Installation view of 《Ironclad Fragger》 (Alterside, 2023) © Kim Yesul 

I first saw Yesul Kim's Art class at Doosan Art Center on a cold winter day in February 2022. Children in velvet dresses and tuxedos that would be admired by anyone who dreamed of joining a choir or dance troupe as a child, sang and danced to the accompaniment of the piano.

In the style of a nursery rhyme, the song begins with "taekwondo instructor/English tutor/art class is my favorite/I’m sorry" and mentions rollable drawing paper and colorful crayons, evoking memories of the old days.

While listening to it happily, it gradually makes you scratch your head at some points, for example, "I don't know the performance/I don't know the conversation with the artist/……/contemporary art postmodern/what is avant-garde/". At this point, you got a feeling that the art class has been blackened.

The song ends with mom’ screaming "Yesul! Aaaaaaaah!" when Kim says she wants to be an artist when she grows up. Yes, this story is about artist Yesul Kim, who has always wanted to be an artist since she was in kindergarten. After 4 minutes and 39 seconds, I was mesmerized by this piece that "borrows the voice of a child to speak about the weight and distance of art that I feel."

Our meeting in 2023 was scheduled after her solo exhibition 《Ironclad Fragger》 (AlterSide, Seoul, 2023). The long, narrow corridor with a vault to the resolutely located projection room made me wonder if it was overkill. Beyond the red corridor, a blue room stretched out, and the video of Sub zero excidian (2023) was running.

I sat in a design-enhanced, hefty chair to watch the narrative of a child who must save the world through coding against enemies who want its destruction. Outside the corridor, Tech titan (2023) and the sound work Coding champion (2023) were playing on monitor and speakers, respectively. Kim explains that Sub zero excidian is the opening of the animation and Tech titan is the ending. Confusing.

I looked up Sekai Kei (セカイ系; 世界系) as she said she was influenced by Sekai Kei animations. It is a genre of Japanese culture from the late 1990s. (The term itself didn't come into use until the 2000s.) I was already in college at that time, so it was a long way off for me. Of course, it's not just about imported culture.

The bloody smell of clumsy boy soldiers and fraggers horribly mingled with the child of this era, who is forced to multiply their creativity, thrown into coding schools.

To my despair, when Kim mentioned animations like Neon Genesis EVANGELIONand Your Name, I could only think of children animations with wand-waving fairies. I felt like I had to fade out, but Kim was very generous. Soon, she threw William Golding's Lord of the flies into the conversation for me, and I responded with Witold Gombrowicz's Ferdydurke. After reading this far, you might have a better understanding of her than I do.

Since I don't fully get the Sekai Kei and only learned about it from the text, I can only think of a narrative that approaches like the multiplication of a repeated sign, where an ordinary protagonist under the dichotomous task of salvation and destruction must be sacrificed to save the world due to special conditions and circumstances, although the protagonist only wants an ordinary life.

The word "multiplication" seems to be synonymous with "over-consciousness," which I saw while reading about Sekai Kei on Wikipedia. I am highly likely to fail to understand the Sekai Kei. But maybe Sekai is just a surface. I thought I needed to approach the artist in a different way, even if one day I might want to scream “Yesul! Aaaaaaaah!”

Our conversation naturally turned to children, as her most recent work have coincidentally put children in the foreground. The artist's note for Art class starts "I think children are the most political of beings." She adds “they are also the most marginalized.” Talking about children made her stumble through her childhood. Kim spoke openly about her childhood anecdotes.

There are some anecdotes one would rather keep to themselves, but I guess someone who has ever stuck a stapler in their own finger might be able to imagine her childhood. She recalled the Golden Age, which she described was the funniest time of her life, but her narrow shoulders hunched when she said that she watched animations all night in a dark room, left alone.

And I wondered if her (over-)imagination, which weaves together first-hand and second-hand experiences, was stretching a little too far when she was overlapping her childhood and the childhoods of abusers and criminals.

The conversation got cross-knotted a few times, and when she reached the dual feelings that Eribon felt in his Returning to Reims, she said "there are things I want to hide about my parents, but there are also things they want to hide about me." Such a child Yesul Kim has dreamed of being an artist since she was in kindergarten.


Kim Yesul, Sub zero excidian, 2023, Video, color, sound, 3min 7sec. © Kim Yesul 

So what kind of artist has Kim become since then? While she is sometimes ambitiously preoccupied by the topic of children, it's her dual strategy of being both an artist and a graphic designer that is most often recognized when referring to her. The foundation for her work is the philosophy and methodology of universal design, or "Design for All," which she acquired while majoring in design engineering.

It's a radical approach to actually designing for the 99% when design is geared toward the 1%. (Of course, it would be uncharacteristic of Kim to stop there. Even this self-thinking is often an object of hatred for her.) She deliberately refuses to set the standard of “normal people" and rather she focuses on others.

Thus, the elderly, the disabled, and especially children are a constant focus. (Writing this, to me her ambition to pre-empt children as a topic seems to be plausible.)

In addition, her fascination with interesting but unrealized sculptural forms, such as the impossible designs of Jacques Carelman, resulted in an oddly-shaped sculptures in the exhibition 《Stocker》 (Seoul Museum of Arts, SeMA Garage, 2023), which combines four skateboards on a circular plate Push off exercise equipment (2023), or combination of three kick scooters Sync kick exercise equipment (2023).

They are related to the designer's perspective of introducing forms that are restricted by space or contraindicated by safety into the exhibition space.

Nowadays, there is class S above class A, but class B sensibility that is neither S nor A is what Kim is slightly aiming for. Even for the actor in 《Ironclad Fragger》, she demands the same level of performance as the actors in Mysterious TV Surprise, a reenactment TV show, and sometimes breaks the clean sutures, and this attempt, like first aid, seems to be a strategy to appropriate the adverb "rather.”

Art class is the work that made Kim distinctive, but as I perused her portfolio, I was pleasantly surprised to see that Tab (2019), which is remembered as the most impressive showing in 《Ironclad Fragger》(2019), a fashion-show-like approach to futuristic sculpture. As the bizarre sculptures were brought to the stage, each arguing to be a collateral family to other sculptures, living bodies carried mats and performed jiu-jitsu for several minutes.

The performance, which was aimed to be seen as a "sculpture," is described as "... something that can fight, something that can hurt, something that can make you cry, something that can soothe you.” Instead of a vague essence of sculpture, she indirectly throws out a position on art that she would rather convey without sculpture.

Kim takes a field soldier's approach to presenting her work by taking advantage of every opportunity she is given, increasing her precision, perfecting her batting average.

Her research-based approach, which became a habit while studying design engineering, was used without a context for The Chambers (2019), a stream of water falling from the window of the former Anti-communist Office in Namyeong-dong, which served for the dictatorial former government.

When she checked the water bills of the dictatorship period, but no data was available, she checked the water bills of the last 10 to 20 years and found sections where the bills jumped. Although there is no context between the dictatorship period and the water bill data of the last decade, the simple work that immediately confirms the time difference to the viewer enhances the meaning.

In addition, Constellation (2020), which utilizes her experience as a nightclub poster designer for six years, which she calls a bizarre period of her life, was presented in the form of an installation and a flipbook that shows the “non-ideality” working in the “underground economy” and the shooting records and quotations exchanged with companies during that period.

The approach of "reading and exploring social structures and rearranging their order in the work" makes her feel confident that she is on the right track, even as she hears people say "I don't know what kind of work she is doing.”

I want to reveal why the social system I live in has been designed the way it is and its degraded structure by deconstruction and exclusion. I think it brings us closer to reality by showing the failure of structures that aim for certain ideals. Above all, I want to deal with reality by actively revealing design and its political implications.

In the above passage from the artist's note, the structural failure shows the reality, and I see a person who ends up doing her part even though she foresees her own failure that will eventually be enveloped by the external failure. She is also the one who inevitably inherits a legacy and must carry it forward.

In Summer House (2021) and Urban Utopia (2021), Kim ignites the gap between ideals and reality inherited from Jean Prouve, Philippe Rizzottis, and Patrick Lowry with intentional failure. It's not far from the Sekai Kei narrative, then.

But it's more in tune with the plight of the boy soldier in 《Ironclad Fragger》, rather than the childlike acrobatics of helplessness, delusion, evasion, and excess. In the silhouettes of the field soldier, I see the figure of the boy soldier.

It's a little bumpy, a little stumbly, but well do you expect “cheon-ui-mu-bong (天衣無縫)” (an expression used in Korea to describe a work of art which seems effortlessly outstanding)? I looked up the phrase to see if it was appropriate. Can you guess what I found? The third meaning is “childlike innocence, untainted by earthly affairs". Children, again? It's out of context, but somehow it seems like a fitting way to end the writing about Yesul Kim.


* This critic was written as part of the Critic Workshop of the 17th Nanji residency, Seoul Museum of Art, 2023.

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