Youngjoo Cho, Partly Living, 2019, 6-Channel video, color, sound, 1-2min each ©Youngjoo Cho

Over the past few years, Youngjoo Cho has focused on video works featuring "ajumma" (a Korean term for middle-aged women). She interviewed about 100 ajummas from various regions, choreographed simple movements with them, and documented them through photos and videos. Despite meeting so many individuals, their voices eventually blended into a "single voice" under the label of ajumma. Inevitably, Youngjoo Cho herself became an ajumma. In the process of interviewing these women, sometimes as a maiden and other times as an ajumma, she realized that the protagonist of these countless stories was no longer someone else but herself. And now, she delves deeply into her own narrative.

Although Youngjoo Cho and I are of the same generation, I ventured into the world of parenting much earlier. Over time, both the child and I grew together, but in those days, life was so overwhelming that every day felt burdensome, and dates became meaningless. Amid this struggle, what captivates Youngjoo Cho is the pursuit of standing firm as an "artist" despite the repetitive bleakness of daily life. Constantly confronting challenges and setbacks on her journey toward her goals, she ultimately questions the path of the artist. These complex emotions are vividly captured in this exhibition.

The exhibition's title, “Mrs. Jellyby,” is inspired by a character from Charles Dickens' novel Bleak House. In the story, Mrs. Jellyby neglects her family while devoting herself to helping an African tribe. The term, which describes charitable acts toward distant strangers over close neighbors or family, is sometimes called “telescopic philanthropy.” Youngjoo Cho adds a “magnifying glass” to this concept, using it as the name for her art project to reflect on her past work with “ajummas” and her own personal story. As both an artist and an individual fulfilling various demanding roles in daily life, she continuously questions the essence of her identity as an artist.

Youngjoo Cho, About a thing as difficult as true love can be, 2019, Mixed media (plaster, resin, paper), 300x400x270츠 (Dimension variable) ©Youngjoo Cho

One of the works, About a Thing as Difficult as True Love Can Be, is an installation piece composed of plaster powder, fist-sized fragments, and texts engraved on paper boxes. A white mound of fine plaster powder rises gently, inscribed with the words, “Have you forgotten me?” This phrase echoes her present self, tangled between her identity as an artist and her multifaceted roles in daily life. It’s ambiguous whether these words are addressed to herself or posed as a question to the audience, creating an emotional overlap. Alongside this, tactile sculptures resembling flesh, pebbles, or seashells are installed, evoking a sense of physicality as if they had been handled or touched.

In Writing My Body, the repetitive piano melody and the gestures of flesh and body beneath white clothing evoke the fate of someone bound to a continuous and repetitive duty. Based on a childcare journal she kept for several months after giving birth, Youngjoo Cho created a score and choreography for this video. She performs in the video herself, using her body as the medium. Her current body, shaped by a new physical experience, is in the process of being “revealed” again. Reflecting on her body, she attempts to expose its uniqueness and memory, not through the gaze of others but in its raw and authentic state.

The video installation Partly Living captures fleeting, solitary moments amidst the chaos of daily life. Texts flow across seemingly ordinary scenes, such as an aquarium, an empty sea, or a park fountain, imbuing them with a powerful narrative. These brief moments that appear like dreams amidst the heavy reality are simultaneously real and surreal, sometimes filled with unexplainable sadness or a desire to pause time. Even the short time spent tying one’s shoelaces is precious if it is genuinely one’s own. This work reflects the shared experiences of Youngjoo Cho and her peers.

The phrase “Endure the fatigue you didn’t plan for,” which appears in the work, resonates deeply. Unexpected challenges continued to arise. As I open this exhibition, it becomes difficult to distinguish between Youngjoo Cho’s present and my own. In the blur where yesterday feels like today and today resembles tomorrow, I want to bring these entangled days to the surface and contemplate them.

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