Close Out

A few years ago, a young artist drew intense attention from the domestic art scene. Still in his mid-twenties — barely entering his late twenties by Korean age reckoning — he made a spectacular debut by signing an exclusive contract with a well-established gallery in New York, the forefront of contemporary art.

His body of work, which openly foregrounded his identity as a gay Beta male, was described as so raw that even an art world long desensitized to explicit sexuality found itself using the word "bold" again for the first time in years.

Following his successful debut in New York, it was only natural that a flood of offers came in from galleries back home. However, he declined every exhibition proposal from domestic institutions at the time.

On the surface, he cited scheduling conflicts due to other planned exhibitions. But his attitude strongly suggested that, having already succeeded in New York, he saw no reason to return to Seoul — an "art desert" — or to Korea, still considered a developing country in the arts.

In fact, this issue's Editor's Preface had been completed with more time to spare than usual. However, a few days ago, upon hearing from a reliable source that this very artist was scouting galleries in Seoul for a solo exhibition, I decided to revise the preface just before it went to print.

I do not know how he managed to wash away his arrogance and find the humility to return to what he once dismissed as an "art desert like Seoul." But as long as the galleries he previously rejected remain active — and remember that history — his return to the domestic scene is likely to face considerable resistance. At the very least, securing a show at one of the major galleries he once turned down and now desires seems impossible.

My years in this industry are not so few that I would be shocked to learn that the charm or completeness of a work doesn't necessarily align with the character of its creator. Still, I revised this preface in the hope that all artists in this country — including him — might deeply consider the fact that art, like all human endeavors, is a collaboration created when people meet people.

Perhaps it is simply my own poorly formed nature — but rather than bitterness, I find myself feeling a certain schadenfreude at the news of an arrogant artist's fall, bowing his head and searching for a place to land.

As for his work, which has nothing to say beyond its fixation on sex — perhaps because he was rejected in New York, it no longer feels quite so "bold," nor does it feel quite so "raw." In any case, I wish him luck.