Several years ago, by chance, I first sent a friend request through SNS to her, whom I did not know. It really was by chance. I received a reply from Critical Hit, and not long after, she came to see me. As you know, this is the kind of thing that almost never happens. At the time, I was occupying the empty Colt factory in Bupyeong and making art while spending fairly good time in the yard with laid-off workers who were living their daily lives there.
I talked with Critical Hit for quite a long time. Quite sociably, Critical Hit joined the Colt-Coltek men’s dinner table, ate dinner, and went back. I came to have a few impressions of Critical Hit. She is a very motivated person. She seems to have some strange fantasy about field art. She’ll stop soon.
The following year, and the year after that, Critical Hit continued to visit the laid-off Colt-Coltek workers. Rather, I was becoming an occasional guest visiting the protest site during that time, while Critical Hit had become like family, continuously coming to the protest site, hanging out, and leaving. Critical Hit is truly motivated.
Starting last year, the laid-off Colt-Coltek workers moved their protest site to Yeouido. Uncomfortable with the role of guest, I created something called 〈Drawing Day〉 and decided to draw at the protest site every Thursday. Thinking “while I’m at it,” I posted an advertisement on SNS and invited people to the protest site. There were many “likes” on the post, but no direct replies, and I thought, “I’ll probably end up doing it alone.”
But that same motivated Critical Hit appeared with a sketchbook.
She appeared the next week, and the next week, and the next week,,,,, Critical Hit continued to appear with a sketchbook.
Even while drawing, I would quietly observe Critical Hit. For two or three months, she seemed to be wandering. I thought that could happen. In reality, drawing alone with focus among people is not that easy. It is a working time that requires a kind of inner strength. One becomes tired easily, and because of that fatigue, it gradually becomes less fun. Then, from some day onward, one stops coming.
But Critical Hit, “whom we know together,” is truly a motivated person, so she always appeared every Thursday. Critical Hit would arrive somewhat late after finishing her part-time job, and always, the men and I came to wait for Critical Hit to arrive.
Inside the protest site, the atmosphere was fairly warm, and chatter continued constantly. One day, inside the protest tent, we were peeling and eating oranges while talking about our pasts as they came to mind, and Critical Hit laughed loudly and drew our words in her sketchbook. That was the beginning.
After that, Critical Hit drew on paper the men’s jokes made for laughter, their sigh-like complaints, their teasing mixed with jokes, their shyly revealed pride, their lonely and stubborn silence, and those scattered words. When Critical Hit filled one sketchbook, I saw records between sincerity and jokes. I thought they were truly precious records for us. I believe that what is precious to us becomes precious to others as well.
One day, Critical Hit asked me how I spent my twenties. It was a question about what efforts and choices I had made in order to live as an artist. I thought for a moment, but nothing much came to mind. What I sense now as I look at Critical Hit is simply that she, in her twenties, is constantly thinking about what attitude she should take amid countless frustrations and anxieties.
That she is trying hard to remain calm because she wants to become strong. I support those efforts of Critical Hit. Critical Hit is motivated and full of will.
