Thoughts that come with doves’ footsteps guide the world.
- Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for All and None
Give flowers for our anguish
Give flowers for the unexpected
Give flowers for a time unlike the last
(...)
Forget what came before you found the flowers,
so the word flower doesn’t grow crooked
Forget what came before you found the flowers,
to let the sound of the flowers enter straight in
Forget what came before you found the flowers,
so the word flower grows crooked again
- Kim Soo-young, “Petal 2”
This essay discusses the power running through metal gaining volume to become flesh and that flesh opening up to bloom into flowers. It is also a story on Byoungho Kim’s “outside.”
Contemporaneity and Modernity
Discussions concerning Byoungho KIM’s work and his artistic productions are mostly focused on contemporaneity. Analyses and evaluations of Kim and his work have revolved around the figuration of charms, fear, anxiety, and doubt caused by contemporary civilization through the use of logical production technology and mechanism, which serve as its backbones. Various comments by the artist himself also seem to support such understanding.
The purpose of this critical essay is to examine the other side or the “outside” of contemporaneity that is wrapped around the surface of Kim’s works. In other words, this essay is about capturing the Baudelairean definition of modernity in Kim’s art. Baudelaire considered drawing the poetic and eternal from the historical and transient as a question of modernity. Hence, modernity discussed here has nothing to do with the historical classification of modern art and contemporary art. Rather, it is a question concerning the union of the eternal and the contemporary that makes all art art, as well as the union of the historical and the poetic. This is also the question that Deleuze and Guattari bore in mind when they said, “Perhaps the peculiarity of art is to pass through the finite in order to rediscover, to restore the infinite.”
Two Types of Invisibilities
Kim’s intention to visualize the invisible is not particularly new or special. Art, in its nature, is not the act of reproducing what is already visible or audible, but rather one of making the invisible visible and making the inaudible audible. Making what was not sensed or felt sensed and felt, thereby introducing a new kind of sensory experience is what all living artists wish to achieve. Therefore, when asking about an artist’s uniqueness, the question should not be an inquiry about invisibility in general, but rather one concerning in what specific way the artist in discussion makes a specific invisibility visible.
It is well known that Kim tries to reveal “the intimate and inextricable relationships between the invisible elements” that prop up the contemporary civilization. He tries to visualize rationality, efficiency, regularity, and inevitability that constitute today’s world not only through his artworks but also through the process of their production. These types of invisibilities, in that they constitute the current status or order of the world, are static in quality, and the major vectors of Kim’s work aim for the visualization of this static invisibility.
However, in Kim’s works, there also exist minor vectors that explore another kind of invisibility that is different in quality from what has been discussed already. What these minor lines trace is not the order of the current world but the existence and the flow of power that made this world itself. This second kind of invisibility, which we may call the invisibility of genesis, is dynamic in quality in that it concerns power and movement. If we say static invisibility is the invisibility of elements that constitute actuality, then invisibility of genesis or dynamic invisibility is the invisibility of elements that constitute virtuality. The power of genesis is not captured in everyday perception and affection. In most cases, we do not see power, but only the strata, which are made by virtue of the power but, solidified, now mask the presence of that power. The purpose of art is to visualize power that is present beneath, in, or beyond those strata. This task of art—or the act of dealing with virtuality-power—cannot depend on actuality-strata provided in advance, and in that sense, art begins from a baseless state or chaos. Power is chaos. This is why the issue of dynamic invisibility entails a greater challenge than static invisibility, in both art creation and art interpretation. That very reason also removes the cliche of defining art as the effort to visualize the invisible.
The tension or ambivalence that cuts through Kim’s oeuvre is rooted in the coexistence of two different invisibilities. To the artist, the contemporary civilization is a double-edged sword. It creates enchantment and doubt, fascination and dissatisfaction, and risk and possibility at the same time. So the subject for Kim is one who dreams lucid dreams, or one who dreams of civilization and system while being aware of the fact that they are in a dream at the same time. This subject, at times, is embodied by a form that neither sinks nor floats, and this is so because the subject lies somewhere between enchantment and doubt, fascination and dissatisfaction, and risk and possibility. Kim’s interest in what bears traces of both life and death, like fossils, is also related to this ambivalence. However, ambivalence is not symmetry. Enchantment-fascination is not symmetrical to doubt-dissatisfaction. The issue at hand, or what we must strive to tease out from Kim’s work is not the luring power of civilization, but the doubt and dissatisfaction about it. This is because unlike his work and practice, which in every aspect contribute to clearly visualizing what the lure and beauty of contemporary civilization are and how they operate, the source of resistance against them and doubts about them are not explicit. The minor vectors in Kim’s work are related to tracing down the origin or the genesis of this resistance and doubt.
As Paul Klee once said, the only view of the world that makes art possible is the proposition that “in its present shape it is not the only possible world.” This view of the world inevitably implies the thought on power that makes an object an object and a world a world. This is so because the power that gave birth to today’s world is, in principle, the power that can destroy this world and bring forth another. This artistic view of the world is the logical premise attached to doubts about and resistance against the world. If today’s world is the only world and if we are unable to think of what is outside, or what transcends it, how could there be doubts and resistance? If all living art is inherently rebellious, that is because it does not accept the world we live in as the only and inevitable world. Or perhaps it is because art believes that there is another world already in movement within the current world. Art becomes rebellious by creating “lies that are truer (the truth about another world, which is a lie from the present world perspective) than the literal truth (the truth about this world)” (Francis Bacon).
In this context, examining the genesis of resistance and doubt and the issue of visualizing the invisible power of becoming in Kim’s work is the work of examining his work from the perspective of art’s essence. And, as such, it is also the work of examining the potential relationship between the word “rebellious” and his works, which have florid and polished surfaces that seem utterly unfitting with the word.
Flesh and Figure
The question we must consider is how to visualize power, or virtuality-chaos. The most reasonable point to unravel the story about the figuration of tension triggered by power in Byoungho Kim’s work is found in the moment when metal becomes flesh. However, to capture the meaning implied in that moment, we must first make a general deliberation on power, flesh, and figure.
Deleuze and Guattari teach us that we should not confuse the visualization of virtuality with actualization. Art does not reveal actualized virtuality but virtuality itself. Actualized power is already different from power itself. The role of art is to give body to virtuality.
Virtuality in body, or the body of virtuality is figure. A figure must be distinguished from simple shape or form. A form resulting through the capturing of power, a form that originates from power, and a form that expresses that power for that very reason—that is a figure. Even the distortion or dissolution of outer appearance is, in so far as it expresses power, is not the dismantling of a figure. In that sense, the concept of figure transcends the discussion of figurative or abstract. Power is only expressed through figures, and so art, especially fine art, in its strict sense, concerns “figuration.” As Deleuze said, if Jean-François Millet’s The Angelus captures the force of weight, Paul Cézanne’s Mont Sainte-Victoire the power of mountains unfolding before one’s eyes, and Vincent van Gogh’s Sunflowers the formidable power of a sunflower seed that has sprouted and germinated, that is because figuration is under way in those paintings.
It is flesh, not matter-material, that forms the figure, or the visualized body of power. Flesh originates from matter-material, but it is distinct from it in that it carries living power. Of course, flesh continues to exist only if there is material. This is the same as there being no painting without paint and no meaning without words. However, the power of painting does not originate from paint itself nor do words convey meaning on their own. Likewise, material and flesh belong in different orders. Material only becomes flesh under the condition that it makes power tangible, and material contributes to the genesis of sensation unique to art only under the condition that it becomes flesh that carries power. Material must become flesh for it to exist as a figure.
The flesh-figure relation is different from the matter-form relation. Figure cannot be the result of imposing the frame we call form upon matter we might call lifelessness, inactivity, and passivity. If flesh is the carrier of power, then the cause that creates figure must be the power that flows through the flesh. Guillaume Apollinare said there are lines in poems that do not seem to be products of creative thinking but came to being on their own, and Henri Michaux said “Klee’s colors seem to have been born slowly upon the canvas, to have emanated from some primordial ground.” The message they wish to convey through their words is not the matter-form relationship but the flesh-figure relationship.
Of course, this does not mean that all things that claim to be artworks achieve the status of art, that is, the flesh-figure relationship. However, if one finds that some of Kim’s works seem to have transcended the figurative-abstract duality, or if one feels that the movement of his metal pieces that drop, soar, droop, bend, stretch, and swell cannot possibly be explained with the matter-form concept, that is because his work bears elements that must be explained from the flesh-figure perspective.
Black Ink Flowers
The series of works that embody the silent and invisible propagation or multiplication of pollen shows that Kim is interested in and has a sense for the power of “doves’ footsteps” that guide the world. When there appears a curvature inexistent in the set of lines that imply “fragments of order” or “inevitable fear”, it presents contemplations on the inaudible and invisible virtuality that builds the world and expresses a sense of the power and weight of “a single petal about to fall after shattering rocks” (Kim Soo-young, “Petal 1”).
When viewed in connection with the figuration of the silent power of pollen, a series of Kim’s works made with glossy shiny elliptical spheres imply an unexpected sense of tension. Through sleek identity produced by mechanical systems and magnificence intensified by the mutual reflection and replication of such identities, he clearly demonstrates that the “inevitable fear” caused by civilization cannot be separated from “enchantment.” Of course, this is true. A system cannot be maintained by fear alone. Fear without enchantment cannot establish a system nor let it continue. In that vein, it appears that these works are epitomes of art that demonstrate the visualization of the first of the two invisibilities.
However, the immaculate splendor of civilization and system, looking the more perfect because of its being fascinating as well as fearful, does not seem to be able to remove the pressure and tension coming from the reproductive power of pollen. To capture that pressure and tension, we must see the figures from the inside. According to the artist, the elliptical spheres, which give the installation its extravagance, are in fact “abnormal growth and protrusions of flesh.” They are lumps of desire that grew out like excrescences. Not to rest content with just reciting conventional phrases on the relationship between modern civilization and desire, one must go beyond simply understanding desire as a result of enchantment or fascination. Spinoza and Deleuze teach us that desire, in essence, is the power of production and the power of cause—in other words, the power to construct the world. If we erase the image of lumps and see the elliptical spheres from a different perspective, they resemble bubbles that have been created at the end of poles from blowing into them from the other ends. The surface of these bubbles glisten, exhibiting prettiness, but there is no guarantee that the breath that created the bubbles, or the breath that gave them their shape, will remain enclosed in those charming structures and will not burst them. The pressure applied by the desire-breath from the inside is what creates the tension unique to the elliptical sphere installation series. Here, metal becomes flesh, not in the primary meaning that they resemble lumps of flesh, but in that they are charged with the power of desire-breath, that is, they form a figure.
The imagination on the pressure inside the elliptical spheres and the potential possibility of them bursting from that very pressure overlaps the image of a flower bud yet to bloom over the lump-like figures. From this perspective, the infinite reproductions of the luster appearing as though they substitute and overpower “silent propagation” is merely superficial. The power-desire-breath in the cylinders that blew up the fascinating elliptical spheres at the tips is the same power that opens up flower petals in the Silent Propagation series, or the same power that releases pollen into the world. If this opens the elliptical spheres into shapes of morning glory petals that will enable “silent propagation,” pollen will propagate more broadly and wildly in all directions than in Silent Propagation, thereby producing movement that is further liberated from the “inevitable fear.” Metal becoming flesh, and flesh becoming flower. The word “becoming” has been used so much that it is far from new, but its figuration is not as easy done as said.
The chaotic nature of the power of genesis that enables becoming-flesh and becoming-flowers is explicit in Kim’s works that summon the gods. In them, fear and fascination generated by civilization’s creations become absolute and are granted the status of gods. Kim says the theme of these works is memories. What are they memories of? What must we remember about civilization and gods? He answers that we must remember the fact that it is us, humans, who created the gods. Therefore blasphemy is the essence of the works offered to gods. As we all know, Kim has been persistently exploring the essence of civilization, and his exploration leads to multifaceted accounts of civilization as follows: civilization is fearful; civilization is questionable; civilization is fascinating; and civilization is constructed of invisible things. But now it seems that the one and only statement that supports all of the above is “civilization is our own creation.” Kim sees through the fact that the beauty surrounding us is civilization’s enchantment, and encourages us to question it; yet he is not quick to simply eliminate that beauty because he remembers that the creator of it all is us, humans.
The power of constructing a civilization literally lies under the feet of civilization-gods. Black ink that rolls under the feet of Kim’s gods do not summon concepts of mechanicality, productness, regularity, and rationality typically noticed in his works; hence it is one of the most atypical and foreign materials in his oeuvre. What is black is also deep at the same time. That which is deep is black. Only what is so deep that its depth is ungraspable can dare produce gods. The gods of civilization originate from profound chaos. The crux of this particular piece lies in the idea that the profundity rising from the black color and the ink scent of the chaos overawes the overpowering nature of the gods. The oriental black ink which represents the formless power of chaos physically blankets the key foundational structure required by the installation. If the structure physically supporting the piece were to have been simply placed under the floor, this work would have turned out entirely different. This is even more so when we take it into account that the figuration of this work is made more unique by the fact that ink is first sensed through smell, which is more primitive than vision,
Paul Klee said, to capture the power of the universe, one needs a pure and simple line that entails a single thought on the subject. In line with Klee’s comment is Bacon’s statement that a painter must empty, clear, and clean out the canvas to create art. Deleuze and Guattari called this “sobriété.” Sobriété can convey a range of meanings, such as simplicity, plainness, austere gracefulness, and moderation; yet, to most of those who know Kim’s work, none of these will look like a safe choice for describing it. However, Kim is certainly stepping close to a kind of sobriété in the pool of black ink under the gods’ feet. Black ink gives figure to the power of genesis, the fundamental generative power that adds flesh and makes flowers bloom at the tip of the metal pipes, and its shapelessness through simple intensity. It is this very black ink that flows along with the metal-flesh and produces flowers with it. Hence, Byoungho Kim’s flowers are black ink flowers.
Of course, the black ink-chaos is more than just the power that makes flowers bloom. Chaos is not only the power that builds life, but it is also the power that puts life at risk and sometimes takes life away. It is a great power of life, but from the stratified world perspective, it can be literally experienced as confusion and destruction. In Assembling for Eternity I (2008), Kim used car parts that attach to the engines of cars, which themselves are the engines that drove the modern civilization. In this work, metal pipes look as though they are melting because there is no exit for the power within to be released and bloom. (Of course, speaking in terms of the material itself, the melting-like look is merely a visual effect created by urethane coating, but our discussion here concerns the flesh.) The power here that circulates the closed pipe loop perpetually and fails to bloom ultimately seeps out and drips down. In the end, “Assembling for Eternity” is an unrealizable dream from the civilization perspective, and perpetual engines cannot exist. Power that fails to come in contact with the outside and does not bloom will melt the engine and the circuit of civilization.
Assembling for Eternity 1
2008, urethane rubber coating on stainless steel, 34x34x48cm
2008, urethane rubber coating on stainless steel, 34x34x48cm
The Monument of Chaos
Other than a few exceptions, the entire history of modern sculpture had to do with breaking away from being a monument that marks the beginning of the genre called sculpture. However, Kim takes a different approach, contemplating the essence of art through this issue of monumentality. This is interesting, because Deleuze and Guattari, who provided critical insight on the previous discussions of Kim’s work based on the idea that the essence of art is capturing and expressing power, also saw art as a monument. The question, then of course, is how to avoid anachronism. It was in 1937 when Lewis Mumford proclaimed “the death of the monument” saying, “if it is a monument it is not modern, and if it is modern, it cannot be a monument.” He said the term “modern monument” is contradictory in and of itself. The only way to avoid this contradiction is to think of modernity from a Baudelairean perspective. If a monument can relate to the essence of art, and therefore eternity, it then can be modern, in Baudelairean terms. Yet, what is a monument that is art itself at the same time?
According to Deleuze and Guattari, art as “a monument does not commemorate or celebrate something that happened but confides to the ear of the future the persistent sensations that embody the event.” Here, event refers to the intrusion of the eternal into the present and chaos into order. In speaking of chaos, D.H. Lawrence wrote: “In his terror of chaos he begins by putting up an umbrella between himself and the everlasting whirl. Then he paints the under-side of his umbrella like a firmament. Then he parades around, lives and dies under his umbrella. Bequeathed to his descendants, the umbrella becomes a dome, a vault, and men at last begin to feel that something is wrong” (“Chaos in Poetry”). An artist is one who rips the umbrella to let in the fresh air of chaos so we are not confined to a life under the umbrella with its under-side painted like a sky. Art as a monument exists to remember the existence and power of this very chaos, and what it preserves and passes on to the “ear of the future” is a sense of chaos. Ultimately, art is about inviting the infinite into the finite, the eternal into the momentary, the earth into the territory, and the universe into the house. Then, constructing a monument means to construct the finite that returns the infinite, the momentary that returns the eternal, the territory that returns the earth, and the house that returns the universe.
Soo-young KIM said, “the probe of poetry” which enables “the approach to infinite chaos” is like the tip of the cross on a church steeple, and the orderliness and lucidity of the architectural body that extends all the way down to the cornerstones are unrelated to the essence of poetry, and in fact, disrupt it (“Poetry, Spit”). What makes art art is the existence of that very probe. Everything is dependent on it.
Byoungho KIM’s probes are black ink and flowers that sprout from it. Kim knows that monuments and memories are not about the past. His monuments try to remember the power that created, creates, and will continue to create the world in the future. In that sense, his monument project does not limit the series to the works that explicitly adopt monumentality. This is because the bubble-flower bud blown up with desire-breath, metal pipes through which black ink flows, and the flowers that carry the scent of black ink, are themselves monuments of chaos.
Byoungho KIM’s Outside
The previous discussion was about Kim’s outside in two ways. First, it is so in that we have dealt with the way in which his work relates to the outer side of the umbrella that sits between us and chaos. To capture power-virtuality-chaos means to give figure to the outer side of order and system. Secondly, this essay is about the artist’s outside also because the emphasis on power-flesh-flower presupposes readings that sometimes break away from the thematic trend of his works and even turns away from the intention of the artist himself. If visualization of invisibility is the single purpose that cuts through his oeuvre, this critique, which examines such works, is an attempt at the visualization of invisibility in those works. This, in other words, is like placing a magnifying glass over the point where the artist and his works have already stepped out of themselves, or the point where his already made works come in contact with the works that are yet to exist.
The relationship with the outside is the sign of everything alive. Only living artists embrace their outsides within them, and only they know how to fight against themselves. Like the struggle Cézanne put up against the traditional style over apples, an artist is bound to have his own struggles, if he is truly an artist. As Lawrence said, though the “appleyness” that Cézanne achieved is one of the greatest revolutions in the history of painting, what makes Cézanne an artistic hero is not that achievement itself, but the uncompromising battles he fought against his own conventional apple images and honest defeats in most of the battles. Kim is an artist who has an outside. Figures inexistent in the world that he pursues will only come into being through that outside, the battles it challenges him to, and honest defeats in those battles.