What Stopped the Remote Control

Established thoughts, the ways we form perceptions and concepts, and all the socio-cultural conventions through which we relate to others accumulate unconsciously in our minds and shape our actions without us realizing. For those of us who have learned how to think and relate in order to live our daily lives without difficulty, what happens when someone suddenly halts the spinning wheel of our repetitive thoughts and actions?

Young Uk Yi proposes a “pause in thought” in response to the visible and invisible controls that dominate our minds and behaviors, which have become deeply ingrained habits in both body and thought. His method of perception—rooted in personal experience—begins from not overlooking the moments when he suddenly feels a sense of doubt toward natural phenomena, habitual thinking patterns, or social relationships that once felt so normal. As these moments of doubt accumulate and contemplation persists, everything that once upheld the self begins to blur and tremble.

Yi likens this controlling force of thought that surveils and guides us to a drone. Only when the drone—constantly hovering above our heads—stops operating, can we regain a new perspective and the possibility of autonomy. What stopped the drone’s remote control was none other than the artist himself—and ultimately, it is revealed that this must be each of us.

There are times when things we considered completely natural suddenly become uncomfortable, or when we discover hidden collisions between desire and power in places we didn’t think our will was involved. As Nietzsche once wrote, perhaps weak humans solidified the idea of truth in order to preserve themselves, created concepts for the sake of a stable society, and gave up the differences between individuals. Yet, as he also suggested, we occasionally sense the falsehood in these truths as we live in an illusory world of dreams and fantasies. Or, like in Camus’ The Myth of Sisyphus (1942), for those who have reached the ennui of repetitive daily life, the sign of absurdity might arrive “as if one day the stage set collapses.”

No matter the form of the encounter, facing absurdity can trigger extreme confusion. But as Camus noted, the rising of the question “why?” is what matters. It signals the activation of consciousness.

This solo exhibition by Young Uk Yi begins with the artist’s perception of contradictions in the prejudices that have become embedded within him. His works originate from aesthetic moments experienced in things never considered beautiful, from interest sparked by forms discovered by chance, and from subtle dissonances found on the surface of seemingly solid social networks or intimate relationships. These points of departure, combined with his conscious rejection of long-ingrained methods of viewing or working, lead to the creation of his artworks.

Yi’s previous works often subtly exposed repressed or taboo desires in society. In this exhibition, he invites viewers to step deeper into their own inner worlds and face ambiguity with him. The artist hopes to remain with ambiguity and contradiction itself. His works exist vividly before us, but they never offer clear or fixed concepts. They do not impose a pre-learned method of viewing but instead welcome each person’s sensations and interpretations as they are.

scene#1_the things: Dragon Head, Eagle, Peacock, Chimpanzee

Repetition and arrangement of forms, combined with vivid colors, captivate our gaze. Repetition and arrangement are among the artist’s consistent methods of expression. In this work, they serve both as traces of the artist’s thought circuit and as a proposal for discovering new ways of seeing. His subjects are displayed side by side, overlapped at times, and in other moments arranged randomly.

The repetition, arrangement, and irregular layering of forms function as a methodology for resolving questions the artist has posed to himself and as devices that generate ambiguity and confusion within the work.

Can beauty be sustained through repetition? If a part of an interesting form is repeated, can it appear as an entirely different entity? Can the repetition of existing forms reveal why they move as they do? Are these repeated objects a group of individuals or traces of movement left by the passage of time?
The starting point of this work was the artist’s intuitive curiosity. The repeated forms that appear in the work—dragon head, eagle, peacock, chimpanzee, flowers—were not chosen for any particular reason. Rather, by lining up intuitively selected shapes or repeating specific forms, Yi attempts to discover entirely new sensations and the potential for aesthetic experiences.


 
scene#2_the heads: Busts

At the center of the exhibition hall stands a group of busts. From a distance, these similarly sized and shaped busts may resemble an ordinary group or crowd. However, as one approaches, the collective façade gives way to encounters with individual entities. Here, viewers come face-to-face with busts of all kinds—none of them alike—and may even find themselves bewildered by their appearances.

We tend to hold a certain expectation of what a “normal” bust should look like: two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. But among the busts gathered here, not a single one conforms to such expectations. Heads filled with only beautiful eyes, faces composed of abdominal muscles, heads with fish tails stuck in them—these bizarre and incomprehensible heads come together as if attending an important gathering.

The artist sculpted each individual bust based on people around him or infused them with his imagination. By stripping away the external "skin" of social expressions, he brings each figure's inner world, individuality, identity, and thoughts to the surface. These are filled with chaotic minds, obsessive thoughts, horrific nightmares, and secretive or sensual desires—each figure radiates its own sense of liberation and unique identity.
What emerges is a collective group portrait, coexisting in one space yet filled with divergent inner worlds—a community of daydreamers, each immersed in entirely different thoughts.
 


scene#3_the fishes: Sharks and Yellowtail

Here stands a yellowtail reflecting on its own form of existence. Trapped within the flat faces of a cube, rather than enveloped in the supple outer skin it was meant to wear, the yellowtail’s discordant presence makes viewers feel uncomfortable. This work is based on several questions posed by the artist: Can a three-dimensional object appear as flat, and likewise, can a flat image seem three-dimensional? And what happens when movement is added to this equation?

The segmented yellowtail reveals every surface of the cube. The top and bottom, the sides and the cross-sections—all of its dimensions are faithfully represented. The vivid depiction of the cross-sections reminds us of fresh sashimi, while the dynamic face of the yellowtail, when seen from the front, conveys such intensity that its bulging eyes seem ready to pop out.

Though the yellowtail exists as fragments in flat form, once these fragments are assembled, viewers cannot help but imagine the complete, three-dimensional fish.

The artist presents the ambiguity that arises from the mixture of flatness, dimensionality, and movement as it is. In doing so, he guides us to the point where familiarity and intimacy—deeply rooted in our consciousness—begin to collapse. He hopes this discomfort does not merely lead to distress but instead opens up a new perspective on rules, forms, and preconceptions.

In preparing for this exhibition, Young Uk Yi bids farewell to the social and psychological controls that govern him. Learned social desires have shaped the life goals and conditions for happiness of many people into similar patterns. The normalized understanding of beauty may even obstruct our ability to appreciate something authentically.

In this exhibition, the artist confronts the absurdity that surrounds him and attempts to carve out a new perspective. Through works that offer ambiguity and contradiction, he reveals his desire to stop the “remote control.”

Yi hopes that viewers will encounter irreplaceable experiences—of sensation, of aesthetic discovery, of art itself. His works do not guide viewers through any pre-learned method of appreciation. Instead, they exist to welcome the feelings and impressions of those who stand before them, in their own ways and on their own terms.

References

• 아트센터 예술의 시간 (Art Centre Art Moment)