Smiles of the Skeptic / Solo Exhibition
Date: 19, Jul, 1997 ~ 09, Aug, 1997
Venue: IT Park
Giving exhibitions is like some kind of revolutionary movement, where one is in constant pursuit of self-innovation. Indeed, in my experience it is almost like having one's skin completely stripped away head to toe. In the face of a creative environment that is unfeeling, ruthless and full of hostility, a hidden and unspoken danger always seems to float in the air - a suspicion of language, where almost anything can cause pain or irritation. As the words pass back and forth, each sentence is pregnant with significance and seemingly followed by ellipsis dots, allusions, metaphors, insinuations or the expression of unclear sentiment. Moreover, in the face of sympathy, pity and warmth, dialogue is circumspect and reserved. In the face of either goodwill or hostility, any simple and candid revelation or upright and outspoken points of view, face the same kind of danger, because it is impossible to delineate which feelings are real and which feigned. How, in the face of a multiplicity of cultural shocks, are we to avoid falling into an environment in which we are "slaves to material things", hesitant to move forwards? It is in this way that "dreaming" gradually becomes an automatic mechanism of independent creative potential. If I am incapable of casting a shadow, then how am I, as an entity or the spirit that sets everything on fire, to exist? Bearing this in mind, I continue to dream on the edge of consciousness and to grow with my dreams. The beating wings of the dream takes it up and away, as it rushes forth from the nameless center of my body. It takes shape and form, rising up in my mind's eye, giving recognizable image to my work. Suddenly everything is visible to the eye.
"Dreaming" is a part of my inner self, a synchronous entity somewhere between the real/unreal and deep memories, a psychological image that naturally resonates and transmits energy. I indulge myself in dreams, diving from one moment to the next, never caring to analyze the source of the dream. Shape and sound are both there, in the boundlessness of sleep and in its timeless abyss. There are wrinkles and differences of color in the silence of dreams, just as there are large dark clouds, glittering lights and shapes like stars, momentary rainbows, water submerged in water and unfathomable danger, or the meeting of bodies and in a flash tacit understanding and comprehension. Sometimes antagonistic images confuse and cover my eyes, whilst yet other more profound images negate them; both indifferent and distant, lifelike and shapeless, always distant, far from the world, far from others, far from all imagination, freedom and love I find familiar. We are never ourselves, we have always just arrived somewhere...... pulsating in a vacuum suspended in mid air. The body is a physical barrier one cannot easily go beyond.
Peeking out from my dreams, my loitering gaze falls on myself, transcending the restrictions of reality, stretching out without direction, floating, in search of truth in a vaster and more complete emotional and cognitive world. I am skeptical of allowing my conscience to be cut according to the latest popular style. Within the consciousness of dreams, between their borders, there is a constant humming of sound, words leap out of the air. I never see the concealed images, I only hear a sound like the lapping of the tide. This is not a foreseen feeling, almost as if it is saying....."in recognizing me recognize yourself, I only exist because you exist; your future starts here".
Aimed at one's own physical consciousness, "dreaming" can only be experienced. But at the same time, dreaming is not just about the dream itself. Through dreams I am aware of other worlds. I can describe dreaming or the wondrous images I see in dreams, but am unable to describe my consciousness of them. It is almost as if "dreaming" is a form of perception, another truth or reality, a physical cognitive process in its own right, a spiritual sensory organ or journey of discovery.
In the process of "dreaming" disassociation, I am conscious of an extremely pure spiritual intuition, displayed through the behavior of such media as steel, softness, cold etc. and vain attempts at perception, and the way these imbue the world of my understanding. As part of the cycle of nothingness, change and absurdity, how does this never ending dynamism penetrate reality and awaken our willingness and motivation to focus on life and make the road of the soul that much more me aningful? Perhaps existence and creation no longer require any meaning. What is more urgent is respect and being respected in life, in the extreme changes in reality we can neither avoid nor locate elsewhere.