Return of the Genius Photographer

“Since we’re taking a break, let’s stay a few more days before heading back.”

It was the morning after all the official events and the reception in Arles.

Kangsan spoke casually as he sipped his morning coffee.

“Wasn’t this supposed to be a one-month schedule?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Schedules are made to be postponed,” Kangsan replied with a grin, taking another sip.

I couldn’t help but laugh. Truthfully, I wanted to stay longer too.

Before the awards, I’d been so busy assisting Kangsan that I hadn’t had a real chance to enjoy the festival.

Aside from the one night we shared wine, I’d barely had any personal time here.

Now that all the official events were over, this was my chance to finally experience Arles in its entirety.

Though the festival’s major events had concluded, the photo exhibitions would continue for two more months.

The extended display meant more exposure for photographers and would draw additional tourists—benefiting both the local economy and the artists.

Two months was enough time for lesser-known photos to gain attention, while already popular works would see their value rise even further.

‘The same would apply for me.’

Rumor had it that ever since the awards ceremony, the alley where my photos were displayed had been bustling with visitors.

‘And I’d love to take more photos here myself.’

Arles, with its southern French charm, felt warm and unhurried. It wasn’t as big as Marseille, where we’d stayed before coming here, but its smaller scale made it more intimate and inviting.

I could see why artists like Van Gogh were drawn to this place.

“How long do you plan on staying?” I asked.

“Not sure. Why? You don’t like the idea?”

“No, I like it.”

And so, we decided to stay a few more days.

It turned out to be an enjoyable time.

We sipped coffee at the café terrace Van Gogh had once immortalized in his paintings.

We strolled through the streets, watching the locals, and admired the photos displayed around the city—much like any other tourist.

The days were peaceful and leisurely, filled with moments of quiet joy.

My camera captured the warm essence of Arles in every shot, and I couldn’t help but wish I could stay longer.

One day during our extended stay, I received a call from Jung Woong.

― Congratulations! I heard you won the grand prize at Arles!

I was surprised to hear from him.

“Photographer Jung? How did you hear about it?”

― It’s already in the news here. I had a feeling you’d place, but I never imagined you’d win the grand prize!

“Ah… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I should’ve reached out first.”

― Don’t worry about it! Good news is good no matter when I hear it. We can talk more when you’re back in Korea.

Apparently, there had been Korean journalists at the reception.

I didn’t recall giving an interview in Korean, so I wasn’t sure when the article had been published.

Still, knowing that my achievement was already making waves back home filled me with a mix of gratitude and surprise.

Jung Woong was genuinely overjoyed, celebrating as if it were his own accomplishment.

― If I’m not mistaken, you’re the youngest recipient of the Arles grand prize.

“Really?”

― Of course! And you should be proud! Winning the grand prize without any prior international career is an extraordinary feat!

“Thank you so much.”

His voice brimmed with excitement, and his encouragement warmed my heart.

Arles was often said to evaluate solely based on photography, but the reality was far more complicated.

In truth, the awards leaned heavily on a mix of one’s career and connections, with a touch of skill to top it off.

Arles International Photo Festival often set up personal galleries for invited or renowned photographers, meaning their works naturally received more attention from the judges.

For someone like me, whose photos were displayed in a tucked-away corner, winning anything at all was a long shot—let alone the grand prize.

Even I had resigned myself to not placing at all before the ceremony.

It’s safe to say the system wasn’t entirely fair, and perhaps that’s why Jung Woong sounded so proud.

Thinking about it, I felt grateful to have such supportive people around me.

― By the way, have you told your parents yet?

Jung Woong suddenly shifted the conversation.

“Yes, I’ve already told them.”

I had, in fact, told them right away. Not just because I wanted to share the news, but because I’d wired the prize money to their account.

I’d saved enough for my own needs, and any shortfall could be covered by future projects.

More than that, I wanted to surprise them.

They had fully supported my decision to drop out of school, and I wanted to show them that their faith in me hadn’t been misplaced.

Plus, helping out my family financially had always been a goal of mine.

Even though I knew they’d initially refuse the money if I gave it outright, I’d sent it without warning.

I could still vividly recall the mix of shock and confusion in their voices when they found out.

― I see… So when are you planning to return to Korea?

“I haven’t set a date yet, but I’ll probably rest here for a few more days before heading back.”

― Understood. By the way, with such a significant achievement, I imagine international agencies will be reaching out to you soon.

“Ah, yes.”

I answered immediately, as his prediction had been spot on.

Ever since winning the grand prize, my inbox had been flooded with emails, and my phone constantly buzzed with messages.

During the reception alone, I’d collected countless business cards. Somehow, people had even tracked down my phone number.

‘It’s probably time to find an agency.’

Jung Woong’s remark only reinforced the idea.

Until now, I’d managed all my contracts and projects myself, but it was common for professional photographers at a certain level to work with agencies.

They handled schedules, negotiated contracts, and managed logistics, allowing the artist to focus on their craft.

Honestly, even before coming to Arles, I had been so busy in Korea with the growing workload that I barely had any personal time.

So, taking this opportunity to find an agency didn’t seem like a bad idea.

However, agencies varied widely in their approach, priorities, and contract terms. Finding the right fit would take considerable research.

― That’s great news. If it’s about agencies, you should ask Kangsan for advice.

“Photographer Kang?”

I repeated the name, puzzled, and Jung Woong elaborated.

― He’s quite knowledgeable about these things. He’s well-connected and familiar with most of the major agencies. I’ve even sought his advice a few times, so you can trust him.

Kangsan, an expert on agencies?

I glanced over at him, napping beside me, headphones blasting rock music.

― Highway to Hell~!

Despite the loud music, he was sound asleep, snoring softly.

I couldn’t help but stare for a moment, incredulous at the suggestion.

“Really?”

I asked Jung Woong, my skepticism obvious.

***

The cool breeze from the river carried through the evening air.

Arles, bathed in the warm orange glow of streetlights, felt like a mix between a peaceful resort and a bustling city.

People sat by the riverside, soaking in the scenery, while we watched it all unfold from L’Ouvre Boite, a charming restaurant with a perfect view.

When Kangsan began ordering from the menu, dishes kept arriving until the table was almost overflowing.

“Why did you order so much?” I asked.

“We can just leave whatever we don’t finish,” he replied casually.

Sitting in this scenic restaurant, with every dish priced well above average, he still ordered like it was nothing.

“What’s the point of earning money if you can’t spend it? You can’t take it with you when you die, right?”

His carefree response left me speechless, though it didn’t stop him from pouring himself a glass of wine and fully savoring the feast.

I watched him quietly for a moment, mentally preparing myself to bring up the topic.

I needed to ask him about agencies, just as Jung Woong had suggested.

“Um, Photographer Kang… Can I ask you something?”

At the sudden formality, he frowned.

“Hey, don’t start that. Just talk to me the way you usually do.”

“You make it sound like I’m normally rude to you.”

“You’re probably the most casual person I know when it comes to treating me like a normal human being.”

He chuckled, then added, “So, what’s on your mind? What do you need?”

How did he figure that out so fast? I’d barely opened my mouth!

Realizing there was no point in beating around the bush, I got straight to the point.

“It’s about agency contracts.”

I explained my situation—how I’d been inundated with offers since winning the award but didn’t know where to start.

“Oh, look at you! The ‘Supernova’ is really living up to the name, huh?”

Instead of offering advice, he teased me relentlessly.

“The ‘Pearl of Arles,’ indeed. Seems like everyone’s realized your worth.”

He had been like this ever since reading the article that popularized the nickname for my work.

Ignoring his teasing, I waited for him to settle down. Finally, with a nod, he spoke more seriously.

“Well, you’re at the point where having an agency makes sense.”

Though his tone was calm, he still wore a playful grin, as if he was thoroughly enjoying this.

“With the reputation you’re building, you’ll need someone to manage your work. No sense in letting those photos of yours go to waste.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought too.”

A good agency could elevate the value of my work even further, not to mention the financial benefits.

“How many agencies have contacted you so far?”

“I… haven’t counted exactly,” I admitted hesitantly.

“You’ve gotten so many offers you didn’t even bother counting?”

“Um… last I checked, it was 28.”

At that, his eyes widened slightly before he sighed.

“This is going to be a mess…”

***

Jung Woong’s advice had been spot on.

Once Kangsan agreed to help after dinner, things progressed at lightning speed.

“Most of these are duds,” he said, scanning through the printed emails and contracts.

“Plenty of them are just taking a shot in the dark, knowing they can’t meet your terms.”

One by one, he began crossing out agencies.

“This one’s contract terms are ridiculously long—out.”

“This one’s too small.”

“And this? The terms are way too good to be true. Probably a scam.”

One, two, three…

“This one’s been around for less than two months. Definitely out.”

“Why’s that a problem?”

“No reputable agency is that new. If they’re rushing to sign people this early, they’re either a paper company or a scam.”

“Oh… I see.”

I couldn’t help but be impressed.

Despite how nonchalant he’d seemed, he was meticulous in his evaluation.

In just a few hours, he’d saved me from what would have been weeks of research.

‘Amazing,’ I thought, watching him work.

Eventually, Kangsan narrowed the list down to five agencies:

Gatling Agency (Germany): Specialized in documentary and journalistic photography. Highly focused but somewhat rigid.

Shenxianhui (神仙會) (China): Backed by wealthy patrons who collect landscape photography. Resource-rich but heavily involved in the artist’s work.

Avaler (France): Smaller scale but offered creative freedom, leaning heavily toward artistic photography.

Sumire (すみれ) (Japan): Renowned domestically but with limited global reach.

Oswald (USA): Flexible and artist-friendly but lacking in niche specialization.

Each had its pros and cons, but all were the best options out of the offers I’d received.

“Reaching out to each one will take days,” I said, looking at the list.

“Why bother with that?” he replied, tilting his head.

“Pardon?”

“Just call them all to one place.”

He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Get them in a room and tell them you’ll go with whoever pays the most. Simple.”

That grin of his could only be described as the epitome of… capitalism.