The City of Art: New York, 1945-2000 @ 63 Sky Art Museum

Being: Debbie Han 1985-2011 @ Sungkok Museum

Lee Jin Han: Postmodernism of the Beholder–Landscape of the Concept @ Alternative Space LOOP

1958-Ecole de Paris @ Shinsegae Gallery

Q&O. Structures and Fragments @ One and J. Gallery

Take a look at the complete art forecast for February over at our listings page (click HERE).

Borderless @ 313 Art Project

Whanki Kim @ Gallery Hyundai

Area Park – Way of Photography: Finding an Album in Miyagi @ Atelier Hermes

Korean Abstract Painting: 10 Perspectives @ Seoul Museum of Art

Mina Cheon: Polipop @ Sungkok Museum of Art

For the complete listings, click HERE.

Burning Down the House (Alexander McQueen & Isabella Blow) (1996)

Seocho
22 November 2011 – 26 February 2012

Opening hours: Monday – Sunday, 11:00-19:00
Admission: 13,000 won
http://www.dlcseoul.com

David LaChapelle. The name doesn’t trigger the same immediate reaction that others–say, Annie Liebovitz, Juergen Teller, Baron Wolman, or even Terry Richardson–might. David LaChapelle. To some, portraits of rock stars and celebrities on hte cover of Rolling Stone may come to mind. To others,the more fashion-oriented covers of Vogue and Vanity Fair. To few does high-concept/socially critical photography come to mind (if, indeed, anything comes to mind at all). And yet, this photographer, who is still very much in mid-career (he is 48), is gaining renewed insternational respect as more than a one-trick pony with an eye for best-selling magazine cover shoots. “David LaChapelle in Seoul” at Seoul Arts Center is a veritable trove of of visual delights—at nearly 200 works, it is the most comprehensive selection of the prolific photographer’s work ever seen in Asia—revealing the astounding ways in which LaChapelle’s visual output has transformed since he became a professional photographer while still in high school.

The themes and subject matter in LaChapelle’s work have changed considerably over the years, from his early work shown at galleries in New York’s East Village in the 1980s, to his cover and editorial work for fashion and lifestyle magazines, and more recently, work that resonates with the artist’s withdrawal from the “world” and subsequent retreat to his current residence in a cabin in the rainforest. Despite the radical turns LaChapelle’s career has taken over the past two and a half decades, the threads running through his enormous catalogue of images remain true to his own deeply personal worldview. The work that results inevitably falls into one of these four broad categories: mass consumption, fame, religion and the human form.

While still in high school, a teenage LaChapelle was “discovered” by Andy Warhol who offered him a job taking photos for Interview magazine. One can only imagine the profound influence that the so-called “father of pop art” must have had on the up-and-coming photographer, and it is no surprise that much of LaChapelle’s work examines the material culture that was at the center of Warhol’s own artistic practice. With a constant eye toward society’s excessive consumption, LaChapelle wields both humor and gravity to injurious effect in his oblique criticisms of human nature, subverting social conventions by placing his subjects in fabricated surreal environments. His Inflatables series (2002) adopts a humorous tack in its variation on the USA’s bigger is better mentality, marooning fashion models in the grips of super sized household products seeking vengance on their consumers.  Other images appropriate disaster and devastation to reflect a converse approach to the topic of consumerism, such as LaChapelle’s Destructions series (2005), where haute couture is stripped of its visual appeal by scenes of death and tragedy.

The artist’s disdain for consumerism is no doubt wrapped up in the subject matter that dominated his early career. Indeed, the work he is perhaps most widely known for is his celebrity portrait portfolio—characterized by its images’ shock value, aesthetic intrigue and a hint of voyeurism—plays directly into the mass market for which it was produced. Eminem, Britney Spears, Madonna, Tupak Shakur, Lil’ Kim, Naomi Campbell, David Bowie, Drew Barrymore, Angelina Jolie, and Lady Gaga have all been received the “LaChapelle treatment” over the years, and the photographer’s primary focus on this subject matter for so much of his career had a direct effect on the way he looked at the world. Society’s fascination with—and interconnected reverence for—celebrity evoked by these defining images must have struck a discordant note in the photographer’s perception of humanity, evidenced by his gradual departure from this line of work and turn to a more critical line of inquiry.

LaChapelle frequently mobilizes religious imagery in his later work, mining its vast repository of ready-made mise–en–scènes for their characteristic formal qualities. This body of work, which largely dates from 2006 onward, abandons LaChapelle’s standard mode of social critique in favor of a much more subtle treatment of the issues revolving around veneration and piety. By appropriating ubiquitous religious motifs and reframing them in a modern context—Michelangelo’s Pietà, for instance, set in an archetypal children’s playroom, Courtney Love assuming the persona of the Virgin Mary (Heaven to Hell, 2006)—the photographer communicates a pervasive sense of not-quite-right-ness indicative of his own loss of faith in humankind itself. Though celebrity figures such as Love occasionally appear in these images, they serve only to underline the artist’s concern with the power of images and the currency they exert over society. Interestingly, the figures that occupy these works are much more gestural than those of LaChapelle’s earlier days, hinting at an aesthetic maturity and return to nature. Nude, contorted, and imbued with either unrestrained pathos or absolute tranquility, they signal a sea change in the photographer’s artistic motivation and intellectual investment in his work.

Of course, it is the body itself to which this visionary photographer has unremittingly devoted his lifework, and it is this most empathetic of all possible subject matter that has given the most back in return. LaChapelle’s understanding of the human form and eye for capturing it at its most superlative—sensuous, grotesque, endearing, menacing, and all manner of emotional states—will always be his trademark. He is not merely an image-maker, documenting the human condition through his unique perspective, he is a purveyor of desire itself. The photographs are just the tools; we, the very consumers of these images, are the true objects of the photographer’s manipulation. This creator-consumer interaction is rare in its reciprocity; the audience is at once a third-party observer as well as the very apotheosis of LaChapelle’s ideological questioning. The result is an ongoing dialogue between the  images (and by extension, the artist himself) and their audience that give this gargantuan exhibition its essential intimacy.

by Andy St. Louis

Artsonje Center doesn’t organize many group exhibitions―typically only one per year―so when such a rarity does present itself, it’s best to take note. Meticulously curated and thoughtfully conceived, the new exhibition at Artsonje Center tackles a theme with increasing relevance to contemporary artists as each year passes. Working under the enigmatic title “City Within the City,” curators from samuso: (Seoul) and Gertrude Contemporary (Melbourne) have created a diverse yet incisive platform within which visitors can engage with the larger questions surrounding cities and our roles as participants, observers or obstacles of urban development. This is socially-conscious curatorial programming; beyond pretty pictures and interesting concepts, “City Within the City” proposes a comprehensive look at the relationships between the urban landscape and city dwellers, keeping an eye to the way they have changed throughout history, resulting in the status quo.

The documentary impulse presents a strong current throughout the museum’s two floors of exhibition space, from “officially recognized” histories to first-person remembrances. This sliding scale of authenticity and historical potency reflects the negotiations between individuals and the cityscape that inspire the exhibition. Haegue Yang juxtaposes utopian apartment-tower fantasy with the banality of newsprint in her slide projection Dehors (2006). Ash Keating takes a similar tack in Zi Namsan Plus (2011), satirizing the grotesquery and sensationalism part and parcel of the visual language employed by Korea’s mega-developers. Yeondoo Jung does Yang and Keating one better, however, by going inside these very same structures and investigating―via an encyclopedic photo series of living rooms with nearly-identical floor plans (Southern Rainbow Seoul, 2011)―how Korean families subvert the dehumanizing effects of Korean residential architecture.

“City Within the City” charts hypothetical encounters with the urban environment as much as it does verifiable ones, providing ample possibility for more imaginative discourse with the show’s theme. Minouk Lim‘s three-channel video presents a series of idiosyncratic riverside encounters during a presumed Han River night cruise (S.O.S.-Adoptive Dissensus, 2009). This three-channel video installation engages the river not only in dialogue with the city, but also with the way individuals conceptualize ownership of civic space. In his short film Seoul Fiction (2010), Jun Yang exposes an emotional, surreal and highly personal conflict between city and countryside as experienced by an elderly Korean couple. In stark opposition to carefully constructed story lines and cinematic contrivances, Alicia Frankovich proposes an impromptu physical manifestation of city life in her brief but aggressive video installation Volution (2011). Somewhere between reminiscence and reaction, Frankovich explores notions of personal space and personal expression within the strictures of urban life, assuming the role of de facto archetype for the show’s curatorial imperative.

The exhibition is activated beyond the gallery’s interior spaces through projects by two Seoul-based artists collectives. Part-time Suite, nominated for the Hermès Korea Art Prize earlier this year, literally offers itself and its daily operations as a part of the exhibition. For their project SAMUSO Patch (2011), the collective sets up a temporary headquarters in a storeroom/garage nearby the museum and uses it as a base for its interventions, projects and film screenings. Adopting a more didactic approach, the group Listen to the City repurposes Artsonje Center’s ground-floor lounge/bookstore as a resource center for contentious urban development projects. In addition to this on-site content, Listen to the City is also offering its trademark Seoul Tours―alternative excursions aimed at reexamining sites of large-scale state-sponsored public works projects in and around Seoul―as well as organizing its 2nd annual Urban Film Festival.

Artsonje Center’s location in historic Bukchon, an historic and culturally rich enclave in Seoul rapidly succumbing to gentrification, lends the works inside the museum additional immediacy. Within its neighborhood, the museum itself acts as an accomplice in the very development that the exhibition (partly) condemns. Yet, this poignant truth adds further layers of complexity to be parsed from the dialectics advanced by this show; the physical and symbolic presence of the museum itself takes on the function of a meta-artwork, analyzed and encountered alongside the contents of its exhibition.

“City Within the City” Public Programs

Artist Talks

12 November/5pm – Alicia Frankovich, Ash Keating, Andrew McQualter
19 November/5pm – Abraham Cruzvillegas
17 Devember/5pm – Suyeon Yun

Urban Film Festival

18 November – 20 November/5pm daily
16 December – 18 December/5pm daily

(Abraham Cruzvillegas) Screening Program

10 December/5pm – Autoconstrucción (2009)

(Part-time Suite) Screening Program

26 November/6pm – Video Patchwork
22 December/6pm – Video Patchwork: Open Call

(Listen to the City) Writing and Drawing Workshop: North Korea, imagined by South Koreans

7 January 2012/4pm

Our top picks:

David LaChapelle @ Seoul Arts Center
Choi Dae Jin: HUMAN WORK @ Alt Space LOOP
Rho Jae Oon: Mulian Mulian @ Atelier Hermes
Candida Hofer @ Kukje Gallery
Junkhouse: Beautiful Mutants @ Gallery AURA flat
Minouk Lim: Liquide Commune @ PKM Gallery

For the complete list of this month’s exhibitions in and around Seoul, head over to our Listings page or CLICK HERE.

Our top picks:

Dan Perjovschi: The News After The News @ Total Museum of Contemporary Art
Jean-Michel Othoniel: My Way @ PLATEAU, Samsung Museum of Art
Minouk Lim @ PKM Gallery
Hyunsoo Kim @ Doosan Gallery
Donghyun Son @ Gallery 2

Check out all this month’s listings on our listings page.

by Andy St. Louis

These days, it seems that a lot of “fine art” has lost that which for so long had defined it; namely beauty, a concept which is inherently impossible to consider objectively. Theories abound as to what makes an object, person or image beautiful, but in the end it all comes down to the emotional response automatically triggered as a result of certain combinations of rods and cones being activated on the retina. In the the nanoseconds before the brain begins to infer all sorts of data and mental assimilations from the content of an image, there is an intuitive—or reflex—appraisal that takes place instantaneously. Certain combinations of shapes and colors, arranged in certain compositional forms and dimensional formats, make us happy or sad, excited or lethargic, agitated or calm, all simply because of what they look like, not what they mean.

Anya Dennis, "Fortitude" (2010). Courtesy of the artist.

Though most visual artists don’t likely think along such scientific (read: deconstructionalist) lines, it’s easy to pick out the ones who justifiably might do just that. Mark Rothko, Piet Mondrian, Ellsworth Kelly, Jackon Pollock—all painters—as well as Anish Kapoor and Richard Serra—both sculptors—immediately come to mind, their work eschewing higher-order thinking in favor of what the Korean Zen master Seung Sahn would call “no-mind.” But to associate photographers with this school of aesthetic thought and artistic practice is no easy task; perhaps because photography is inherently a means of capturing “actuality” (fact, narrative, documentation) or perhaps because a photo represents the encapsulation of an instant whereas a painting or sculpture represents instead the culmination of an artist’s prolonged interaction with a medium. It would seem easier for painters and sculptors to explore, develop and cultivate such a direct emotional engagement with their artwork, given the sheer amount of time required to get it “just right,” working and struggling with it until it speaks the language of “no-mind.” So when one discovers photographs (apart from photograms à la László Moholy-Nagy) that speak this language, it’s best to take note.

Anya Dennis, "Ritual" (2010). Courtesy of the artist.

“The Color of Calm,” a solo exhibition by New York-based photographer Anya Dennis, is the impetus for precisely this sort of revelatory experience. Currently on view at the intimate Laughing Tree Gallery in Haebangchon, Dennis’s photos trigger a reflex sense of serenity, balance and calm. The power of suggestion, of course, plays not a small role in conditioning viewers to embrace a pre-rational way of looking and abandon—or at least try to ignore—the free associations that create “mental noise.” And yet, the whole show could do without any title whatsoever and would still speak the same way to its viewers.

Created over a period of two months in the summer of 2010, the photos selected for this, the artist’s first international exhibition, reflect the ways in which color, beauty and emotion are inextricably linked. In this case, Dennis explores this relationship using the color green as her point of entry, a color full of latent symbolism via notions of renewal, growth, nature and vitality. While she certainly taps into the natural environment in some her subject matter, more often than not the color green finds its way into her photos innocently, or even subversively in some cases. In Ritual, for instance, one of the more overtly portraiture-oriented photos in the exhibition, green appears as an ever-so-faint layer of patinated moss on a red-brick background. Dennis’s attention to such subtleties in her photos reflects her uncanny ability to capture images that luxuriate in color, contrast and composition—all of which induce a sensory response rather than a cognitive one.

Anya Dennis, "In Awe" (2010). Courtesy of the artist.

Dennis’s photographs are indeed beautiful, but casual or sceptic observers may entertain internal monologues something along the lines of: “These are just beautiful vacation photos in nice frames … If I were in [insert tropical Southeast Asian country], I’m sure I could take pictures that are just as good as these … What’s so special about these images?” Such a self-assured statement, however, is hopeful at best, especially when taking into account Dennis’s years of honing her craft and her artistic process. A self-taught photographer, Dennis’s eyes were metaphorically opened during an extended stay in Accra, Ghana in 1997, while still a student at Clark Atlanta University. Her travels across the African continent since that initial encounter provided her with the “blank canvas” she needed to explore the relationship between culture and identity and deepen her commitment to photography as a means of “capturing the soul.”

It is her most recent body of work, however—created in Bali, Malaysia, Singapore and Japan—that truly testifies to Dennis’s having fine-tuned her craft to a level that many only dream of. Her ability to capture images that penetrate to the very essence of her subjects and enrapture viewers by appealing to their eyes—the windows to the soul—rather than their rational sensibilities sets her apart from even the most prolific “travel photographers:” a title altogether inadequate for someone of Dennis’s caliber. In her artistic practice, Dennis works along thematic—as opposed to specific—lines; instead of setting out to photograph monks, she looks instead for manifestations of spirituality. Or rather, she doesn’t go looking for anything at all, but has an eye towards sights, stories and situations that resonate with the emotions, concepts and sensations that she is constantly exploring. The result is a deeply personal body of work that can’t help but captivate whosoever comes in contact with them. This expert eye, in synchrony with the intimacy and immediacy indelibly inscribed in her images, confidently locates Dennis’s recent work alongside any cover of National Geographic.

Anya Dennis, photographer, and Adam Lofbomm, Laughing Tree Gallery curator

The installation at Laughing Tree Gallery—images all of one uniform shape and orientation—does away with all distractions, embracing the simplicity of the gallery’s physical space that encourages the mindful engagement that Dennis’s work demands. The sequencing of different images in the show, itself executed in a highly conscious manner, only further serves to facilitate genuine interaction with the images individually and as a progressive and comprehensive “calming” unit.

“I don’t choose my images,” says Dennis, true to form and her unique way of seeing the world, “my images choose me.” A bold claim perhaps, and yet it speaks great truth about her work; like Pollock and indeed, the entire company of what may be aptly called “no-mind” artists in Western art history, Dennis’s photographs reflect a oneness of spirit with her subjects that speaks a universal language.

Chinese painter Song Yige is a hot topic around these Asian parts of late, and it’s no wonder. Her paintings typically deal with themes of childhood and the transition to adulthood with associated feelings of loneliness through simple and direct depictions of daily objects in desolate spaces. Most paintings are figure-less, but recall human presence in the absence of it. She paints in a realistic manner, and is a master of combining all of these elements with an astute sense of colour, to create honest and enrapturing works which seem to whisper softly to the viewer and beg them to pile their own personal meanings and memories onto the spaces that Yige has primed for them. These wonderful, large, low hung paintings in Gallery Hyundai are awaiting your meanings and memories.

Song Yige, 'Helplessness 1,' (2009). Courtesy of Gallery Hyundai

Song Yige alludes to childhood by means of over sized objects which recall how big everything seems when you are young. A mourning for the loss of childhood is dealt with most overtly in ‘Helplessness 1,’ (2009), where a lone man wearing deer horns dejectedly gazes upon a crashed remote control helicopter. He is proportionately smaller than the helicopter and the maze of open doors to the left of the composition, and it’s uncertain whether he is outside or in. The ground is uneven and carries on as such through the open doors, emphasising the lonely, uncertain feelings which this painting provokes.

Song Yige, 'Untitled,' (2009). Courtesy of Gallery Hyundai

Whilst ‘Helplessness 1,’ deals with nostalgia for childhood, ‘Untitled,’ (2009) deals with the thrilling, yet terrifying transition into adulthood. The painting depicts a blue moonlit scene of a single track between wheat fields, leading to the vortex of the painting. The journey alluded to in the seemingly endless monotonous landscape, invites feelings of exhilaration in the sheer vastness and openness of the composition, but also of fear of embracing this freedom. The simple lines of the tracks leading to the centre of the painting and the horizon offered by the wheat are ever so slightly asymmetrical, playing with the viewer’s equilibrium and adding a further disconcerting edge to the work.

The open spaces of ‘Helplessness 1,’ and ‘Untitled,’ resonate with loneliness and desolation, feelings drawn upon in all works but extracted by varying means. In ‘You and Me,’ (2010), it’s a pair of worn pink chairs, evoking thoughts of the figures now absent. In ‘Bathroom,’ (2009), it’s working shower heads, pouring water onto nothing but the dirty tiles, which beg for human presence and seem to whisper the delicate splashing of water upon the floor. In ‘Abyss,’ (2008), it’s a terrible, black, gaping hole down which a ladder ladder much too short for the purpose, half heartedly and untrustingly reaches.

Song Yige, 'You and Me,' (2010). Courtesy of Gallery Hyundai

The paintings are swathed in varying melancholy green blue tints and executed with tender brushstrokes which relay objects in a realsitic manner. However, the strokes seem to tremble and threaten to break free of their confines in places, evident in strokes extending slightly further than they should and intruding into the space represented. Thick applications of paint become more than representational as physical embodiments of the heavy atmospheres provoked.

Perhaps I have made this all out to sound very grim, but it’s not. There is terrible loneliness and uncertainty, but overall, they are melancholy rather than desperate. The loaded spaces beg the viewer’s interpretation, making each painting personal according to your own experiences. They are humble, open, and obviously come from deep within Yige’s heart. They’re waiting for you too.

A favourable leftover from the Japanese occupation, Bungeobbang stalls start appearing on any self respecting Korean street corner in the start of November, and usually sell three or four for 1000 won. They are cake batter filled with ‘pat,’ (sweet red bean paste) or custard which are then cooked in fish shaped moulds. I find the custard filling questionable, but the red bean filling is tremendous and I love the way the cake batter crisps up at the edges. Just be warned that the red beans are like molten when freshly cooked. Who knows why they are in the shape of fish. But it’s more fun than a regular old circle and provides lighthearted internal dialogue facing the dilema of what to bite into first, head or tail?

Definitely worth pulling your hands out of you gloves for. Thank you bungeobbang, for providing short and sweet respites from the harsh winter days. It’s not all that bad!

“Who is Robert Delpire?” is the first question that sprung to mind upon reading the title of one of the current exhibitions at Seoul Arts Centre, ‘Robert Delpire and Friends.’ As it turns out, Robert Delpire’s friends are far better known than he is; Delpire being a publisher and curator, and his ‘friends’ including an impressive selection of extremely influential 20^th century photographers; Henri Cartier-Bresson, Robert Frank, William Klein, Robert Doisneau and Brassai to name but a few. He also happens to be married to Sarah Moon, another photography heroine. Even the most fleeting of visits to this exhibition would confirm that this unsung hero, who is a member of the prestigious photographer cooperative Magnum, and has played an essential role in introducing his photographer friends to the world over the last 60 years, is completely deserving of this retrospective.

Robert Frank, 'Les Americans,' published by Delpire, (1958)

Delpire’s colourful career began in 1951, when, at the age of 23, he began carving out his life-long profession as a publisher, abandoning his medical career in favour of publishing ‘Neuf,’ a luxury, glossy art magazine for doctors. ‘Neuf,’ was among the first publications to show works by some afore-mentioned friends of his, kick-starting their careers. Other achievements most importantly include publishing Robert Frank’s definitive photo document ‘The Americans,’ in 1958, known for its ‘street photography’ style and satirical look at the tired cliche of the American Dream, and for publishing ‘Photo Poche,’ the first paperback photography series on significant photographers of our times.

Delpire stands in front of a selection of his 'Photo Poche' series in various languages

‘Robert Delpire & Friends,’ is a wonderful collection of largely black and white photographs and books which Delpire has published, including editions of ‘Neuf,’ ‘The Americans,’ and ‘Photo Poche,’ in multi-national, translated guises, re-iterating their significance as accessible documents of modern and contemporary photography greats. There are also a vast amount of hardback photo-documentary books on a huge selection of countries which act as ethnographic records, published in collaboration with, for example, Heni Cartier-Bresson and Werner Bischof. A small corner of this exhibition adds a deeper social dimension to Delpire’s work by showcasing some of the calendars he’s been putting together for Amnesty since 1988. A selection of his short films play on loop, including a marvelous compilation of footage shot by Sarah Moon for her pivotal design work for Cacharel. There’s also a section for visitors to sit and leaf through some of Delpire’s numerous publications whilst marvelling at the the subject of this exhibition.

Henri Cartier Bresson, 'Les Dances a Bali,' published by Delpire, (1954)

There are 52 artists represented by 185 photos, 150 photobooks and four short films in this exhibition which is a rather a lot of printed material. Unfortunately, it’s not backed up by much written information, even in Korean, meaning that visitors might leave feeling unsatisfied that they have benefited fully from the works on show. For Korean visitors, however, there are audio guides available.

Despite lack of written information, ‘Robert Delpire & Friends,’ is a most excellent tribute to a man who is well overdue the recognition he deserves for introducing some of the most influential photographers of the 20^th century to the public. Through the selection of works shown, which he nurtured and heralded, the viewer gets a great sense of a man who is intelligent, passionate and dedicated to photography, not to mention very humble, having managed to side-step any mass critical acclaim… until now. Snippets of a humorous character shine through by way of inclusion of his own photographs, for example, ‘Le Pains de Picasso.’ Who is Robert Delpire? A more thorough and deserving exploration of this question awaits you at Seoul Arts Centre.

Robert Delpire, 'Le Pains de Picasso,' (1952)