Do we live in the same world?
Why Seoulites flock to see Lee Kyungjun and Yosigo's photo exhibitions
It’s been a while. But do take a while to gaze into the photos below.
What do you see?
This isn’t a trick question. So feel free to state the obvious. A building. A terrace overlooking the ocean at sunset. These are things that we can find quite easily if we make a small effort to step outside of the house or bed (and perhaps drive a few hundred kilometers east if you’re based in Seoul).
Then why do Seoulites line up outside of GroundSeesaw to see photos of seemingly mundane objects and scenes?
Yosigo’s 2021 exhibition, held in the midst of the pandemic, attracted droves of mask-wearers to GroundSeesaw’s Seochon branch. Seoulites went OOO to catch this exhibition at a supposedly “less crowded” hour. The exhibition’s wild popularity eventually prompted the gallery to make the altogether unsurprising decision to extend it until the spring of 2022. Fast forward two years and you’ll see similar crowds forming an hour-long queue in front of the gallery’s most newest branch near Seoul station. This time though the locals are awaiting entry to see the oeuvre of a fellow Korean: Lee Kyungjun.
As stated above, both artists direct their lens towards or perhaps inwards into the everyday, identifying moments that elude the common eye. But what is it exactly that they see that Seoulites can’t? That’s what we’re probing today.
Observing mundanity
Let’s start with what meets the eye, then dig deep. Superficiality isn’t always bad, as long as you don’t dwell in it for too long.
I want you to study the photos below:
Once you’re done go ahead and look at these:
The most conspicuous pattern identifiable here is the theme of urban redundancy. The repetition of silhouettes, shadows, windows, balconies evokes a visual cadence that mimics a city’s monotonous pulse, rising stoically from the depths of urban cacophony (or symphony, depending on how friendly you’re feeling). Monotoneity is symptomatic of efficiency. The bus pulls up at the same hour. The tram doors slide open at exactly half past. You seat yourself in your cubicle two minutes before the minute hand strikes twelve. A city is only as efficient as the extent to which it is automated. And yes, we are very much part of this automation. We curb our personality, style, dreams and fears to join the great urban machine. At what loss? Keep this question, or the feeling this question stirs, stashed somewhere inside a limbic pocket.
What results is a conceptual oasis, formed from a patchwork of images, just ever so slightly tethered to the world as we know it
I’m aware that my description above is borderline dystopian. So I’d like to highlight the same visual motif from a slightly more uplifting, humanistic angle. The recurring images of urban architecture, in both parts and whole, conjures up a soothing rhythm that lulls us into another world where the mundane is rendered surreal through a disproportionate focus on detail. Yosigo magnifies the presence of a staircase or sunlit corridor by filling his entire frame with just that; he proceeds to further intensify the moment by lining it up against shots of other sites zoning in on the same architectural component. What results is a conceptual oasis, formed from a patchwork of images, just ever so slightly tethered to the world as we know it; all that echoes of the world that came before is in the object’s reduced form. Lee Kyungjun takes a different approach. He zooms out, but just enough so that the idiosyncratic details of the urban-scape are still fully comprehendible if you strain forward. Individual rooms fade to re-emerge as blocks on a facade reflecting the sublimity of New York. However, such anonymity born from distance is, in a sense, betrayed the moment the viewer makes an effort to edge closer. It is precisely this irony that captures the spirit of the urban crowd—differences erode to become a unified whole, but resurface with enough (emotional) proximity.
Asides from buildings, there is one other theme that runs throughout both exhibitions like a common thread. Have a look.
A park. A beach. Both are places where people go to “escape”. While not everyone may live in front of Central Park or next to a Mediterranean beach, it is not particularly hard to find less exciting versions of both. Notwithstanding such ordinariness, something about the photos feels different. From a technical standpoint, Yosigo’s work resembles an acrylic painting in its saturated hues. People bathe under the Spanish sun or recline beneath a striped parasol with a serenity that is poetically anachronistic—beaches are the epitome of summer madness. Lee Kyungjun’s photos are slightly more imbued with a dab of realism that stems from the way he plays with light. However, even this realism is diluted by lenswork that replicates the irreverence of a gaze, half-submerged in sleep, through calculated distance and exposure. Both artists direct their lens towards everyday subjects that are unprovocative in their mundanity. Then why is it that viewers are compelled to stare at such photos for hours? In other words, why do Seoulites develop a craving for the “ordinary”—buildings, parks, oceans, people?
Achiever fever
Seoul is bustling. The city radiates a restless energy that’s reflected in the windows of skyscrapers burning white into the night. Even if we were to overlook the city’s crazy work ethic, it’d be hard to negate that Seoul is driven by an obsession to achieve. This desire to surpass, to hit KPIs, to be “number one” has long underpinned the city’s aggressive growth narrative. However, as the adage goes, nothing lasts forever. Even the most ambitious of minds will have to admit that motivation—regardless of its provenance—will sputter without time to recalibrate. But where is time in a world that demands constant achievement?
Or perhaps we’re understanding the term “achieve” wrong. Here’s an interesting proposition: Yosigo and Lee Kyungjun are taking a jab at an etymological misinterpretation through their lens. People strive to achieve, but for what? Within a corporate context, achievement means producing measurable results. An increase in client ratings. A spike in inquiries. A beautiful upwards curve in top-line growth. What does this all mean though from a personal standpoint? Are you in it for the recognition? For growth? Or has it never crossed your mind to question this.
the key to unraveling one of life’s most philosophical puzzles lies in spotting out and capturing moments of breathing space
To phrase it differently, what makes someone a winner in life? This is a big question with a sloppy ending. However, for artists like Yosigo and Lee Kyungjun, the key to unraveling one of life’s most philosophical puzzles lies in spotting out and capturing moments of breathing space. These moments are so fleeting, so ephemeral that most people don’t notice them. More precisely, most people don’t have the time to notice. Just think about the sheer number of notifications that plague us throughout the day, keeping us glued to our phone screens. And we accept such a lifestyle in the name of progress. We tell ourselves that this meeting, this mail, this presentation is so important that it requires our very divided attention at odd hours of the day.
Breathing space as a commodity
Long story short, Seoulites suffer from a case of urban asphyxiation.
The pressure to achieve leaves most Seoulites with little time to cultivate their own lens for respite. As a result, people turn to artists such as Yosigo and Lee Kyungjun for breathing space. And they do what urban dwellers do best: they consume. Inner peace is packaged and commodified into easily consumable art. A two-in-one package; get your art AND your therapy. In a world where efficiency dictates the daily syntax, this seems like a good deal.
Inner peace is packaged and commodified into easily consumable art
This predilection to consume manifests in the interesting, but also highly narcissistic, phenomenon of Seoulites inserting themselves into the artwork. The Lee Kyungjun exhibition was filled with visitors posing in front of larger-than-life prints of New York’s cityscape, through which they (inadvertently) reduced the art into a backdrop. Benign as this act may seem, it essentially is a form of narcissistic appropriation.
When I say that this act of self-insertion is benign, I am alluding to how the people happily engaged in it are doing it out of admiration rather than disregard for the work’s artistic value. I clarify this, as the scene at Lee’s exhibition somewhat gave off the impression that people were there for themselves more than the artwork itself; people busily posed in front of photos depicting the sprawling New York skyscape, going as far as forming mini-lines in front of the more “photogenic” works. The need to document oneself against one of Lee’s breathtaking photos was definitely palpable. This isn’t altogether surprising, considering how Seoulites—just like any other cosmopolitan out there—are adept at tweaking a narrative to be centered on them. Besides, what easier way to consume art than to integrate it into your next profile pic?(P.S. this phenomenon isn’t exclusive to Lee’s work; Yosigo’s exhibition also experienced its fair share of appropriators)
At this point, we should ask the timeless question WHY?
Such narcissistic appropriation taps into a basic human instinct to yearn for a better world. The photos on display go beyond crystallizing an urban scene. They double as both a reminder and a promise of another world that is quite near. A world where peace, and perhaps happiness, resides in the simplest of moments. A world where achieving happens by feeling rather than thinking. A world that Seoulites want to conjure up for themselves but struggle to find the means. Unlike Yosigo or Lee Kyungjun, most Seoulites have little experience in identifying and recording an eye-catching moment. That’s why they resort to consuming photography that is already handpicked and aesthetically processed.
the difference between both artists and Seoulites has less to do with skill and more with mentality
However, upon deeper thought, the difference between both artists and Seoulites has less to do with skill and more with mentality. We all live in the same world. If there is a difference, it’s that Yosigo and Lee Kyungjun have the strength and patience to accept reality for what it is, then pounce on those moments that make life come ablaze with—well—life. What defines such a moment differs for every person. Whether one possesses, or is in the process of cultivating, a lens for identifying life’s breathing spaces is the secret ingredient that sets a life-achiever apart from an achiever-achiever. Until one develops such a lens, the worlds mediated through another’s carefully honed perspective will remain fictional—a tantalizing symbol of hope.
Branding takeaways
This was a long run. So let’s be quick with the takeaways
From a branding standpoint, the keyword here is “iterations”. Yosigo and Lee Kyungjun have masterfully crafted two separate worlds that transport the viewer into a conceptual oasis. However, neither of the two realms would be as believable or as engrossing if the photography did not exist as a series. The visual motif of cityscapes, park views, beach fronts imparts a tacit stability onto both worlds that is registered by viewers as “proof” of an alternate reality. Had Yosigo or Lee Kyungjun stopped at shooting a single building or scene before moving onto the next subject, their worlds—their brands—wouldn’t have burgeoned. Their work would lose some of its transcendental magic and instead acquire significance as a rare sighting in the world as we know it.
Humans are inherently hopeful. It’s why we subscribe to visions and artificially insert ourselves into mediums depicting a more idealistic world. Do you have the lens to convert hope into a better reality?