Anyone who knows Choi Byung-So is well aware that his work is a repetitive and repetitive task, drawing a line with a pen and a pencil on a wrapper or a box of small daily necessities, with black lines covering the front, sometimes torn and split by repeated friction. His work, which started in the early 70s and continues for more than 40 years, is never simplified or shortened, and repeats endlessly, is described as the asceticism of a monk, that is, an act of making oneself suffer physically. Some say that Choi, a young artist his early 30s in the 70s, began to paint and erase newspaper articles with a pen in the distorted and manipulated media of the times, when the media was controlled and expression and communication were suppressed. That does not mean that he only focused on newspaper work from the beginning. Choi was a key member of Korea Experimental Artistic Exhibition (1974) and Daegu Contemporary Art Festival (1974–78). He numerously showcased conceptual installation-like avant-garde experimental artwork through a happening where fish disappeared and only the cutting board was left to vibrate the smell, and in a city library/museum, chairs on the site were arranged individually or in groups, and then each area was marked with tape, and the seats without chairs are marked with tape only. In addition, such works are in context with his current work in the sense that they constantly ask questions about existence, absence, virtual image, and substance. There may be many reasons why Choi chose newspaper as the main material for his work, but he says without making a fuss, 'At that time, it was the most inexpensive and easy-to-get material that suites me best.'
The first impression of Choi's reminds us of minerals such as hard crystals created by natural energy under heat and pressure, rather than artificially created objects. Only after a long observation, can we slowly discover the important elements of the sensory and material substances that guide us on the path of perception on the black surface. It is nothing more than a trace of his pleasant handwork, with repeated parallel lines intersecting and accumulating, moving in various directions like an infinite melody in a free rhythm. At that moment, the black surface, which seemed neutral without emotion, is transformed into a sensuous, lively, and expressive piece of painting. The surface covered with black lines on the newspaper might look the same at first glance, but as yesterday and today can never be the same in any given time, each is given a new meaning through his work process through human actions in every moment of life that can never be repeated. Human labor and time, which are endlessly repeated by his creative will, are to give the only value and meaning to the daily mass production of newspapers which is seemingly insignificant and to make temporary things sustainable forever.
While preparing for Choi's third solo exhibition at Wooson Gallery in 2022, following 2015 and 2018, I had many opportunities to talk with him, and over the passage of time, I thought his work intentionally free of technique and bluffing, was very similar to the artist himself. I once asked him if it would be difficult to do this kind of hard work in his once-in-a-lifetime journey of life. However, he said that his work is neither hard work nor mortification, and there is always a new pleasure every time he does a new work. He said that the feeling of paper being torn half intentionally or half accidentally depending on the strength and weakness in each work is extremely intriguing, and it probably wouldn't have lasted if it wasn't fun.
I sometimes think of a conversation I had with him. Choi said he went through the Korean War at the young age of seven and was fleeing the war, watching people die in front of him. In elementary school, he had no money to buy a notebook, so he folded newspaper in his pocket, and in middle school, he read more newspapers instead of books because the reading newspaper was so fun, and a poem titled Bluebird by Han Hawoon that he read at that time still touched his heart. When he majored in Western painting at Chung-Ang University, he was doing homestay in Seoul, but a guy in the front room from his played classical music too loudly in the middle of the night, so he often fought with him, but in the end, he fell into classical music and went to 'Renaissance Coffee Shop (Classical Music Listening Café)' more often than to school. He said he missed his grandmother so much that he runs down the bus when he sees an old woman who looks like his grandmother even now. I'm not telling these personal stories about the artist because these anecdotes help me appreciate their work. However, I just wanted to say that I could not find any resentment or angst against the times and the world in which he was born in every word I spoke with him.
As a human being, Choi speaks so beautifully through his work, 'I existed there.' Looking back, I also remember simply understanding Choi's work based on formal explanations or information tailored to the general framework. However, if we look at Choi Byung-So's work based on such interpretation or criticism, we might miss the true value of his work, which I deeply felt while preparing for this exhibition. I hope this exhibition will guide the audience on a new path to understanding Choi Byung-So's oeuvre.
His wife, who has recently encouraged him not to do art anymore as he is suffering from back pain, said: 'No matter how hard I try to stop him, he would just do it. I am sure we fell asleep together, but at dawn I wake up with the sound of his pencil.' How can this be called some kind of asceticism?
March 2022
Curator Lee Eunmi
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Press release courtesy Wooson Gallery.
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