1988 - Training (2)
1988 - Training (2)
"Excuse me."
"Huh? Who is it?"
"Who does this painting belong to?"
"How should I know? Well, probably some street painter, right?"
"Not the artist. The owner."
"The warehouse owner asked us to throw it away, so we're clearing it out. Why do you ask?"
"Could I buy it? I really like this painting."
"Hmm. If it were mine, I'd just give it to you, but we're getting paid for this job, you know. Then should I give you the warehouse owner's number so you can call?"
The white man, wearing only a shabby t-shirt, said as he thumped the painting down on the ground.
Oh my god!
Do you know how much that's worth?!
That style is definitely Jean-Michel Basquiat.
The American genius painter called the Black Picasso.
Art is something you see as much as you know.
Price aside, art is something that evokes no emotion or inspiration in those who don't know it.
Do you think you'd actually feel overwhelmingly emotional seeing the Mona Lisa in person?
That's nonsense.
You're just moved by self-hypnosis because it's famous.
It's the same reason curators attach all sorts of narratives.
The emotion is heightened because of the backstory; if you just look at it without a curator, you wouldn't think much of it.
But it's different once you study art and can see deeper layers.
From then on, you can actually be moved by looking at a painting.
As for me.
I studied when I needed social activities.
To attract investment funds, such seemingly sophisticated activities were essential.
Though at some point, I came to like the paintings themselves.
'Last work? Or an undiscovered piece?'
I don't know why a Basquiat painting is here like this, or why a work I've never seen before is rolling around like this.
The crown shape visible from a distance, even if not up close.
Looking at Basquiat's signature, I don't think I'm wrong.
'Even if I'm wrong, it doesn't matter.'
Even if it's not a Basquiat painting, it's fine.
Because ultimately, who painted it isn't decided by the artist, but by the appraiser.
"Here you go."
As soon as the workers handed over the number, I took the cell phone from Ara and made the call.
"Oh, so that's a cell phone!"
The workers seemed quite surprised.
Even so, it's not so rare in New York that you'd see a cell phone for the first time.
They must be from out of town.
"Hello."
- Who is this?
The owner of the painting had a young woman's voice.
While I was talking to her, Ara also busily started making calls here and there.
"Yes. Attorney. I need it right away, please."
Preparing to purchase the painting without even being told to.
I like it.
Although the process itself is still unpolished, she seems to be gradually improving as a secretary.
Well, the proper acquisition process for artworks is quite complicated, so it can't be helped.
- That's not a Basquiat painting. We were scammed too.
And the woman I was talking to said that in a voice full of resentment.
I glanced sideways at the painting.
A forgery? That?
"Is that so? I still want to buy it, though."
Impossible.
Unless my eyes are broken, that's a masterpiece.
- He said it himself. That he didn't paint it.
"......Hmm?"
Well, Basquiat is still alive, after all.
He dies this August, right?
There's no way for me to prevent his death.
If it were an accident, maybe, but how do you stop a heroin overdose death?
- Take it if you want. I was going to throw it away anyway.
"Understood. But we also want to handle this properly, so I'll send an attorney."
- That's annoying. Do I have any reason to make time? Just take it.
"I'll compensate you. How much do you want?"
- Then give me about two thousand dollars.
"Agreed."
We decided to complete the transaction in Florida and hung up.
And not long after, the people Ara called started loading the painting onto a trailer.
"Well done."
I said, patting Ara's head.
To even arrange a place to store the painting, this is excellent to the point of being excessive for an intern secretary.
"......"
"Why?"
Does she not like being petted?
Her lips jutted out about 10 millimeters more.
But even if she dislikes head pats, I like it, so it doesn't matter.
"Ara."
"Yes."
"Investigate the backstory of that painting."
It's probably really painted by Basquiat.
For some reason, he must be lying.
"First, interview Basquiat."
"Is it really painted by him?"
"In my opinion. Record the reason why he's denying it."
"Huh? Record?"
"Yeah."
"Isn't that illegal?"
"Of course it's illegal. I'm not going to use it right away anyway, so it doesn't matter."
No one expected that he, only seven years older than me, would die like that.
Not even himself.
So we just need evidence that he acknowledged the work during his lifetime.
If he tries to say it's off the record and lie, we'll just do that much.
Then that story will raise the painting's price.
Since I have no intention of selling it while he's alive anyway, just collecting records is enough.
"As you do this, you'll get a slightly better sense of what secretary work is."
The process of collecting those records itself is a test and training for Ara.
Once she finishes this task, she'll have built up considerable work know-how in her own way.
"Okay. But is that painting really that good? It just looks like scribbles to me."
"It's hard to explain because what's good or bad differs from person to person. Just think of it as roughly thirty million dollars."
"Thirty million?!"
"If you're very lucky, you could even hope for a hundred million."
"Hundred million?!"
Ara's eyebrows twitched strangely.
That childlike scribble of a painting is worth decades of her salary.
It's understandable to be baffled.
"Picking up tens of millions of dollars on the street. Lucky."
"......Congratulations?"
Ara, still seeming not to believe it, tilting her head questioningly but congratulating me.
"And anyway, I'm not planning to put it on the market."
There's one person on Wall Street who's crazy about Basquiat's works.
To be precise, crazy about artworks.
Not a vain nouveau riche, but an old man with an eye so sharp it's astonishing.
"Really lucky."
I was planning to acquire a decent masterpiece anyway.
I didn't expect to get such a good piece like this.
How far can I get with this painting?
Citizen Bank? Starbucks? Or Qualcomm?
I think I can acquire hard-to-get unlisted stocks in the current market at a very cheap price.
"Then let's go."
Though I ended up picking up a lottery ticket, today's purpose wasn't the painting.
We started walking toward our destination.
The place I took her was a small boutique deep inside SoHo Street.
A clothing store not easily visible from the street.
A private clothing brand run by an owner whose hobby is design.
If you search SoHo well, you'll find not just clothing stores but artists' shops hidden in every corner.
"Welcome. So......, Mr. Kim, was it?"
"I didn't think you'd remember."
"Because you're handsome. And considering how much trouble your order caused, how could I forget?"
Around the time I had just moved to Trump Tower.
I ordered a large quantity of clothes here.
And with new designs at that.
"I gave you plenty of time, though."
"How can I work sluggishly seeing something like that!"
Must have gotten some inspiration.
Since they were future designs, that's possible.
No wonder the clothes turned out prettier than expected.
"......Cheap."
As soon as she entered, Ara first checked the prices.
Right.
This place is incredibly cheap.
Only compared to luxury brands, that is.
To the point where even a typical entry-level salary could afford one or two outfits without strain.
Now that she gets a sufficient salary, it must seem even cheaper.
"I, I'll try this on!"
"Yes. The fitting room is over there."
Unlike at the Prada store, Ara was excited, busily looking around and picking out clothes.
She definitely has an eye.
This time too, I picked out clothes for her to wear.
"How about this?"
"Nice."
The first outfit she chose was a plain t-shirt and jeans, but it suited her quite well.
Isn't that the charm of fashion—that just adding a few points to a shirt and jeans can make such a difference?
"Try this on too."
But there's something else that suits Ara.
"As expected."
"D-does it suit me?"
"Very much."
For pure types like Ara, pleated skirts or layered dresses are the best.
"It feels like wearing a school uniform again."
"School uniform?!"
"Wh-why are you reacting like that?"
"Did your school have uniforms?"
"Yes. My school did."
Oh my god!
The South just got a little better.
"I see."
"......Do you like school uniforms?"
"No. I like people wearing school uniforms. Hmm? Saying it out loud, it seems to have taken a weird meaning."
It's not that I like minors!
Everyone becomes like this when they get older.
"Is that so."
"That's not what I meant."
"I see."
"I said it's not!"
"Yes."
"......Ugh."
Ara nodded as if realizing something.
Why are you striking a fighting pose?
"How about this?"
"That's nice too."
We spent some time like that, changing clothes.
Whether Ara understood my taste or realized what suits her herself, she gradually started finding clothes she liked more.
And before I knew it, the paper bag was filled with clothes.
Several times the amount bought at Prada.
"I think I got too excited and picked too many."
Ara said, looking embarrassed.
"How is it?"
"The clothes?"
"No. Here."
"It's really great! Cheap and pretty!"
"Compared to Prada?"
"......Uh, well, maybe it's because I have low standards......"
No way.
Rather, she has proper eyes.
"No. This place is better than Prada."
"Is that so?"
This place is just unknown, but it's clearly one step above Prada in design.
Originally, it's a store set up as a hobby by an elite designer in that field who retired.
Most people in that field would recognize the owner's name if they heard it.
"Then why didn't we come here first instead of Prada......?"
"Ara."
"Yes."
"Luxury goods are a benchmark."
"Benchmark?"
"Yes."
It's the same with stocks, derivatives, and commodities.
Is a stock that everyone thinks has risen too much really expensive?
And conversely, is a price that everyone thinks has fallen too much really cheap enough?
That's why they created benchmarks in the market.
Because without a comparison group, you can't calculate appropriate value.
It's not just finance.
Everything in the world is relative evaluation, and fashion is no different.
"From now on, once a week, buy one outfit from Prada and one from SoHo and bring them."
"......"
Luxury goods have price bubbles because of the brand, but that doesn't mean they're expensive just by having a brand name attached either.
"You'll practice picking clothes from SoHo that are prettier than the ones bought at luxury shops."
That's why luxury goods are the benchmark.
The streets are full of clothes more beautiful than those luxury goods.
But if you can't even establish a benchmark, you'll end up liking only expensive clothes, not good clothes.
It's fine now since it feels like training an intern, but I can't keep someone who hasn't even established their own standards by my side forever.
"If you go up from Prada to Gucci, then Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Hermès in order, you'll come to understand what good clothes are."
I said that and picked up an outfit I liked.
A trendy yet clean design.
A casual suit satisfactory even for me, who doesn't much like suits.
I like it.
"For this one, I want to keep the design but change the material."
"Loro Piana again, right?"
"Yes."
"Understood. You can come pick it up in two weeks."
"Thank you."
"......Benchmark."
I heard Ara muttering behind me.
I hope she realizes something from this training.
"......School uniform."
No!
Not that!