YOU HYEON KYEONG : YOUR TRANSPARENT AND RESONANT SOUL: SEOUL

 

You Hyeonkyeong

 

I see people diving into pain-unaware that it is pain. Yet, for them, it is knowledge and learning, a way to deepen their understanding of humanity. They accumulate these experiences within themselves, distilling them into their own unique fragrance. That fragrance reaches somewhere unknown, allowing others to take it in and walk their path with a little more ease.

 

Only recently have I begun to reflect on the empty spaces in my paintings. I had noticed them before, but dismissed them as mere coincidence or temporary occurrences.

 

I revisited Lee Ufan's writings. They were easier to read than before. Among all the theories and discussions, what remained with me was the story of his life.

 

 

His life was a journey as an outsider. And yet, despite that, I felt he must have spent his life searching for encounters. More than any grand philosophical discourse, it was these words that stayed with me.

 

I lived in Berlin for two years. I relished the peace and solitude. I shipped all my paintings to Germany, and when I finally received them, I realized-I had truly left. I had planned to sort through my past works, but to my surprise, I spent an extended period looking only at a single painting: Hospital, 2014. I had passed by it carelessly before. But now, I had the patience to see each brushstroke again-or perhaps, my way of looking at paintings had changed. I didn't even know what I was seeing, yet I stayed before it all day, resonating with it. Was it because I had grown fragile and more sensitive? I wasn't sure.

 

And then, after two years, I returned to Korea for a short visit-and met you.

 

Passing through Seoul, my heart trembled again. I escaped into the mountains, and beneath the night sky, the stars were endless. As I gazed at them, I thought of you. They were beautiful because you existed, and for that, I was grateful.

 

I sat by the lakeside, watching a small sailboat drift on the water. It floated slowly alongside the clouds, bathing in the warmth of the sun and the breeze. I felt peace and tranquility, and I finally understood what it meant to be truly at ease. Despite having an abundance of time, it had sometimes felt tedious. The sun could be oppressive, the wind too cold. But today, as I sat there thinking of you, I embraced the warmth of the sun and the breeze, and I finally understood leisure. I was grateful to you.

 

Art and life-these two must remain separate. And so, I told myself I had to distance myself from life, justifying my clumsy existence. But to me, life is you. I insisted that I lived alone, that I was independent, but I could never let go of you in my heart. Wherever I went, I spoke with you. I knew that to truly rest, I had to be far from you. Yet, I wandered instead. Whether I painted faces or landscapes, it was always you. You were there, or you weren't. You left, and yet you lingered. It mattered whether you were near or far.

 

I read your clarity. I feel your fragrance. Because of you, I die; because of me, you die. Separated by distance, we create paintings that harm no one, study knowledge that wounds no one, and work in ways that burden no one. By nurturing clarity and cultivating fragrance, we can pass them on to others. And those in pain will be drawn to it. That, I believe, is the truest form of politics-not in forcing something upon another, but in refining our own essence so that it may reach others. If we can do that, we might save many. And then, even in solitude, we might not feel alone.

 

As I sense your fragrance, I begin to recognize emptiness. Perhaps it had been there all along, but it was only when I sensed your fragrance that I understood what I was seeing.

 

Clarity can be seen from afar, but fragrance must be sensed up close. The fact that I can now see emptiness in my paintings does not mean I can fully explain what it is.

 

Lately, I have found myself resting within my paintings. More than painting, I have enjoyed simply looking at them. This was unlike the past, when I avoided them. Some of my past works remain, carrying a sense of emptiness. I wonder-how did that happen? One might think that creating emptiness is simply a matter of removing, but it is not so simple. This brings me back to Hospital, 2014, which I spent so much time looking at in Germany. It is a painting that is rather full-so how could I call it empty? What I saw was not the lines themselves, but the space and void behind them. Perhaps those lines were not construction, but deconstruction. A recent painting of mine carries a similar quality.

 

Now that I recognize the existence of emptiness, I am grateful. But I still question-will I ever fully understand it? I wonder how Lee Ufan himself perceives the emptiness in his paintings now. I wish I could ask him.

 

My understanding of the world, my perception of emptiness-it all still comes from you. I search for your clarity. I follow your fragrance. Since I cannot truly know myself, I read you. Since I cannot sense my own scent, I follow yours. To recognize beauty, one must cultivate it. And so, today, I selfishly choose to chase your fragrance once more. All the things I believed were possible within myself have failed. Lost in your clarity and fragrance, I forget the past you. Perhaps one day, when my understanding of the world no longer comes from you, I will finally be able to leave. But for now, I continue to learn from you. I struggle to break free, so I trust that one day, a different time will come.

 

Clarity exists within everyone. To recognize it and refine its fragrance requires embracing. The more one embraces, the more pain follows. I have never met a person unscathed. Life is universally lonely and difficult. Yet, despite this struggle, everyone persists in surviving. That persistence is clarity. If we understand that everyone struggles, then exclusion and restriction should give way to acceptance and generosity. Of course, we must be wary of self-destruction in the pursuit of this ideal. I have grown weak-or perhaps, I have always been weak. It took me a long time to acknowledge this. I may not be able to embrace everything, but I can choose not to reject. I can resist isolating myself within any particular side. Perhaps that is what it means to accept one's own weakness and to live like a wildflower. Now that I recognize my own frailty, I must be careful not to wield it as a weapon.