Strange Visit: Jeong Jeong-ju

It's fascinating to compare the human eye with the lens of a video camera. What we see with our naked eyes over the course of a day can be compared to running a video camera for 16 hours. Considering that PAL format videos capture 25 frames per second, we could say that humans take approximately 1,440,000 images in a single day. These images are processed, inputted, and stored in the brain. 

At certain moments, this stored visual data is recalled and reconstructed through the unique mechanism of memory. However, it seems unlikely that all of this information remains intact in our minds. The further back we go in time, the less we are able to remember. Most people say they can recall memories from the age of three, but even those tend to be fragmented. 

What we see, hear, and remember involves unconscious choices. A simple experiment can illustrate this: imagine standing in front of a blank white wall, slowly shifting your gaze from left to right. You’ll notice that your eyes don’t move in a smooth line. Instead, they pause momentarily at certain points, focusing briefly and moving on. Even in these fleeting instances, the eye and brain are engaged in an automatic process of selection.

In my work, the eye is metaphorically replaced by a small surveillance camera, and the movement of the eye is translated into the motion of the camera. As described above, the eye is constantly stopping, focusing and moving on in a repetitive, unconscious rhythm. In contrast, a camera, free from psychological or emotional interference, will continue to move without interruption, determined only by the speed and direction of its motor, unless disrupted by mechanical friction or other external forces. 

Camera Movement in My Work

The piece <거실> is modeled after the living room I actually live in. Inside the model, a camera is placed in a corner of the room, facing the wide windows and glass doors, and slowly rotates left and right within a 120 degree range in a continuous, repetitive motion. 

<샤우하우스>, which is based on a student dormitory, consists of five separate living units. Within each unit, a camera moves toward and away from the window in a constant loop. These cameras record both the interior of the model and, through the windows, the exterior space where the model is installed, capturing passerby and visitors moving in and out of the gallery space. 

Sometimes people outside the model open the doors, walk around, observe the work, or lean in to peer through the miniature windows. These interactions are captured by the internal cameras shown in real time on monitors installed beside or beneath the models. Viewers see themselves on screen, larger than the scale of the miniature models, evoking a sense of amusement. 

The images on the monitors appear and disappear at intervals of 1/25th of a second, mimicking the frame rate of video. Nonetheless, the images are stored in the viewers’ minds, combining their own visual memory and forming a layered experience.

Thoughts on Empty Spaces

The spaces in my work are modeled after places I currently live in or have entered at least once before. Inside these models, the rooms are left completely empty. I find myself more drawn to empty spaces than those filled with furniture like desks, bookshelves, or wardrobes. 

Vacant rooms after a move, small storefronts waiting for a new owner, empty gymnasiums, or long corridors and rooms with windows which perhaps were once part of an old hotel, invite a different kind of attention. When entering these places, I become more aware of the space itself. 

Each space reveals its own character through the size and placement of its walls, ceilings, windows and doors. These architectural features give the spaces a sense of individuality, almost as if they are organic beings; cells with their own life. During the day, they receive light through the windows. At night, they emit it. They absorb gazes from the outside and return them outwards again.