Oscillator: Kim Joong Il
For just under three years, a period that feels short in some ways, long in others, I lived and shared a space with students majoring in art. My role there was to teach the engineering knowledge needed for software development, while the institution expected that students from diverse backgrounds would be able to create better software through engineering education. At that time, my attitude as someone in the arts was probably a bit uncomfortable. I believed that artists need a free-spirited approach, and that even if their behaviour was something challenging, it should be understood and tolerated.
One day, a small doghouse appeared on campus. Though it was called a campus, the space was indoors and carpeted, so the doghouse clearly wasn’t meant for a real puppy. It was obviously a playful joke. Still, it looked quite convincing, and I thought, when a group of artists gathers, even a prank can take on a polished, almost believable form. At the same time, a part of me felt uneasy. If this were an engineering school, I thought, that doghouse, set up as a joke, would likely be ignored after a few days, gather dust, and be forgotten. That thought left a small discomfort lingering in my head.
But then little changes began to appear in that space. A small food bowl would be placed there, or a cushion on another day, and then one day, everything would disappear. People noticed these small shifts and began paying attention, exchanging subtle messages about daily life. I realised that even things that seem meaningless gain significance once they become part of everyday life.
Occasionally, things that could be considered proper artworks appeared. On some days, a projector and sound system would run all day, displaying visualisations of an algorithm. On others, a doll performing strange, mechanical movements through a simple motor would stand quietly in a corner. I’m not sure if there was any rule for where the works were placed. They didn’t seem selected to be prominently visible, like a sign, nor did they feel like they had to be in a specific spot, like a crosswalk. Still, I found myself anticipating what might happen next in that space. Something I never imagined I would come to expect in my life.
With the intuition and belief of an engineer, I still think that letters will eventually be replaced by email. I believe that photographs will reach a resolution indistinguishable from reality, and that every object in our lives could be designed digitally and produced by computers. Yet I’m not sure how all of this could blend with our lives in a way that feels warm and engaging. Still, I’m curious. Could we regard emails of our time with the same fondness we once held for handwritten letters tucked away in envelopes? Could just thinking about them, stored deep in a drawer, warm our hearts the same way? Even if we capture a beautiful landscape in ultra-high-resolution photos, can our memories retain the same depth of detail? Can a computer-crafted image reveal the traces of struggle and creation the way handwork does?
Recently artist Kim Joong Il announced a project in collaboration with software developer Kim Deok-sung about email, digital photography, and computer-generated images. I know I’m still an outsider to art and not in a position to critique his work, so I won’t comment on the pieces themselves. I am simply curious. Why? Because I believe his work opens a path for technical achievements to enter our lives. And I expect that whatever comes through that path will carry a warmth and familiarity, just like his personality. What will he show us in his work? Will it make me smile quietly, as if sharing a secret joy? Somehow, I feel it will even make me want to send a beautiful letter. / Kim Jongkyu