비현실이 외려 더 현실적이다
김영기
OCI미술관 수석큐레이터
Chou Taichun_Beyond the Mountains – The First Viewpoint_acrylic on canvas_140x140cm_2017
“상황 파악이 안 되니?”
자주 쓰이는데 파악이 잘 안 되는 말로 ‘상황’이 있다. 갖은 분야에 두루 멋대로 걸쳐 있고, 수많은 외부 정보로 이루어진 탓이다. ‘외부’란 ‘변환이 필요함’을 뜻한다. 변환은 필연적으로 정보의 재구성/재생산을 동반하고, 대개 선한 방향을 유지하기 어렵다. 수많은 전달 주체들의 입장과 주관이 자신들도 모르는 새 오염과 왜곡, 변질로 작용한다. 여기에 의도까지 섞이면 혼란은 따 놓은 당상이다.
이를테면 지진에 흔들리는 건 건물만이 아니다. 꼬리를 무는 출처 불명의 소문은 동시다발적 혼란을, 각양각색 언론 호도는 그보다 더 큰 혼란을 부른다. 물리적 떨림이 인식과 소통의 떨림으로 번지고 마침내 사회까지 떨어 울리는 것. ‘실제 지진 상황’은 머릿속 클리셰와 사뭇 딴판으로 흐르고, 현실은 점점 비현실로 옮겨간다. 재난을 경험한 이들에게선 종종 ‘도무지 현실 같지 않았다’라는 회고를 듣곤 한다. SF가 따로 있는 게 아니다. 여기저기서 솟아나고 방울진 소문과, 호도, 혼란은 현실과 초현실의 경계가 그리 선명하지 않음을 몸소 보여 준다. 비현실적인 장면이 사실은 더 현실적인 셈이다.
그래서 조우따이쥔(周代焌, Chou Taichun)의 재난 광경은, 당최 재난과는 어울리지 않을 법한 휘황한 색상과, 현실의 풍경과 뒤섞인 초월적 형태로 얼룩진다. 대만에서 겪어 온 크고 작은 재해 속 에 그는, 재해 자체의 양적/질적 명세보다 오히려 이러한 인터페이스, 즉 ‘무엇을 어떻게 전하고 받아들여 조합하느냐’가 상황을 좌우함을 깨달았다. 그가 캔버스에 펼치는 건 이러한 인터페이스를 거친 광경이다.
발 없는 말(言)이 퍼지듯, 무성하게 솟은 푸른 이파리가 화면을 잠식해 나간다. 무엇이든 가리고 덮어 은폐할 법한 두툼하고 칙칙한 천막을 뚫고 무언가 도드라져 솟아나려 한다. 위기감에 더욱 팽팽히 다잡아 누르려 들수록, 역설적이게도 비집어 꿰뚫기 더 용이하다. 역치에 도달하는 순간, 거대한 나무줄기가 더 이상 통제할 수 없는 진실처럼, 낭중지추로 솟는다. 긴장으로 얼룩진 식물 표면에 생채기처럼 패인 이런 저런 골은, 다양한 생각을 뒤섞어 알록달록한 퍼티와 실로 한 땀 한 땀 꿰매고 채워 나간다.
그는 재현도, 환영도 지향하지 않는다. 텐트나 천막, 현수막 등을 팽팽히 잡아당기는 모양새의, 프레임 없는 캔버스 천 작업은 마치 무대의 커튼처럼 ‘개봉박두’의 분위기를 자아낸다. 작품은 안전거리가 확보된 극장에서 즐기는 영화처럼, 관객에게 ‘상영’ 혹은 ‘상연’된다. 화이트큐브는 관객이 처한 실제 상황이고, 작품은 내용을 주고받는 또 하나의 ‘인터페이스’가 된다. 그의 최근 개인전 제목이 《崩解劇場》이다.
서울에서 가을을 나며 준비한 이번 전시에는 ‘서울 한복판에서 뜻하지 않은 무언가가 일어난다면?’을 상정했다. 그가 서울을 나서기 며칠 전 실제로 포항에서 지진이 일어났고, 그 진동이 서울은 물론 한반도 전역을 훑었다. 그가 머물던 스튜디오 주변의 풍경 조각이 화폭 곳곳에 언뜻 엿보일 뿐이지만, 수년 간 매일같이 스쳐 지난 종로의 회사원보다, 그가 바라본 이 광경이 어쩌면 더 정확할는지도 모른다.
Chou Taichun_Beyond the Mountains – 30 Degree Wave_acrylic on canvas_120x194cm_2017
The Unreal is Rather More Real
Kim Younggi
Chief Curator, OCI Museum of Art
“Don’t you understand the situation?”
‘Situation’ is certainly a word often used, but it is actually not easy to grasp the meaning. The scope of the word is so comprehensive, and in addition, it is made up of a lot of information coming from outside. ‘Outside’ is an abbreviation for something ‘in need of change’. Change means reproduction of information, which is usually difficult to maintain a good direction. Rather than avoiding distortion and complementing for sharing, the positions and views of the innumerable agents of reproduction act in spite of themselves as new pollution and deterioration. And to make things worse, if various intentions come in, confusion is inevitable.
For example, it is not only buildings that are shaken by an earthquake. A train of rumors coming simultaneously from a myriad of unknown sources lead to confusion, and all kinds of misleading media reports invite even greater confusion. Geological perturbation spreads out to become perturbation of perception and communication, finally to shake society as a whole. The ‘actual earthquake situation’ is quite different from the cliche in our head, and the reality increasingly turns into the unreal. We often hear from people who have experienced disasters saying, ‘it was unreal.’ The world of science fiction is not somewhere far away. The rumors and misleading news that crop up here and there bear witness that the boundary between the real and the surreal is not so clear. The unreal scene is actually more realistic.
So the scene of disaster that Chou Taichun (周代焌) presents is compromised by dazzling colors that would not fit in with the disaster at all, and by some transcendental forms mixed with the landscape of reality. Through the big and small disasters that he has observed in Taiwan, he realized that the situation depends on this interface, that is, on ‘how and what to communicate, accept, and combine’, rather than on the quantitative/qualitative details of the disaster itself. What he unfolds on the canvas is the scene that has been through the interface.
As rumors spread, the lush green leaves are encroaching on the canvas. Something is about to spring up through the thick and darkish tent that seems to be perfect for covering and hiding anything. The more you try to hold on tight and press it, sensing the crisis approaching, the easier it paradoxically becomes to pierce it. The moment the threshold is reached, the giant tree trunk stretches out like a truth that can no longer be controlled. The dents, which look like scratches on the surface of a plant encroached upon by tension, are stitched up with colorful putty and thread mixed with various boundaries and thoughts.
He does not aim for representation or illusion. As if pulling tight a tent, a pavilion, or a banner, the work done on the frame-less canvas produces a tempo that resembles a tent or a curtain that announces the opening of the stage. The work is ‘screened or performed’ in front of the audience as if it were a film enjoyed in a safe theater. The white cube is the actual situation that the audience is faced with, and the work becomes another ‘interface’ to exchange the contents. The title of his recent solo exhibition is The Collapsing Theater (崩解劇場).
The leitmotif of the exhibition, prepared over the autumn in Seoul, is the assumption that ‘what if something unexpected happens in the middle of Seoul?’ A few days before he left Seoul, an earthquake did occur in Pohang, and the vibration was heard throughout Seoul as well as across the Korean peninsula. Here and there in the canvas we see pieces of scenery around the studio where he stayed. Yet what he saw is probably more accurate than the scene that an office worker in Jongno saw, who had been passing by the area for a number of years.
After the solo exhibition in 2016, Chou Taichun went over to Korea and Japan to work as a resident artist. Over the year, he must have visited many more places, met more people, experienced many things, and felt a lot. Unlike spoken or written languages, painting is not bound by the barriers between nations. That does not mean it always works well. Although he has found many subject matters from his surroundings, he has always had the logic and the framework to apply universally. The images to be exhibited this time may be more comprehensive and more abstract. This is a painstaking effort of an artist who deals with visual language to cover broader issues and convey messages more naturally to more people. The message is more hopeful than before. ‘苦盡甘來’, ‘Sweetness follows bitterness’. ‘Time is a great healer,’ as the saying goes. Since the wound is followed by healing and the disaster by recovery, it is still a world worth living in.
2022.09 ACK 발행.
ACK (artcritickorea) 글의 저작권은 필자에게 있습니다.
비현실이 외려 더 현실적이다
김영기
OCI미술관 수석큐레이터
Chou Taichun_Beyond the Mountains – The First Viewpoint_acrylic on canvas_140x140cm_2017
“상황 파악이 안 되니?”
자주 쓰이는데 파악이 잘 안 되는 말로 ‘상황’이 있다. 갖은 분야에 두루 멋대로 걸쳐 있고, 수많은 외부 정보로 이루어진 탓이다. ‘외부’란 ‘변환이 필요함’을 뜻한다. 변환은 필연적으로 정보의 재구성/재생산을 동반하고, 대개 선한 방향을 유지하기 어렵다. 수많은 전달 주체들의 입장과 주관이 자신들도 모르는 새 오염과 왜곡, 변질로 작용한다. 여기에 의도까지 섞이면 혼란은 따 놓은 당상이다.
이를테면 지진에 흔들리는 건 건물만이 아니다. 꼬리를 무는 출처 불명의 소문은 동시다발적 혼란을, 각양각색 언론 호도는 그보다 더 큰 혼란을 부른다. 물리적 떨림이 인식과 소통의 떨림으로 번지고 마침내 사회까지 떨어 울리는 것. ‘실제 지진 상황’은 머릿속 클리셰와 사뭇 딴판으로 흐르고, 현실은 점점 비현실로 옮겨간다. 재난을 경험한 이들에게선 종종 ‘도무지 현실 같지 않았다’라는 회고를 듣곤 한다. SF가 따로 있는 게 아니다. 여기저기서 솟아나고 방울진 소문과, 호도, 혼란은 현실과 초현실의 경계가 그리 선명하지 않음을 몸소 보여 준다. 비현실적인 장면이 사실은 더 현실적인 셈이다.
그래서 조우따이쥔(周代焌, Chou Taichun)의 재난 광경은, 당최 재난과는 어울리지 않을 법한 휘황한 색상과, 현실의 풍경과 뒤섞인 초월적 형태로 얼룩진다. 대만에서 겪어 온 크고 작은 재해 속 에 그는, 재해 자체의 양적/질적 명세보다 오히려 이러한 인터페이스, 즉 ‘무엇을 어떻게 전하고 받아들여 조합하느냐’가 상황을 좌우함을 깨달았다. 그가 캔버스에 펼치는 건 이러한 인터페이스를 거친 광경이다.
발 없는 말(言)이 퍼지듯, 무성하게 솟은 푸른 이파리가 화면을 잠식해 나간다. 무엇이든 가리고 덮어 은폐할 법한 두툼하고 칙칙한 천막을 뚫고 무언가 도드라져 솟아나려 한다. 위기감에 더욱 팽팽히 다잡아 누르려 들수록, 역설적이게도 비집어 꿰뚫기 더 용이하다. 역치에 도달하는 순간, 거대한 나무줄기가 더 이상 통제할 수 없는 진실처럼, 낭중지추로 솟는다. 긴장으로 얼룩진 식물 표면에 생채기처럼 패인 이런 저런 골은, 다양한 생각을 뒤섞어 알록달록한 퍼티와 실로 한 땀 한 땀 꿰매고 채워 나간다.
그는 재현도, 환영도 지향하지 않는다. 텐트나 천막, 현수막 등을 팽팽히 잡아당기는 모양새의, 프레임 없는 캔버스 천 작업은 마치 무대의 커튼처럼 ‘개봉박두’의 분위기를 자아낸다. 작품은 안전거리가 확보된 극장에서 즐기는 영화처럼, 관객에게 ‘상영’ 혹은 ‘상연’된다. 화이트큐브는 관객이 처한 실제 상황이고, 작품은 내용을 주고받는 또 하나의 ‘인터페이스’가 된다. 그의 최근 개인전 제목이 《崩解劇場》이다.
서울에서 가을을 나며 준비한 이번 전시에는 ‘서울 한복판에서 뜻하지 않은 무언가가 일어난다면?’을 상정했다. 그가 서울을 나서기 며칠 전 실제로 포항에서 지진이 일어났고, 그 진동이 서울은 물론 한반도 전역을 훑었다. 그가 머물던 스튜디오 주변의 풍경 조각이 화폭 곳곳에 언뜻 엿보일 뿐이지만, 수년 간 매일같이 스쳐 지난 종로의 회사원보다, 그가 바라본 이 광경이 어쩌면 더 정확할는지도 모른다.
Chou Taichun_Beyond the Mountains – 30 Degree Wave_acrylic on canvas_120x194cm_2017
The Unreal is Rather More Real
Kim Younggi
Chief Curator, OCI Museum of Art
“Don’t you understand the situation?”
‘Situation’ is certainly a word often used, but it is actually not easy to grasp the meaning. The scope of the word is so comprehensive, and in addition, it is made up of a lot of information coming from outside. ‘Outside’ is an abbreviation for something ‘in need of change’. Change means reproduction of information, which is usually difficult to maintain a good direction. Rather than avoiding distortion and complementing for sharing, the positions and views of the innumerable agents of reproduction act in spite of themselves as new pollution and deterioration. And to make things worse, if various intentions come in, confusion is inevitable.
For example, it is not only buildings that are shaken by an earthquake. A train of rumors coming simultaneously from a myriad of unknown sources lead to confusion, and all kinds of misleading media reports invite even greater confusion. Geological perturbation spreads out to become perturbation of perception and communication, finally to shake society as a whole. The ‘actual earthquake situation’ is quite different from the cliche in our head, and the reality increasingly turns into the unreal. We often hear from people who have experienced disasters saying, ‘it was unreal.’ The world of science fiction is not somewhere far away. The rumors and misleading news that crop up here and there bear witness that the boundary between the real and the surreal is not so clear. The unreal scene is actually more realistic.
So the scene of disaster that Chou Taichun (周代焌) presents is compromised by dazzling colors that would not fit in with the disaster at all, and by some transcendental forms mixed with the landscape of reality. Through the big and small disasters that he has observed in Taiwan, he realized that the situation depends on this interface, that is, on ‘how and what to communicate, accept, and combine’, rather than on the quantitative/qualitative details of the disaster itself. What he unfolds on the canvas is the scene that has been through the interface.
As rumors spread, the lush green leaves are encroaching on the canvas. Something is about to spring up through the thick and darkish tent that seems to be perfect for covering and hiding anything. The more you try to hold on tight and press it, sensing the crisis approaching, the easier it paradoxically becomes to pierce it. The moment the threshold is reached, the giant tree trunk stretches out like a truth that can no longer be controlled. The dents, which look like scratches on the surface of a plant encroached upon by tension, are stitched up with colorful putty and thread mixed with various boundaries and thoughts.
He does not aim for representation or illusion. As if pulling tight a tent, a pavilion, or a banner, the work done on the frame-less canvas produces a tempo that resembles a tent or a curtain that announces the opening of the stage. The work is ‘screened or performed’ in front of the audience as if it were a film enjoyed in a safe theater. The white cube is the actual situation that the audience is faced with, and the work becomes another ‘interface’ to exchange the contents. The title of his recent solo exhibition is The Collapsing Theater (崩解劇場).
The leitmotif of the exhibition, prepared over the autumn in Seoul, is the assumption that ‘what if something unexpected happens in the middle of Seoul?’ A few days before he left Seoul, an earthquake did occur in Pohang, and the vibration was heard throughout Seoul as well as across the Korean peninsula. Here and there in the canvas we see pieces of scenery around the studio where he stayed. Yet what he saw is probably more accurate than the scene that an office worker in Jongno saw, who had been passing by the area for a number of years.
After the solo exhibition in 2016, Chou Taichun went over to Korea and Japan to work as a resident artist. Over the year, he must have visited many more places, met more people, experienced many things, and felt a lot. Unlike spoken or written languages, painting is not bound by the barriers between nations. That does not mean it always works well. Although he has found many subject matters from his surroundings, he has always had the logic and the framework to apply universally. The images to be exhibited this time may be more comprehensive and more abstract. This is a painstaking effort of an artist who deals with visual language to cover broader issues and convey messages more naturally to more people. The message is more hopeful than before. ‘苦盡甘來’, ‘Sweetness follows bitterness’. ‘Time is a great healer,’ as the saying goes. Since the wound is followed by healing and the disaster by recovery, it is still a world worth living in.
2022.09 ACK 발행.
ACK (artcritickorea) 글의 저작권은 필자에게 있습니다.