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![]() Eye Exam New Korea
An exhibit of Korean new media work at Walsh Gallery in the West Loop
makes the familiar media of digital imagery and video projection both a
visually accessible and emotionally disturbing experience.
Walk into Choi Jungbun's South Gallery installation "Choi57 Visual
Performance: Hikari Chicago" for instance, and there's instant
technological disorientation. From outside the frosted glass room, the
room pulsates and glows with roving bursts of white light which, seen at
night, creates an intriguing sort of lightbox effect. Step into this
thoroughly wired room and you'll have to navigate lengths of purple
speaker cable stapled to the floor, zigzagging from one corner to the
next, terminating in a series of two dozen or so mismatched subwoofers
buzzing with static, beeps and assorted circuitry sounds. A Mac
Powerbook G4 and Sony Handycam lay on the floor in the corner, running
video and computer-generated sequences through two Panasonic video
projectors.
The most prominent projection fills one whole corner of the room, a
flickering array of bright, static colors. A piece of tape on the floor
instructs viewers to "Stand Here, Facing Wall." There's a bit of guilt
associated with doing so, since this posture mimics the insidious
punishment of schoolchildren. Once positioned, however, you'll notice
that your shadow has been anticipated: a vaguely humanoid figure has
been outlined using a series of white map tacks pressed into the wall.
Opposite this, an LCD projector hanging on a ceiling-mounted trellis
displays a split-screen, shifting between mostly fractal-like imagery
and a spatial movement of a field of individual cubes, floating in empty
space, and finally to stereoscopic imagery with seconds of flashed text,
all moving at a flicker.
Out in the main gallery, Kim Joon's four-minute single-channel video
projection "Daehanminguh: Flesh Park" opens with what appears to be a
hybrid between a male and female breast, heaving with each breath and
wet with perspiration. Emblazoned over the mound of flesh just above the
nipple are symbols from the I Ching and a large Yin-Yang. Four punctured
orifices superimposed over the digitally manipulated image pulsate in
time with a military march sequence. Then, in time to the beat of the
march, balls of fire erupt from the orifices, banging and exploding
until the end, when gusts of smokes stream up out of the holes. Next,
more digitally manipulated imagery of quasi-anatomy, including a
butterfly tattoo juxtaposed beside a nipple, a flaming sun tattoo over a
prehensile nipple at its center twisting and turning like the tip of a
hungry maggot. Joon's obviously had fun with the 3D Max and premier
editing software, with his final image a tour de force: across what
looks like the skin of a stomach, flattened and stretched to fill the
screen are tattooed numerous soldiers, posed in different combat
postures. In a grid around them, more orifices, again expulsing
fireballs in time with the soundtrack. "Flesh Park" alone veers
dangerously close to making a gutsy glorying statement about the
constant change of Korean new media.
Kim Sejin's fifteen-minute, single-channel video, "Take A Picture"
returns the exhibit from the overblown flash and flamboyance to the
self-discipline of prep-school youths. Huddled together in one side of a
small room, a class full of uniformed Korean students stand in real
time, arranged in rows and staring blankly into the camera. The shot
lingers for an exorbitant amount of time until, suddenly, the screen
flashes white and the class moves at ease, the image captured. The
students rearrange, lowering themselves to the floor to sit for their
second portrait. A boy in a back room remains standing momentarily,
either chiding or giving instruction to another boy in the front row.
Then another real-time durational shot, waiting for the flash. Repeat.
An exercise in absorbing physical brutalization, "Physical
Requirements for an Artist: 2nd--Enjoy Yourself in Every Condition,"
Chang Jia takes a beating in her four-minute single-channel video
installation. Framed in a medium-length talking-head shot, the artist at
first merely stares into the camera, long, straight black hair arranged
daintily over her shoulders, fighting back facial expression. Then a
hand reaches into the frame and the assault begins. In the course of the
video, the hand smacks, shoves, smears Jia's head and face raw eggs, and
bangs her skull against the wall behind her. Broken shells hang in the
sticky yolk dripping from the wall, the artists's hair thick with egg,
strands sticking to her face and forehead as the hand yanks her hair,
pushing her head at uncomfortable angles. Always with the hint of a
smile. Girls, girls, girls
New York-based artist Orly Cogan this week opens a show of her latest
work in "Bachelor Girl" at Julia Friedman Gallery in the West Loop. A
show to warm the cockles, Cogan's embroidery work on vintage fabrics
lays bare the sexuality of usually adolescent female nudes. Flowers play
a large role in her pieces, overgrown buds and stalks swirling and
framing the bared flesh of her subjects in Edenic tableaux of female
pubescence. In "The Affair," a brunette wearing only bra, underwear
and ankle boots kisses and frets with a frock-coated hand puppet. In
"Poptart Girl" a blonde teen, wearing only pink underwear and fuzzy
green socks, sits with one leg tucked under, thighs spread wide as she
munches down one of the breakfast pastries. Pop-art tarts, anyone? Relative Reality shows at Walsh Gallery, 118 North Peoria, 2nd
Floor, (312)829-3312, through January 10. Orly Cogan shows at Julia
Friedman Gallery, 118 North Peoria, (312)455-0755, through January 24.
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