Sungim Choi: Fertile Furrows Andy St. Louis, Art Critic
The questions facing every horticulturalis – what to plant and where – demand an understanding of the unique conditions needed by each species in order to thrive. Some plants consume more resources and will not tolerate being situated in close proximity to others. Some depend on direct sunlight, while some need shade; certain crops must be sown in spring, others in summer or fall. Knowledge of such botanical particulars is derived through direct experience; anyone can plant seeds in a patch of soil, but cultivating a robust garden capable of producing a bountiful harvest requires sustained attention, patience and care. “Where the Body Once Was” encourages viewers to imagine themselves in a strange and wondrous greenhouse harboring diverse flora. Traversing the exhibition space, one progresses from a canopy of suspended bulbous forms to a cluster of sprouting cylindrical stalks, before encountering a set of intersecting trunk-like pillars and a copse of towering, frilled stems. As the physical format of each work changes, so does the viewer’s awareness of their body in space, eliciting a sense of discovery that animates the elements of the artist’s visual world. Hers is a world of altered appearances in which ordinary objects unfold a plurality of interpretations; beyond their formal resemblance to various types of plant life, these works constitute heterogeneous bricolages that radiate a terrestrial vitality. Installation art tends to be defined by the specific media used in its creation and the relationships they disclose. Looking at Choi’s recent work, some of the most distinctive materials to be found are knit doilies and plastic netting – soft and permeable, these latticed membranes simultaneously cradle and expose their contents within. The fragility of these empty husks is offset by a complementary array of solid surfaces that lend a contrasting sensibility to Choi’s installations: stacks of stainless steel spheres reflect ambient light with a machine-polished lustre, while totemic structures composed of acrylic discs and brass pipes adopt vertebral patterns of rigid alignment. The precise curvature and artificial aesthetic of these durable and unyielding objects bespeak an inorganic physicality that infers the industrial processes behind their creation. As such, they suggest an entirely distinct species of matter in Choi’s oeuvre, fundamentally at odds with the delicate fibers constituting her lace and mesh forms. Between these two material extremes appears a third formal classification, one of malleable and continuous planes that lack definite physical structure. This fluid materiality manifests in thin strips of transparent colored urethane vinyl, which are stretched vertically to represent cylindrical or linear volumes, as well as innumerable interwoven gold twist ties that coalesce into a vast and impenetrable metallic tapestry. Devoid of the dainty filigree found in Choi’s plastic and knit sheathings or the cold objectivity of the hardened masses at the other end of the material spectrum, these pliant sheets nonetheless exhibit
characteristics of each. They function as protective layers that remain flexible and adaptable to changing environmental conditions, much like the transparent vinyl hothouses found throughout the Korean countryside, or rolls of black cloth used to shade ginseng from the damaging rays of the sun. Although a single flower may dazzle with beauty, it will struggle to survive without the presence of surrounding plants that support a healthy ecosystem. Likewise, Choi’s installations are best experienced in settings where multiple bodies of work can cross-pollinate. Formulated as groups or clusters of forms, her works are fundamentally conceptualized as collective pluralities rather than singular entities. Among the abundance of specimens in “Where the Body Once Was”, none exists in isolation; the long, narrow gallery space is subdivided into differentiated zones, yet the entirety of the exhibition always remains in one’s peripheral view. This awareness allows for a holistic comprehension of the conceptual undercurrents that encompass multiple bodies of work, revealing meaningful links that resonate throughout her expanded art practice. Choi has always explored various dualities of existence – form and function, presence and absence, organic and artificial. Rather than simply juxtaposing binary conditions, however, her works attempt to locate a middle ground that reconciles aspects of both antipodes. In her 2014 solo exhibition “A Delicate Balance” held at SongEun ArtCube, this discourse was oriented around a dialectic of interior and exterior space, visualized in a pair of conceptually linked installations. Interior (2014) delineated a room-sized enclosure constructed out of thousands of strands of gold twist tie wire that stretched from floor to ceiling, encouraging viewers to peer inside but making it impossible to enter; conversely, Exterior (2014) featured a hard, opaque shell that hid its internal contents from view while allowing unimpeded entry through an open doorway. In attempting to balance such contradictory physical characteristics, these works questioned the nature of their distinctions and suggested the futility of insisting on their antithesis. This interest in multiple expressions of spatial duality deepened as Choi began staging installations in nontraditional exhibition venues, including one located beneath a high-speed traffic overpass in northern Seoul. Encased in concrete except for a long wall of windows offering obscured lines of sight toward the outside world, the liminal expanse of Space Meindo’s semi-basement exhibition hall functioned as both interior and exterior. Choi’s response to the hybrid space materialized in Golden Room (2016) and Hollow Tree (2016), installations that respectively radiated yellow and white light, which served as proxies for the sun and moon in lieu of direct natural light within the bunkerlike chamber. Her subsequent exhibition at Seongbuk Art Booster Station adapted a similar setting in new ways, introducing organic structures into an
inhospitable environment that once housed municipal water pumps. Consisting of an arboreal tower of acrylic discs surrounded by numerous fledgling stalks seeming to spread like spores amid the moist surroundings, Choi’s installation conflated the incongruous temporality of the site’s past and present, while implying the potential for its future return to a natural state. Over the years, Choi has consistently engaged with themes of biological growth and nurturing networks as nodes of connection between ecological and anthropological experience; in many ways, a gardener’s care for her plants is not unlike that of a mother toward her offspring. Much ink has already been spilled in interpreting the symbolism of Choi’s works in the context of her biography – after studying painting in in university, she put her art career on hold in order to start a family – and characterizing her shift toward installation art as a pragmatic response to the constraints imposed by raising four young children. However, gendering her practice within the framework of motherhood and homemaking does a disservice to her distinctive visual vocabulary and spatial logic. The power of Choi’s installation practice lies in her keen ability to thematize a common desire that unites cultures throughout humanity and, indeed, species in the natural world – namely, bringing another life form into existence and watching it blossom into the fullness of its being.