Episode 122: Black
The museum staff guided the visitors in an orderly manner. All the outer windows were covered with blackout curtains.
Just like his first solo exhibition, “24 Solar Terms of Emotions,” R.F had turned the entire exhibition hall into darkness.
Leaving behind the dazzling night view of Paris and entering a space where silence flowed, my ears felt muffled.
“Is R.F’s real name Kang Lim? I feel like I’ve heard that name a lot before… Who was it?”
Carter walked cautiously along the line, reading the exhibition preface.
He unknowingly felt tense.
Kang Lim’s third solo exhibition, “Black Hole.”
After completing two solo exhibitions in his homeland, he moved to Paris.
This solo exhibition holds significant meaning as Kang Lim, who had previously found themes from external factors, now explores his inner self.
The process of an artist looking within themselves offers many a unique sentiment.
We, too, will feel the meaning of individual existential value in this exhibition.
Through this exhibition, Kang Lim transcends the superficial characteristics of painting once more.
The “Black Hole” series consists of over 300 single paintings, but they are not just quietly hanging on the walls.
He overwhelms the audience with a scale close to installation work.
The artist said, “These paintings are extremely personal. They are my inner psyche, chaos itself.”
What kind of person is Kang Lim, who gathers a bunch of anonymous people and calls them himself?
He has complete memory ability, also called hyperthymesia.
Kang Lim, who memorizes all information, feels a slight sense of detachment when he cannot fully share memories with others.
In fact, Kang Lim said, “There are times when I feel lonely because the faces and afterimages of people I pass by without any interaction remain forever.”
He felt comfortable seeing people’s backs because he couldn’t read any intimate personal information.
In Kang Lim’s mind, there are all the pieces of life he has lived so far.
Maybe that’s why. When I see him, who seems to know everything, I feel like he is a person from the future.
No, past, present, and future…
I get the feeling that he transcends time and space, not standing at any specific point.
Just like this exhibition hall, “Black Hole.”
You, too, will experience the strange ‘intersection’ that arises between individuals as you brush past the crowd.
The countless backs of people…
From those whose faces we cannot see, what memories do we read?
Let’s dramatically feel the non-verbal gestures of the characters.
In the endlessly expanding black hole where disconnected time continues.
“Wow, what an incredible preface… Kang Lim’s curator is a good person.”
Carter hoped that Adam, who runs his gallery, would gain a lot.
What kind of outstanding work must he have done to get such a preface? On the other hand, he was also worried.
Excessive attribution of meaning could make the artist look ridiculous.
However, the moment he entered the main artwork.
Carter understood the meaning of every word written in the preface.
No, he thought the preface might not even be necessary.
Kang Lim spoke through the space he had painted.
He could feel the life Kang Lim had lived all at once, with his whole body.
Carter realized why the museum staff limited the number of entrants.
Because there were already thousands of people inside the exhibition hall.
Where does the painting end and the real people begin?
The backs drawn in the artwork and the viewers were indistinguishable.
There were too many. This was not simply a collection of over 300 works.
It was infinite expansion, chaos itself.
“…He made the exhibition hall into a complete mirror room.”
When the Paris gallery opens up the entire first-floor space, it secures about 150 pyeong.
The limitation of this space is its trapezoidal shape, following the original design of Haussmann-style buildings built in the 19th century.
But Kang Lim broke the given space.
Because the mirrors endlessly reflected the images, it was impossible to grasp the structure of this building.
The ceiling and floor of the exhibition hall, as well as the background of the paintings, were all unified in the same black.
Thanks to this, the drawn backs floated in midair, and nothing else was visible.
It was literally a “Black Hole.”
“An enormous scale. Infinite…”
Carter’s legs began to tremble.
Entering the majestic space, he felt infinitely small.
He had to be swept away by the mercilessly large number of people.
He felt like a lost child, abandoned in the middle of an intersection.
Standing at the intersection of faceless people, he felt like he was going to stop breathing.
The backs were randomly suspended.
There was no rule to be found in the distances between them.
Although crowded, it felt empty as if something was lacking somewhere.
Where are they looking? Their directions were all different.
“To Kang Lim, the back might be trivial information… but his expression is so meticulous that it doesn’t feel like it was brushed by without meaning.”
Carter moved his steps slowly.
He began to appreciate the paintings one by one.
Each subject reflected his feelings.
Through delicate descriptions, he glimpsed their professions and daily lives.
Just by looking at the clothing styles of the standing figures, he could tell that various times were mixed.
Because all the seasons and weather were different.
There was no commonality among the countless backs.
Skin and hair colors, the wrinkles of the epidermis, nothing was the same.
The loneliness of wandering among the crowd, that solitude was fully felt.
Carter rubbed his arms in the melancholy.
He decided to close his eyes for a moment in the meditative space.
“……”
From afar, he heard the sound of people’s footsteps.
Even that felt like a musical rhythm, as if it were part of the artwork.
“They are all painted on different backgrounds… It’s not canvas.”
As he passed between the works, people swayed gently in the wind.
The weight of the fabric brushing against his body was all different.
“Does the weight of a human soul differ? If so, by what standard does one measure that weight…?”
Carter, immersed in philosophical contemplation, opened his eyes again.
The physical properties of the painted materials were also varied.
From transparent feelings to rough and thick impastos… the shapes, colors, and forms were unique.
Deeply absorbed in appreciation.
Carter was startled to meet another viewer like himself.
Seeing a person suddenly move, he had to swallow his scream.
He almost screamed but held it in.
He didn’t want to break the density of the air, the concentrated atmosphere in the frozen time.
After a moment, getting used to the darkness, he began to distinguish between the viewers and the paintings.
A man stood in front of a similar office worker.
Rushing to work, he held a tie in his left hand.
The moment the smooth fabric fluttered was frozen.
A woman stood where gypsies and black people were.
She, too, was a stranger there.
A person existing alone among people without interaction.
Someone seemed to be meeting a deceased person or a separated lover from their back.
The back of the viewer, slowly crumbling in melancholy, became part of the artwork.
“Wow… this is truly an amazing expression.”
Carter, too, stopped in front of one person.
He was among people tightly wrapped in thick coats.
Thanks to that, the bare back felt even colder.
The movement of the waves rippled on the skin of the person in a swimsuit.
The fluttering thin paper showcased the random blooming and fading touches.
Santa Monica beach touching the Pacific Ocean.
Although nothing was painted in the background, he recalled that summer vacation.
The fishy smell of the sea…
The experience of the scorching sun heating his head while his body submerged in cold water came to mind.
Carter’s memory was also reproduced in this endless darkness.
Kang Lim depicted all the changes of time and the spatial sense of light.
“Soon, there will be a conversation with the artist.”
The audience buzzed upon hearing Ryu Miyeon’s announcement.
The people gathered here had been eagerly waiting for this moment.
It was even more so after entering this place.
The exhibition hall, which naturally turned passing people into strangers and oddities…
They couldn’t wait to meet the artist who offered this synesthetic experience.
“Please come this way.”
The staff guided the audience to a separate space at the back of the exhibition hall.
There were a few chairs, but not enough for everyone to sit.
The audience folded their hands and waited for Kang Lim slowly.
After a while, the sound of high heels clicking was heard from afar.
A deep resonance was born in the dark space.
Kang Lim was wearing a black Balmacaan coat that reached his ankles. The subtle navy blue hue shimmered in the generous fit.
The trapeze line, resembling the spread of a skirt, and the naturally flowing shoulder line subtly revealed his silhouette.
The inner outfit glimpsed through the coat was stylish.
It had unique textures and patterns, but being black, it felt structurally beautiful rather than excessive.
Exclamations flowed among those who recognized the clothing.
“We will now hand the microphone to those with questions.”
Kang Lim sat on the table.
Only one light illuminated him. It was the only lamp here.
“Who might have come…”
Kang Lim looked up.
There were renowned scholars, famous newspaper journalists, and even Hollywood actors known for making headlines.
However, it was too dark to see anyone. Only the spotlight was on the artist.
“People I know must have come too? The director said he would bring them.”
Those seeing Kang Lim for the first time were surprised that he was a young man.
On the contrary, those who already knew Kang Lim found it hard to recognize who he was.
What exactly is that existence? Where did he suddenly appear from, doubting their eyes.
Unaware of their thoughts, Kang Lim began to take questions. There were so many curious people that he had to tell his entire life story.
How he lived, why he worked, who was the woman he painted in his first exhibition… many secrets were revealed.
Ironically, the more Kang Lim’s true identity was revealed, the more mysterious he felt to people.
Questions about his current work also poured out.
“The simple composition feels like watching a scene from a play. How did you think of removing the background and only painting the figures? And in such a pitch-black mirror room. I’m curious about the mechanism that implemented the work.”
“There was a Saedabbang in the Eastern palace. It was a place where silk was hung in the air and dried by the wind. That’s where the idea came from.”
“Wow. It’s so different from that… amazing.”
“The painted screens are also unique. What kind of paper did you use? I’m particularly curious about the feather-light, transparent feeling paint.”
In the pitch-black darkness, Kang Lim answered the faceless voices.
“I painted on many fabrics, including thick and tough asa cloth, slightly rougher hemp cloth, and lightweight, thin cotton cloth. The thinnest base was 1-ply hanji, a traditional Korean paper familiar to you as hanji.
The transparent paint is also a traditional powder pigment called bunchae, thinly colored. Many were curious about the materials of “Chef’s Cooking,” which I revealed at the auction. It’s the same material.
Of course, I mixed it with powdered stone pigment called seokchae to complete the sparkling sugar surface of the crème brûlée.”
“‘Chef’s Cooking’ is characterized by letters appearing on the screen. I’m curious about the identity of the thickly piled white paint. Is that also traditional pigment? Why doesn’t it fall off?”
“Haha. That’s my secret know-how, so it’s confidential.”
Kang Lim’s relaxed joke brought laughter to the hall.
No one was disappointed that he was an Asian.
For the master of this space, it wasn’t important.
Rather, people felt a liking for his soft French pronunciation.
He was a young man who exuded elegance and spirit.
A journalist swallowed hard and asked the last question.
He was someone who clearly knew that Kang Lim’s nationality played a crucial role in his work base.
“Then, what is the ‘our country’ that Kang Lim mentioned? Where are you from?”
Kang Lim answered with a bright smile.
“I am Korean.”
