Posts Tagged ‘Kukje Gallery’

Aaron Young: Repeat Offender at Kukje Gallery

Monday, July 19th, 2010

Sogyeok-dong, Jongno-gu
2nd July- 5th August
Opening hours: Monday- Saturday 10am-6pm, Sunday and national holidays 10am-5pm
Admission: free
www.kukjegallery.com

Aaron Young has been making quite a name for himself recently in the art world. Heralded as a modern day Jackson Pollock, his style, like Pollock’s, is urgent, dynamic and alluring in it’s rebellious nature. Like the Action Painters of the 1950′s, his works emphasize the physical act of their making as an essential aspect. Watercolour Challenge this is not. His works are big, macho and ambitious. Pop into Kukje Gallery to see for yourself in the latest exhibition, Repeat Offender.

Aaron Young, 'Untitled (Barricade),' 2010 (Installation view)

Aaron Young, 'Untitled (Barricade),' 2010 (Installation view)

Upon stepping into the gallery, the viewer is transported into a scene of beautified trauma. Thick, black tiremarks cover the floor and three 24kt gold plated concertinaed barricades, ‘Untitled, (Barricade),’ 2010, stand in no particular position. They look as if they’re the sad remnants of a riot which I would be inclined to feel concerned about if they weren’t so beautiful! Upon two opposing walls lean two large glass plates. They have been permanently disfigured by hot, shredded rubber which mar the surface. Everything is still, but the space bears the scars of violent actions which once occurred within it.

Aaron Young, 'Untitled,' 2010

Aaron Young, 'Untitled,' 2010

A series of Young’s infamous tire track works are displayed in the second gallery; ‘Untitled (12 Gold Panels),’ 2010. Twelve 24 kt gold plated brass panels hang, bearing curved tire tracks of motorbikes which once sped across them, driven by hired riders. The marks in burnt rubber and motor oil are concentrated and have the appearance of the messy internal workings of a robot. I imagine the making of these pieces would have been quite a spectacle, much like Pollock’s action paintings. Also in line with the Action Painters’ philosophy is the fact that the marks are compulsive and care nothing for any pre-determined notions of composition and borders. The use of tire treads pays respect to another Action painter, Robert Rauschenberg, and his work, ‘Automobile Tire Print,’ 1953.

Robert Rauschenberg, 'Automobile Tire Print,' 1953

Robert Rauschenberg, 'Automobile Tire Print,' 1953

Upstairs, a spotlit paradoxical glass wrecking ball, ‘Untitled (Wrecking Ball),’ 2010, hangs elegantly in front of a video projection called ‘Good Boy,’ 2001. The audio of this piece can also be heard in the first gallery. It shows a dog dangling from the same chain which the wrecking ball is attached, it’s jaws adamantly clamped around it as it’s body thrashes wildly in a hopeless and frustrating battle which never comes to any satisfying conclusion, as it is played on a loop.

These are EXACTLY the kinds of artworks that I adore. They are big, brash, terrible and beautiful all at the same time. He has taken the extremely influential language of the Action Painters and brought it up to date, weaving  in references to subcultures and creating his own unique, dark yet tantalising style. Who knew crushed up, gold plated barricades could be so dreamy? Aaron Young, please continue to repeat this offending behaviour.

Jack Pierson, ‘Night’ at Kukje Gallery

Monday, May 17th, 2010

 
Space 2, 62 Sogyeok-dong, Jongno-gu, Seoul
4th May- 6th June 2010
Opening hours: Monday- Saturday 10am-6pm, Sundays and National Holidays 10am-5pm
Admission: Free

Jack Pierson, 'Movie Star,' 2009

Jack Pierson, 'Movie Star,' 2009

This latest exhibition at Kukje Gallery in Bukchon helps secure this gallery as one of my favourites in Seoul for sure! American artist Jack Pierson (b.1960) presents us with a series of word sculptures composed of a collection of found signage lettering in his show, ‘Night.’ The lettering of all different kinds of fonts, has been taken from old cinemas, hotels, bars, casinos and other businesses; presumably from abandoned enterprises or dumps. He has nailed the letters straight into the gallery wall, and arranged them into words and short phrases which at first may seem flippant, even provocative for the sake of being so. However, ponder these works longer and let the the melancholy, half spoken stories they tell, enter into a discourse with your own thoughts.

The letters are made from wood, plastic and metal; bashed, scratched and rusted. The wear and tear on these sad, worn objects recalls them in opposite states; shiny and new, full of gleaming hope and enthusiasm. They conjure images of a continuous struggle to maintain the American dream, seedy middle of nowhere motels with buzzing lights, old bars, lonely, dusty petrol stations and faded glamour. Images perpetuated through film. The word sculptures are imbued with nostalgia; and I was left wondering what stories of the past these letters keep untold. These letters, once grouped comfortably amongst their brother and sister letters, have been thrust awkwardly together with other orphaned letters, in a style reminiscent of a ransom note. Pierson brings the letters back to life but jolts them into a different and more complex realm, where, out of their original context, perhaps they say more than they did before. They are now slave to a new symbolic system; one tied to history and nostalgia.

The words and phrases Pierson uses are melancholy; ‘Cry,’ ‘Done Dope Died.’ They are optimistic; ‘The Sun Rose.’ They are perhaps cathartic; ‘My Sin.’ They also recall rose tinted memories of bygone days; ‘Old Hollywood Movies,’ ‘Heartbreak Hotel.’ They are all of these things at once. Despite the works being made of simple text, I was thrust into a complex and contradictory dialogue with them, shaped by our own associations.

The more I think about these word sculptures, the more I want to go back and revisit them. Photos don’t do them justice. The biographical scars on the letters are lost as is the soft, sad aura of the works. They are beautiful. Go see for yourself.

www.kukjegalley.com