Episode 3 — The Door My First Crush Opened: An Art Academy | by Kyeong Hoon Oh | Aug, 2025

Episode 3 — The Door My First Crush Opened: An Art Academy

It started with love. It became something else entirely.

I made a decision.
“I want to talk to her. Even if it’s just once more.”

My method was blunt and borderline ridiculous: I would join the same art academy as her. My family exploded.

“Art? Out of nowhere? Are you trying to become some kind of entertainer?”

I didn’t tell them the real reason — my crush. If they had known, they would’ve never allowed it. So I threw a fit. And in the end, I got what I wanted: I was allowed to attend an art academy. In Korea, this kind of art academy isn’t just a casual drawing class. It’s a rigorous, exam-focused institution designed to get students into competitive art universities.

Even my school had to approve it, because I was asking to skip the mandatory night study hours that lasted until 10 PM. Teachers thought I was just trying to get out of studying. I was punished. Physically. Again.

Even with official approval, the judgmental stares never left.

When I first arrived, all I did was shade a sheet of paper black with a pencil. Over and over again. Repetitive. Dry. Monotonous.

Eventually, I was allowed to draw a still life. The subject: a light bulb. I don’t remember how I drew it exactly. It couldn’t have been good.
And yet…

“Oh, that’s actually really good. You’ve got talent.”

That compliment hit me like lightning. I had never heard anything like it. I was always the problem kid. Always in trouble. Always wrong.

“I… did something right?”

A strange light flicked on in the center of my chest. It wasn’t just a surprise it was a longing I didn’t know I had. A desperate need to be seen, to be told that I wasn’t a failure.

(And yes, looking back now, that compliment might’ve just been a marketing tactic — one of those tricks academies use to keep students around. HaHaHa)
But still, the emotion it planted in me was real.

From that day on, no matter what I drew, I kept hearing:

“Well done.”

Those words… They were the first time in my life I ever felt a sense of competence.
A touch of capability.

Drawing became something more than a task.
It became a way to bring joy to myself — and to others.

“Something that makes me happy, and makes others happy too.”

I share that sentence here for a reason. Because for the first time, this so-called troublemaker felt what it was like to move someone’s heart with something he made. That the joy inside me could connect directly to someone else’s smile. That joy — became mine.

For the first time, I wasn’t running away from who I was. I was running toward something I wanted to become. Of course, Korean art academies don’t really train artistic vision. They’re more like factories for technical skill. They teach you how to draw well, how to stage a drawing, but not how to see the world.

Still, something strange happened.

I had started all of this because of a crush.
But somewhere along the way, I fell in love with the act of drawing itself.

I learned deep in my body how praise can change a person. It gave me hunger. It gave me style what we call “raw coolness.”

So instead of just copying what the academy told me to draw, I started drawing things I thought were cool. Gradually, I began creating my own small works.

By the time I became a senior in high school, just one year after picking up art, I won an award in a local competition.

Before that, teachers used to mock me:

“He’s just using the art academy to escape school.” I’d get scolded. Hit. For no reason.

But once I got that award, their tone shifted.

“He may be bad at studying, but he’s good at art.”

The label changed.

And I learned something else that day:

When the label changes, the world changes how it looks at you.

So I kept drawing. Happily.

Even on weekends, when the academy was closed, I waited outside for someone to let me in just so I could draw alone.

But getting into an art university? That was a whole different challenge.

Ironically, in Korea, getting into a top art school requires more than just drawing well.
You also have to be good at academics.

And with my grades? The prestigious schools were out of reach. Not because I lacked passion or effort but because the rules of the game were never built for people like me.

Now, I was standing in front of a wall one I couldn’t charm or draw my way through.

What happens when passion meets a system that doesn’t care?
When effort alone isn’t enough?

That’s where I was heading next.