Episode 139: Changing Flow
The moment she saw the white heart.
The people disappeared from Naomi’s view.
She moved cautiously.
The bustling voices dwindled, leaving only the sound of pulses…
The rhythmic contraction and relaxation. The small heartbeat sound grew louder and louder.
Just as the pulse moves blood through the body, the aura permeating every corner of this exhibition hall was absolute.
Indeed, it was a small piece compared to the size of the exhibition hall, but it had an overwhelming presence.
The pale heart still had a glossy sheen.
Though it was split in half, it seemed brimming with life, as if it could pierce through the thick valves.
It was hard for Naomi to believe that this sculpture was made of marble.
Placed alone on a white pedestal, it looked completely alive, except for the slightly frayed taut veins.
The two atriums and two ventricles were filled with sparkling silver notes.
They were what people had written.
‘When the notes overflow, they stick them to the window to display people’s thoughts… Many must change their minds after seeing others’ notes.’
Just as life repeats a ceaseless cycle, the works in the circular exhibition hall rotate.
With the heart sculpture at the center, there couldn’t be a better presentation.
‘Is this drawn on papyrus…?’
Naomi admired the 15 drawings floating in the air.
The distinctive sharp lines of an etching plate.
Carved and corroded copper, capturing the shadows of people and traces of loneliness.
‘It’s like something just excavated from a historical site, paired with a marble sculpture. Truly a classical approach.’
Though she had attended many biennales, she had never seen a new genre.
The contemporary art world believed that everything that could come out had already emerged.
In searching for something new, she had seen many failed artists whose intended meaning was lost.
‘But this artist combined existing styles to create a new genre…’
The drawings hanging in the air were mythical enough to believe they were granted by the heavens.
The lettering etched onto the stone was immaculate without a single error.
‘What makes a work mysterious lies in the artist’s expression.’
The drawings were filled with people in white long robes with bald heads.
Without any distinct form, only the outline of humans remained…
Naomi read the story along with the translated original text.
‘There was a scale believed to be given by the gods… The scale floated in the air, tilted to one side.
People, curious about what the gods deemed valuable, never stopped lining up in front of the scale daily.
They brought what they thought was the most valuable, but the scale never moved, and the tilted balance never evened out.
People only resented the scale for ignoring what they considered valuable.
One day, a woman appeared and said she would move the scale.
She brought a bag, struggling, saying it was filled with love.
The woman placed the bag on the scale with great effort.
However, no matter how long she waited, the scale did not move…
Disappointed, the woman left in tears.
After that, people stopped placing things on the scale. They couldn’t find anything more important than what the woman had brought.
Days passed, and when it was clear the woman would never return, people divided into two groups.
One group said they should open the bag to see if the woman’s words were true, while the other group said they should preserve the bag until the woman returned.
Eventually, someone from one group opened the bag.
And someone from the other group killed him.’
Naomi, reading the story aloud in her mind, tilted her head at the final question.
- God 2. Scale 3. The bag filled with love… It was hard to discern what was false.
This question penetrated the overall issues of humanity.
While pondering the answer, the audience who had disappeared from her sight reappeared.
She began to see people wandering around the exhibition hall one by one.
People approaching the heart to put in notes.
People stretching to see the notes stuck on the glass door, extending to the edges of the hall.
They were the very essence of life flowing through the veins.
‘It’s not complete yet. The thoughts of the audience are the reason for the white heart’s existence…’
She left the space with a faint smile.
This year’s controversial piece.
Surely, it would become crowded in a few days.
The Jardini Park, on the eve of the opening ceremony, was in chaos.
Hansen from IBS, a leading Italian news agency, had to struggle to get an interview.
The place where foreign media gathered was none other than in front of the Korea Pavilion.
Rumors were swirling that the judges had stayed there for several days, and protests were occurring.
Hansen adjusted the shaky camera and spoke in a firm voice.
“This is the Jardini, where the national pavilion exhibitions of the Venice Biennale are held! During the preview period, award winners are determined by the judges’ evaluations, and the award ceremony is held at the opening ceremony. As it’s called the Olympics of the art world, there’s a buzz about which national pavilion will win the Golden Lion Award!”
Hansen squeezed through the crowd to film Kang Lim’s work.
Covered with tens of thousands of notes, the circular exhibition hall had become as dazzling as angel wings.
When the wind entered through the gaps in the window, they shimmered like flying feathers.
“In particular, the small pavilion that entered Jardini last, the Korea Pavilion, is very popular. We’ll delve into the reasons for its popularity on site.”
Hansen pointed to the white heart and briefly explained the piece.
He said people were flocking to answer the question at the end of the story.
“So, what answers did the audience write? Let’s first ask Ms. Magdalene, who agreed to the interview.”
The camera panned to women in the park taking off their hijabs.
They tied their hijabs to branches like flags, fluttering in the wind.
Amidst the fluttering fabrics, Magdalene stepped forward.
“I think the bag filled with love is a lie. Humans are selfish and don’t know how to spread love.”
Hansen asked Magdalene.
“You could wear the hijab as a unique cultural expression. Why are you performing such an act?”
“Because I hope that all humans are equal. What if the people in the story had understood and cared for each other?”
Magdalene’s protest quickly spread through social media, drawing many people to the site.
Hansen asked her what she wanted to achieve.
“Is there something you want to gain?”
“We are here to talk about human dignity. While some women in cultural regions accept their attire willingly, we want the opinions of those who do not to be acknowledged. Many women are beaten in other countries because their face-covering attire instills fear. It’s full of violence.”
“That’s terrible…”
“Also, in some countries, women can only be treated by female doctors. Since they can’t show their faces to male doctors, those who can’t afford to go abroad suffer worsening illnesses. Does it make sense that medical treatment itself is prohibited? Please give us peace. Where is the love?”
Magdalene eventually shed tears, using the hijab in her hand to wipe her face.
As the soft fabric got wet, Hansen turned away, leaving a word of support for her courage.
The next interviewee was a black man who had participated in the exhibition.
He introduced himself and said he was moved by Kang Lim’s work.
“It’s an intriguing painting. The image of thousands of people gathering to place objects on the scale keeps lingering in my mind.
Abundant grain, spears and shields, gleaming gold coins, scrolls with writing… Everything humans considered valuable was there.
It symbolized food, military power, money, knowledge… many things.
But ultimately, love was the most important.
This story carries many messages. Kang Lim’s incredible depiction takes us into an ancient myth.
It makes us reflect on the history of humanity devoid of love.”
Hansen asked, holding the microphone.
She wanted to get a specific answer.
“Then, what do you think the answer to the final question is, Mr. Smith?”
“Haha. I wrote my answer and reason anonymously. Go inside the exhibition hall and find it.”
She had expected an impassioned response like Magdalene’s, but he was a calm person, contrary to her expectations.
Hansen said awkwardly.
“Ah… right? There are already tens of thousands of papers attached there.”
Smith smiled lightly at Hansen.
It seemed like a live broadcast, and he didn’t want to embarrass the white reporter.
It was a bit absurd that she suddenly shoved a camera in his face and asked questions.
“Instead of the answer, I’ll tell you what left an impression on me.”
Smith continued in a calm voice.
“I was really struck by the idea that God’s scale is originally tilted. Watching people live, I sometimes felt frustrated, thinking everything was predetermined from birth.
I also empathized with the human selfishness of forming groups and dividing hierarchies. In the story, people are divided into those in white clothes and those in black, right? Though they are all human, a division emerges.
But Kang Lim keeps reminding us that everyone is the same human being.”
“You mean he didn’t distinguish between black and white?”
“Yes. There is no scene where those who doubted love wore black clothes. Also, at the time of the first murder, it wasn’t clearly described which group the person who opened the bag belonged to or who killed him. Only the hands opening the box and the hands killing the person were zoomed in on.
In other words, Kang Lim didn’t assign fixed values like black and white, good and evil. That’s where I felt he was a true artist.
He left all possibilities open and created a space where people could openly discuss the problem.”
Hansen nodded while listening to Smith’s story.
At first, she had expected him to openly express dissatisfaction with racial discrimination, perhaps even cursing.
Honestly, that’s why she interviewed him, but… he was a person with more depth than she had thought.
Reflecting on her own prejudices during the interview, Hansen moved on to the next person.
She had previously arranged to interview a cultural studies scholar, expecting a contrasting view to Smith’s.
“What do you think is the answer to the final question, Mr. Orden?”
“I travel and live with people in impoverished countries in Africa and Latin America. I study not just developing countries but also the fourth-world countries where no systems are in place.
So, I feel firsthand that the quality of life varies depending on where you are born. Looking at people abandoned after being dominated by Western nationalism, I think there is no God.”
“So, Mr. Orden, your answer is that God itself is a lie.”
“Yes… I hope people unite and retrieve the bag filled with love.”
Orden seemed unwilling to say more.
People who have felt strong pain and deprivation up close show expressions like that…
Hansen realized it was time to wrap up the interview.
“There hasn’t been a work that caused such an issue since the opening of the Biennale. Art that encourages audience participation by blending literature and art. How will Venice respond to Kang Lim, who created a new genre? The excitement in Jardini is expected to intensify after the awards ceremony. This was Hansen from IBS.”
Meanwhile, Kang Lim sat on the beach, gazing at the horizon.
The horizon is a visible mirage.
Since the Earth is round, such a straight line doesn’t actually exist.
So, what am I looking at now?
He exhaled, asking trivial questions.
Since arriving in Venice, he felt like he was floating.
They say experiencing a big stage makes you collide strongly with reality.
While communicating with people made him happy, seeing the moment his work was completed made him feel somewhat fearful.
Could he create something like that again?
He felt like he had worked hard enough to be exhausted…
As various thoughts surged like waves, he heard his own voice.
[It’s fine even if it’s a rectangle. Let’s just finish this assignment by providing a cube.]
It was something he had said recently while working on a project with his team members.
Actually, that room could have been made into a square by ordering a few panels to set up temporary walls.
‘What a mess…’
Both the story submitted to the Biennale and the performance revealed at the open studio.
Both were works created at school.
However, his attitude towards them had flipped 180 degrees.
Without even realizing it himself…
Kang Lim picked up an oil pastel and opened a drawing book.
He felt like he would go crazy if he didn’t draw something.
Seoyeon quietly watched him.
For several days since arriving on Lido Island, they had been visiting various national pavilions.
‘You can’t always create work that satisfies you. That gap is something Kang Lim has to overcome…’
Seoyeon just silently attended the beach.
She was always there, just like the sun rising and the waves coming in every day.
The deep teal sea and Kang Lim’s white shirt matched quite well.
She wanted to capture it with a camera, but fearing it might disturb him, she decided to keep it only in her eyes.
Having nothing to do made her eyes slowly close.
Kang Lim observed the repetitive changes of the water surface.
When the droplets dispersed into the air.
He realized that no scene was ever the same.
‘Come to think of it, what I’m doing now is life itself. Who can predict the future? Looking back, there are regrets, but even so, we have to do well moving forward.’
On the day of the opening ceremony, Kang Lim ran out of materials.
When the blue oil pastel was used up, his index finger was stained blue.
Kang Lim slowly drew along the horizon with that hand and said.
“Seoyeon, it’s time to go back.”
Seoyeon, who had been dozing off, opened her eyes.
Her black hair fluttered in the sea breeze. Her straight nose and forehead seemed unfamiliar.
She didn’t know what changed, but she was definitely different.
“…Are you done?”
“Yeah.”
