attention to exhibitions at famous art museums.

For the past few years, Gallery Spring had been at the forefront of the trend. Every exhibition it held was a massive hit, and it held sway over market prices. It was difficult to even count how many artists and artworks had blossomed at the hands of its curators.

Given this situation, for Gallery Spring, the leak of an exhibition theme was as big a deal as an exam paper being leaked in advance. And a malicious Lee Yanghee wouldn’t have just leaked the theme.

She probably would have spread all sorts of comments disparaging Namgung Tree, saying ‘I told you so’ whether he changed the theme or pushed ahead with it. She wouldn’t have left out saying she was better than a parachute hire, either.

It’s so hard to inherit your parents’ fortune.

Namgung Tree grimly chewed over the words Printemps Kim had left him with. ‘I might not know, but Father hasn’t decided to hand the gallery over to you yet.’ He could see his father’s intention to watch how he handled the first exhibition before making a decision.

It wasn’t as if there was no solution.

“Alright. Let’s proceed with the exhibition theme as is, without any changes.”

At his attitude, which seemed to show he had relented, the staff let out small cheers. There were even staff members who whispered that the new director was better than Lee Yanghee, saying he was reasonable once they explained things.

However, the more senior staff, including Min Isak, did not relax their guard. It was rare for someone to follow through on an explanation just because it was reasonable. On the contrary, there were more bosses who would rather fail than have their pride wounded.

From his smooth forehead, thick and high nose, and fully lifted face, one could feel not just superiority but even arrogance. Namgung Tree humbly accepting Min Isak’s words? It was hard to believe.

“We just have to do it well.”

Namgung Tree said with a sly smile, as if his mood had lifted.

“Do you know why I asked who decided on this theme?”

The real show was starting.

“It was because I didn’t like it. Ms. Songhee.”

“What? Yes.”

Songhee, who had been sitting in front of her laptop, shot up from her seat.

“The detailed contents of the proposal were also composed by Lee Yanghee, weren’t they?”

“…”

Unable to continue, her gaze wavered anxiously. It was not something she could easily admit. To say it was her own work would be to admit her lack of ability, and to say Lee Yanghee wrote it would mean she hadn’t put in any effort.

“Let’s just say Lee Yanghee wrote it. Shall we?”

This time, he repeated the same question while looking at Min Isak.

“It is a plan that I reviewed in the final stage. If you wish to question the contents of the proposal, you can speak to me.”

Min Isak stepped forward, claiming the fault as his own. As the chief, it was his responsibility. His attitude of trying to protect his subordinate was truly heart-wrenching.

“…Ms. Songhee must be happy. To have such a good chief curator. Your self-sacrifice is incredible.”

He was openly sarcastic. Is this why, even as a chief curator, he has to go around sleeping with people? Because he has to work with people like these? How ridiculous.

Was his leadership good, or was he just naive? No matter how much he protected them like that, when the time came, they would turn their backs on Min Isak just as they had turned their backs on Lee Yanghee. That was the way of the world.

“In that case, as the one who tied the knot should be the one to untie it, Chief Curator Min can take responsibility for everything.”

“Responsibility? …When you say responsibility, from where to where does that extend?”

He asked back.

The scope was imprecise. Even if he were told to take responsibility for the entire gallery, it was impossible from the position of chief curator, so his responsibilities and authority needed to be clarified.

“I will entrust this exhibition to Chief Curator Min. You must make this exhibition a success. If it doesn’t meet my standards, you’re really fired.”

He looked up at Min Isak askance. The glare directed at him was like a blade, impossible to avoid.

“Surely, you didn’t challenge me without being prepared to give up your position, did you?”

Feeling a surge of anger, he provoked him further with humiliating words.

“…”

“Why are you silent? You can’t do it? Then give up the chief curator position. I can just give it to someone who can do a better job.”

Min Isak, who stood with his hands behind his back, tilted his head to the side.

“What the?”

Surprisingly, he was smiling faintly.

“Yes, I understand. Being told to take responsibility from beginning to end makes me feel good, and brings back old memories for the first time in a while.”

With a broad smile, he bent his upper body and picked up a planner and pen that were on the desk. The way he opened the planner while standing and slowly checked his schedule was strangely theatrical.

“Will one week be enough?”

He asked Namgung Tree. Namgung Tree was quite taken aback by the sudden change in his attitude. He strongly felt that he had been drawn into something.

“For what?”

“I’m talking about the proposal report. Will one week be enough?”

“What did you say?”

Although he had blamed Lee Yanghee, the proposal Songhee had presented was the result of a month of deliberation, with participation from not only her but also junior curators and an exhibition designer. He was now boasting that he would complete and bring back a project that required changing everything but the theme in just one week.

“F-fine, do that.”

“Excellent. In that case, Director, please step out of the conference room now.”

“Huh? Why?”

“We need to have a meeting to delegate tasks. For you to attend that as well, the meeting would be a bit… boring.”

He had nothing more to say to that confident attitude.

Awkwardly, Namgung Tree lifted his hips from the chair, embarrassed that he had charged in for the kill.

Even before he left the conference room, Min Isak began to preside over the meeting. The staff, focused on him, didn’t even see Namgung Tree leave.

“Turn on the lights before you have your meeting.”

Finding the sight irritating, Namgung Tree turned on all the lights that had been off and left.

A week later, Namgung Tree received the exhibition proposal from Min Isak.

‘The Painter’s Portrait’.

It was an exhibition planned with the intention of focusing on the image of the painter, who existed outside the frame, despite having lived as the creator of the paintings. The content was something that could garner empathy without being biased toward a specific artist or style. It was incomparably better than the initial proposal, which had only pushed for popular recognition by recruiting Andy Warhol’s Marilyn.

Why ‘The Painter’s Portrait’ of all things? Even a trivial keyword brought back a forgotten memory. Namgung Tree tapped the proposal with his fingertips, as if anxious.

“What’s today’s class?”

“They said it’s a sketch of the human head?”

“Ah, so boring. Sketching again? I thought we’d learn something different in high school.”

The students grumbled but set up their easels in the classroom. It was time for the class of Choi Sunho, who was known for being strict.

‘If you don’t like it, don’t do it. There are plenty of other paths.’ 

Choi Sunho was the only teacher who would say such things to young students who thought quitting would be the end of the world.