Installation view of 《Our Dawns Art Not What They Seem》 © ThisWeekendRoom

Some things begin to fade as soon as they are named. Things like sadness, loss, and emptiness are so immense and vague that no human word can fully capture them, much like mysterious beings lurking in the depths of outer space. Jinhee Kim recognizes the limits of representation that are corollary to systems of expression. She endeavors to capture the nonlexical aspects beyond the visible realm in her work.

Accordingly, she associates her paintings with metaphorical devices that can convey the various subtleties that pop up around her. In her first solo exhibition in Korea, 《Our Dawns Art Not What They Seem》, Kim attempts to strip away the veil of dawn, a symbolic setting, and reveal the moments hidden underneath it. In other words, her curiosity is not pointed at the time and space of dawn but the subtle and trivial inner vibrations buried in it.

Installation view of 《Our Dawns Art Not What They Seem》 © ThisWeekendRoom

Dawn. Neither utter darkness nor bright light rules over this time of the day. Instead, it is defined by ambiguity or uneven energy. The uncertainty and apprehension of not knowing what will happen when light permeates the sky, the illusions that appear when dull silhouettes and colors fill the space, the faint memories shrouded in fog and cold air brushing against the skin—the secrets within cannot be accurately written or spoken. Kim imagines the hidden scenes beneath the veil of dawn and decides to shed light on them momentarily. What will we discover there? What will emerge to the surface once the shadows of dawn recede for a moment?

Kim creates and maneuvers an artificial light, awakening those immersed in the darkness of dawn and causing a type of isolating effect. In each depicted scene, disturbed by the artist’s intervention, the figures are caught in a sudden unexpected moment. One figure is captured in the moment of leaving a dark theater, another is alone in a room, observing the mysterious light emanating from a music box.

A group of people sits at a table surrounding a small figure with glowing skin, seemingly warming themselves in the light, while another group sits on a bench, each figure staring off in different directions and recalling different memories. Nevertheless, the narratives in each painting have no apparent resonance or connection with one another. More than that, the figures appear somewhat emotionless, not particularly optimistic or unhappy. In the fragmented and ambivalently selected scenes, each figure’s nameless emotions and thoughts only vaguely come through via subtle gazes, gestures, and melancholic color variations.

Installation view of 《Our Dawns Art Not What They Seem》 © ThisWeekendRoom

In a way, Kim’s pursuit may be to grapple with the rough coordinates or signals of nascent and shapeless feelings rather than fully developed narratives. On the stage Kim built, these emotions are brought to life in vibrant or soft colors and transformed into images of evanescent moments. Kim acknowledges that the nuanced palette of emotions does not imply emptiness or meaninglessness. This is because, although invisible, non-representational human thoughts are still tactile, physical, and deeply impressionable for the person they belong to.

Thus, Kim stands in front of her paintings, determined to fully embrace these fleeting images that are not outwardly expressed. Instead of quickly approaching her figures and engaging with them, Kim chooses to imagine what dawn looks like from each of their positions. Believing that those enigmatic beings will not remain forever in the shadows, she awaits the moment when the veil is lifted and the empty space is filled with an array of colors. Perhaps, one by one, each of these beings will emerge into the world as reflections of her mind.


Jihyung Park (Curator, ThisWeekendRoom)

References