Return of the Genius Photographer

There’s a moment like that for photographers.

A moment that any photographer who has taken photos day in and day out can feel.

A moment when you’re absolutely certain—without even seeing the photo—that it will be beautiful.

The moment Woojin pressed the shutter.

Dali could sense it.

He didn’t even know when he had been drawn to Woojin’s shooting.

Just moments ago, he had been completely focused on his own work…

But when he came to his senses, he realized he had been watching Woojin shoot.

‘This can’t be.’

He couldn’t believe it himself.

Trying to deny his own feelings, Dali asked Woojin,

“Hey, junior, let me see the photo.”

In a rush, he grabbed Woojin’s camera and looked at the shot, his expression turning intrigued.

Captured in the frame was an emerald-like gem.

A photo filled with the child’s profile.

In it, the child’s eyes shone brightly.

‘Did he intentionally lower the tone to maximize the saturation? And by shooting from the side instead of the front, he made the eyes the focal point…’

Dali instantly analyzed Woojin’s photo.

And he was impressed.

The technique Woojin had used wasn’t particularly difficult.

It was basic—composition and exposure control.

But to take such a shot in such a short time, in an unexpected situation, was impressive enough.

It meant Woojin was a photographer whose fundamentals were so ingrained that they emerged naturally whenever he took a photo.

Mentor.

If there was one word that didn’t suit Dali, it was this.

Dali had never cared about traditional rules or fundamentals in photography. He followed his own techniques, his own emotions.

The photos he took weren’t the kind that could be taught.

And he knew that well.

Whenever the school offered him a mentoring role, he always refused.

Even when he did take it on, the results were never great.

For Dali, photography was an expression of individuality.

It wasn’t something that could be learned from someone else—nor should it be.

So this Art Unity event was no different.

Just a bothersome, tedious task.

He hadn’t wanted to take it on in the first place, but he couldn’t refuse Professor Ryan—the only person he felt indebted to during his school years.

At first, he had planned to make the student quit on their own…

— A genius has appeared at Yale. Do you know Kai?

— He might even surpass you.

It was rare for Professor Ryan, usually reserved, to praise someone so highly. Dali had been curious.

And he had liked Woojin’s boldness during their first meeting.

Who would believe he hadn’t planned to keep Woojin around this long?

Dali chuckled to himself as he looked at the photo.

A photo focused on the beauty of the subject.

One that adhered to the fundamentals—the opposite of his own style. Unpretentious.

And one that radiated the warmth of a photographer’s heart.

***

“Why did you take it like this?”

“You told me to shoot based on feeling.”

“Right.”

“I shot what I found most captivating here.”

Dali, who had been staring at the photo for a while, smiled faintly.

It was a small, gentle smile, different from the ones he’d shown while drinking or smashing cars.

I didn’t know what it meant, but it definitely wasn’t a bad one.

“Alright, now take a photo the way I tell you.”

It couldn’t be bad, given how bright Dali’s expression was.

“Peter, can you hold out your hands for a moment?”

The child I’d photographed was named Peter.

At Dali’s words, Peter nodded and politely held out his small hands.

Dali gently patted Peter’s head and immediately turned to me.

“Shoot the child’s hands.”

“Huh?”

“Shoot the hands based on your feeling.”

I tilted my head at his odd request but didn’t question it further.

Dali had made strange requests before, and taking photos wasn’t that difficult anyway.

―Click!

“Like this?”

I immediately took the photo and showed it to him, but Dali frowned.

“Again.”

―Click!

“Not like this. I need the same quality as the previous photo.”

―Click!

“Yes! This is it!”

After I took a series of photos and showed them to Dali, he nodded and clapped.

“Junior, I see you’ve got some skills now?”

“Now? I’ve always been like this.”

“Hah, can’t say if you’re bold or just cocky…”

Dali chuckled at my response and then spoke to the child again.

“Peter, can you lift your foot this time?”

Then he gave me another shooting instruction.

―Click!

“Nice! That’s it.”

Dali nodded with a smile as I showed him the photo.

First hands, now feet—what was he trying to do?

Unable to figure out his intentions, I immediately asked.

“But why are we taking these photos? What are you going to use them for?”

“What do you mean? They’re for the Art Unity exhibition.”

“Huh?”

For a moment, I doubted my ears.

Of course, I’d done my best to take the photos.

But they were just photos of a child’s hands and feet.

Could these photos really capture people’s attention throughout the exhibition?

“What? Don’t you trust me?”

“No, that’s not what I meant…”

At my question, Dali immediately began explaining.

“What did I say art is?”

“Stealing the viewer’s time?”

“Right, good memory.”

Dali looked at me with a serious expression.

“It might seem pointless to print these photos and display them at the exhibition. I completely understand that feeling.”

His serious demeanor was something I hadn’t seen before.

“But listen. I’ve been taking photos for at least twice as long as you have, and I’ve always thought about this method.”

I listened intently to his words.

“Trust me. You’re already a nearly complete photographer in terms of skill. My photos aren’t something that can be taught, and I have no intention of teaching them.”

Then, pulling out a camera lens from somewhere, Dali…

“So the only thing I can teach you now is this.”

Suddenly, he started stomping on it, breaking it.

―Crack!

―Crunch!

―Snap!

“What are you doing?!”

I shouted in shock at the sound of expensive lenses breaking, but Dali replied nonchalantly.

“It’s fine, I’m rich.”

“No, that’s not the point… Why are you doing this?”

But he focused on stomping on the lens, just like he had with the car.

Then, picking up a lens that was cracked but not completely shattered, he handed it to me.

“I’m teaching you how to steal people’s attention. Use this to take a photo of the hands like you did earlier.”

“With a broken lens?”

When I asked in confusion, Dali sighed slightly, as if frustrated, and answered.

“Can you tell what’s happening outside the photo?”

“Huh?”

“Can you tell how a photo was taken just by looking at it?”

What kind of question is that out of nowhere?

“I guess most people wouldn’t know…”

“Right. Photos may seem objective, revealing the subject as it is in reality, but in truth, they’re a very subjective and narrow form of art.”

I nodded silently at Dali’s explanation.

I already knew about the limitations of photography as a medium.

What mattered was what came next.

“So the important thing is to make the viewer imagine the world outside the photo. Not just the small world within the frame.”

Dali looked at me, who was still silent, and added.

“And to do that, you need to stimulate their curiosity.”

“I get it. I’ll give it a try.”

I replied to him and swapped the lens for the broken one he’d given me.

Honestly, I was still half-doubting.

Normally, using a broken lens to take photos causes the bright parts of the image to appear washed out.

If it’s severe, the image becomes blurry, making it impossible to see the original form.

So using a broken lens is something you should never do if you want clear photos.

But.

‘There must be a reason he’s so confident.’

Dali, my mentor, was someone who had spent his life immersed in his art.

No matter how playful or eccentric he might be, when it came to art, there was no room for lies.

So for now, I decided to trust him and do my best to take the photo.

I raised the camera and aimed at Peter’s hands, just like before.

As expected, the view was hazy from the light scattering.

But I still remembered the composition from earlier.

Following my memory, I adjusted the camera to frame the shot.

Then, vividly recalling the hands I’d photographed earlier…

―Click!

I pressed the shutter.

“Yes! That’s it!”

Dali cheered without even checking the photo.

The moment I checked the photo I’d taken, smiling calmly at him.

“Wow…”

I was genuinely amazed.

Contrary to what I’d expected—that the image would be blurry and the subject unrecognizable—the hands still retained their shape, with only some scattered light flares.

Instead, it looked as if a blurry filter had been applied, creating a mysterious atmosphere.

Like a photo of someone catching sunlight through a cracked window with both hands.

Just changing the lens had transformed it so much…

“Look closely. How is it? Perfect, right?”

Dali, smiling as if pleased with my reaction, asked me.

“What kind of person do you think the owner of these hands is in this photo?”

At his question, I slowly imagined.

A shabby space with cracked and broken windows.

A child, shivering from the cold, huddled close to the window.

Trying to catch the warm sunlight pouring through the cracks where the cold wind seeped in…

“The child in your imagination is different from the real Peter, isn’t it?”

As if reading my mind, Dali smiled, and I nodded.

Exactly.

In my imagination, the child holding the sunlight was pitiful and heartbreaking.

The complete opposite of the ordinary Peter in front of me.

“Listen, junior. Some art has no value until it’s given a name, but once it’s named, its value is formed.”

Dali explained his plan only after I’d seen the photo.

“Your photos at this Art Unity will be about prejudice.”

My expression turned to one of shock as I listened to Dali’s plan.