Installation view of 《The hours, 3 lights》 (A-Lounge Contemporary, 2021) © A-Lounge Contemporary

“Light plays differently on every skin. For each person. For each month. And for each day, too.”

When countless particles of light descend and settle on the surface of things, when the soft and fragile sphere called the eye captures their “play,” we witness a world rising before us. The movement of the gaze sliding gently over the surface, and the terrain formed as each image comes together, or perhaps a landscape. So what did we see?

I saw a person who had disappeared behind the light. I saw him rowing, carrying the last remaining energy of life on his shoulders. I saw the night racing across the smooth surface and leisurely following behind him. I saw people and animals, situations and events. Receiving the setting sun, they were yellow; in moonlight where they had hidden as if being chased, they were blue; and at times they had white bodies, as though submerged in searchlight.

Installation view of 《The hours, 3 lights》 (A-Lounge Contemporary, 2021) © A-Lounge Contemporary

“Beneath the moonlight, an immaterial realm was invading space and decomposing matter. The trees had crystallized. The air did not tremble even with the waves of sound. Dazzling light was spread across the empty air.”

I closed and opened my eyes, and before I knew it, I was in a forest. Not the blue of objects, but the bluish light of the atmosphere. As if blue threads woven by dawn mist had been tied around our eyes, this “specific” light acts like a filter on our sight and reveals, like illusions, particular atmospheres and special scenes. This fog shows no intention of lifting.

If we were to remove this filter of light and look at the world, we might see a scene different from what is visible to our eyes now. Because all earthly things have been left at the boundary of time, and because what emerges in the darkness is the archetype of this world. At the moment light opens an unreal terrain before us, there is no order of story to follow here, and no map.

There is only another form of life boiling softly and strangely through the atmosphere and the ground.

Installation view of 《The hours, 3 lights》 (A-Lounge Contemporary, 2021) © A-Lounge Contemporary

“What one can imagine, touch, see or cannot see is only white.”

As the artist moves from drawing to painting, the weight carried by narrative in her paintings diminishes, and physical depth takes its place. To create the surface on which light plays, the raw white, the artist repeats the acts of “applying, rubbing, and scraping away.” The white created through these performative actions acquires a heavy materiality, somewhat different from the transparency of empty space or the lightness of snow.

Even so, the bodies of a man, a bird, and a cat, whose contours emerge in soft relief on a certain material called “white,” appear as light as air. As the artist intended, these forms, whose “color has flown away” or “color has evaporated” under strong spotlight, form a kind of multifaceted painting together with the iconic expressive elements placed alongside them, entirely different landscapes or situations, and colors, making multiple strands of stories possible through collision and friction.

Here, white is not an empty ground to be filled, but a surface. A space where fragments of stories drift. A man in the lowest place, watched over by the highest sky. A cat and a vineyard, a winter forest where orange sunlight leaks in.

But why does light reveal such “scenes”? Among atoms infinitely falling toward empty space, avoiding their deviations, in the gap between them, somewhere there, scenes suddenly appear and disappear. Strangely, I recall the solar eclipses that the artist and I experienced ten years apart in two foreign places, India and France. For a fleeting moment, through the darkness that intruded into the bright time of day, we confirm a flaw in time.

Or the grain of time, a hole made in time by the universe. Through this, what we now come to realize may not be “what was painted,” but “what, therefore, has been revealed.” “The deepest place is the surface,” someone whispers to me. Because the scenes we are looking at have risen out of the darkness and are now revealing themselves.

Text / Kang Younghee

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