A Celebration of Being and Balance
Installation view of Site 002. △. Brooklyn Fire Proof. Courtesy of Site.
The night before the opening of Projectspace WIP’s inaugural show, Unseen Images (2021), I found myself shoveling rainwater out of the studio-turned-gallery. Artists Seoyoung Kim, Soeun Bae, and Soo Park had transformed the shared workspace into a gallery for their first group presentation. The space had a definite DIY quality to it – the artists had stenciled the title of the show on the walls, and a single curtain separated the artworks from the reception table, which would subsequently be piled with wine and flowers. A quality the repurposed basement print mill lacked, however, was sufficient drainage. An unforeseen downpour in Seoul had left the artists (and me) scrambling to clean up the underground gallery.
Installation view of Unseen Images, 2021. Seoul, South Korea. Courtesy of the artists and Projectspace WIP.
Fortunately, Unseen Images (2021) opened without a hitch. The paint on Kim’s largest piece had managed to dry out despite the damp weather. Employing different media, the works displayed were connected by a common thread: they concerned the ambiguous and inarticulable, the emotive but barely-grasped, the unseen. Also implied was a sense of progression, like the fresh paint on Kim’s On Being Your ( ) (2021) gradually slowly drying out. Many of the pieces were created within the same space they were shown, and the element of inter-temporal motion was present in Park’s plant-matter displays and Bae’s carefully mapped out land drawings.
This sense of work-in-progress comes to the forefront in the trio’s second group show in three years, this time held in Brooklyn Fire Proof Studio’s white cube space. Simply titled △, the show is the second installment of Site, a curatorial project headed by Seoyoung Kim. The show acts as a conversation with their past work and explores their transformation and growth as artists, focusing on the material qualities (and sometimes illustrative material-ization) of existence.
Stepping into the space, it is easy to notice how non-linear the viewing experience would be. The white cube space is not small, but pieces hang from the ceiling, protrude from walls, and interrupt the viewer’s gait. I take up a meandering walk, at times inches from Bae’s quasi-corporeal creations or crouching in front of Park’s video piece. It seems whenever I feel myself setting into a steady pace, Kim’s structures are around the corner to shake it up.
Installation view of Site 002. △. Brooklyn Fire Proof. Courtesy of Site.
“Corporeal” seems too rigid a word to describe Bae’s work. “Bodily” is more fitting. Some of her pieces seem to bring the interior of the body outward—Untitled (Provider 1) (2024) and Fluid in the Belly (2024) are both overtly non-human vehicles taking on human functions. Tubes and pumps stand in for veins. The juxtaposition of silicone skin with plastic and metal blurs the line between machines and bodies. In both pieces, these functions are blown up in proportion and spread out, inviting the viewer to follow the movement of the quasi-body. However, it would be reductive to describe Bae’s work as a mere reproduction of the human body through artificial means. On the wall across Untitled (Provider 1) is Sac Light Emitter (2024): with light shining through silicone, the piece feels like Bae’s idea of exploratory research, an idea of a body to come. Perhaps unintentionally, the electric cords powering its lightbulbs share a power outlet with Untitled (Provider 1) (2024), giving the impression of the two pieces being connected—the current body extends to the body-to-be in a gentle transhumanist gesture. Suspended from the ceiling, 5-Channel Liquid Dispenser (2023) is a part of their prior work, Transfusion Loop // Procedures of Careless Caretakers (2023). In the full piece, components of the transfusion loop sustain each other and experience regenerations—the inner workings within the body are displayed as intra-body dependence and subsequently expanded to between bodies. Sometimes self-sustaining, at other times defective, but always beautiful and interdependent—Bae’s work is a romance of the body.
Installation view of Site 002. △. Left: Soo Park, Let’s Go Home, 2023. Right: Soeun Bae, Untitled (Provider 1), 2024. Courtesy of Site.
Stoic upon first impression, Seoyoung Kim’s series of modular structures seems to be in stark contrast with the two other artists’ presentations. Her earlier paintings showcased at Unseen Images were mainly reflections of her own existence within a (female) body via gradual abstraction. Now, her creations are art-object presentations, or simply things, an exploration into spatial relation and anonymous materiality. Gazing at 2024-06 (2024), I can just about identify small differences between the monochrome slabs situated in the corner. Dangling, stuck, detached, towering over; leaning, reclining, slipping; bearing the weight of, struggling, supporting—it only takes another look to hide or reveal a different layer of relational intricacy that exists among these anonymous objects. A poetic quality is bestowed to the empty space. Everywhere, there is dynamism within the static. The way a single piece of 2024-16 (2024) curves a corner is a genuine surprise, as is the kinetic energy seemingly trapped within 2024-14 (2024), where the tall, wooden component seems to suggest a potential trajectory. Kim’s work is an invitation to converse with space—the space between artworks, the space of the exhibition room. This conversation, or relational negotiation, will stay with the viewers even after they leave the room, compelling them to explore each space they inhabit.
Installation view of Site 002. △. Left: Soeun Bae, Untitled (Provider 1), 2024. Right: Seoyoung Kim, 2024-06, 2024. Courtesy of Site.
Childhood nostalgia and humor are prevalent throughout Soo Park’s work. It is hard not to crack a smile at the premise of Dog House Fire House Dog (2024), where an outsized dog house on fire is suspended on a bronze-casted dog’s tail. The artist’s methods of bringing their brand of lighthearted nostalgia to life, however, are far from simple. UFO (2024), in which two aliens find themselves in a Western town and run into fantastical characters, is stop-motion claymation; Weldie’s Crêperie (2024) involves the artist welding each frame of the ‘crêpe griddle’ and combining the animated result with Blender animation. The resulting video is captivating. The diverse textures (metal on 3D animation, clay on printed background) add dimension and character, emphasizing the fantastical qualities of the stories shown. This is not to say that the art exploits nostalgia as a disconnect from the present. When UFO reaches its end, the viewer’s gaze drifts to the clay creatures perched on top of the old TV—Sheriff Blobfish, Gunslinger Granny, and Big Dog, all of whom are there to remind the viewer that an element of childhood innocence lives on.
Installation view of Site 002. △. Site, Brooklyn Fire Proof. Courtesy of Site.
As the three sides of a triangle, the work of the three artists interact, interdependent on one another within the context of the exhibition space. At Site, △ is a celebration of their personal and artistic progression shared with the viewer, and the show leaves me wishing for their connection to continue to grow.
Site 002. △. was on view at Studio 104 at Brooklyn Fire Proof, 119 Ingraham Street in Brooklyn between May 17th and 18th, 2024.
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