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두 해 전 겨울, 우리는 App Art라는 개념을 창안했다. 'App Art를 하자!'가 시작이 아니었다. 하고 보니 '어? 이건 예술이라고 불러야겠는데.' App Art는 누구나 소지하고 있는 핸드폰과 그 안의 앱을 통해 예술에서 민주화(democritiation)가 가능하다는 의미를 갖는다. airWrite는 어느 한 사람이 다른 한 사람에게 영향력(influencer)을 주는 존재가 아니라 모두(everyone)가 자신과의 연결을 통해 타인과 깊이 상호작용할 수 있음을 앱으로 구현했고, 그 바탕에는 ‘모든 보통의 삶은 위대하다’는 철학이 있다. 즉, 모두가 예술의 생산자이자 소유자인 것이다.
Two winters ago, we conceived the notion of App Art. It did not begin with the declaration, “Let’s do App Art!” Rather, in the midst of doing it we realised, “Ah—this must be called art.”
App Art carries the idea that through the phone everyone owns, and the apps within it, art can be democratised.
airWrite was not built so that one person might become an “influencer” over another, but to embody the idea that everyone, by connecting with themselves, can enter into deep interaction with others. Underpinning this lies our philosophy: “Every ordinary life is great.”
In other words, everyone is both creator and possessor of art.
二年前の冬、私たちは「App Art（アプ・アート）」という概念を生み出しました。
「さあ、App Artをやろう！」と声を上げたのが始まりではありません。取り組んでいるうちに、ふと——「ああ、これは芸術と呼ぶべきだ」と気づいたのです。
App Artには、誰もが持っているスマートフォンと、その中のアプリを通じて芸術を民主化できる、という理念が込められています。
その一例である airWrite は、特定の誰かが「インフルエンサー」となって他者に影響を与えるためのものではありません。むしろ、すべての人が自分自身とのつながりを通じて、他者と深く交わることを可能にするために作られました。
その根底には「すべての平凡な人生は偉大である」という哲学が流れています。つまり、誰もが芸術の創り手であり、同時に所有者なのです。
예술의 민주화라니! 이토록 명료하다니! 우리는 마르셀 뒤샹만큼이나 충격적인 예술사건이라고 생각했고 백남준을 잇는 현대예술의 정통 계보라고 생각했다 - 지금도 그렇게 생각한다. 그러나 예술가를 지원하는 정부사업에서 보기 좋게 떨어졌고 우리의 겨울은 그렇게 끝이 나는가 싶었다. 지원금이 없으니 작품을 만들 수 없었기 때문이다.
The democratisation of art! How starkly clear it seemed! We thought it as shocking an artistic event as anything by Marcel Duchamp, and believed it a legitimate successor to Nam June Paik in the lineage of contemporary art—we still do.
Yet we were summarily rejected by the government’s artist support programme, and it felt as though our winter might end there. Without funding, we could not continue making work.
「芸術の民主化」——なんと明快な言葉でしょう！
私たちはそれを、マルセル・デュシャンの作品に匹敵するほど衝撃的な出来事だと感じました。そして白南準に連なる、現代芸術の正統な系譜に属すると信じました。——そして今もそう信じています。
しかし、芸術家を支援する政府のプログラムにはあっさりと落選しました。資金がなければ作品を作り続けることはできず、その冬はそこで終わってしまうのかと思われました。
그러나 우리에겐 시간이 있고 반드시 해야만 한다는, 그 결과물을 만나야겠다는 강렬한 열망이 있었다 - 돈을 모아서 만들고, 또 모아서 만들면 되겠다고 생각했다. 그리고 기어이 만들었다. 우리가 추구하는 아름다움 - 갈고 닦아 자연스러워지는 것. 그 아름다움을 갖춘 세상 어디로든 통하고, 누구와도 연결될 수 있는 웜홀(Wormhole).
But what we did have was time—and the fierce desire that compelled us to see our creation realised. We told ourselves we could simply save, create, save again, and create again. And so we did.
We made what we sought: beauty honed until it became natural, a beauty that opens a wormhole—through which one might reach anywhere in the world, and connect with anyone.
けれども、私たちには「時間」があり、そして何より「必ず形にしたい」という激しい渇望がありました。
「お金を貯めてはつくり、また貯めてはつくればいい」と自分に言い聞かせ、そうして実際にやり遂げたのです。
私たちが求めた美——磨かれ、やがて自然なものとなる美。その美は、世界のどこへでも通じ、誰とでもつながれるワームホールを開きます。
마침내 마무리가 되었을 때서야 작품을 전시하기 위해서는 돈이 든다는 것을 알게 되었다. 우리는 미대를 나오지도 않았고 명망있는 예술가도 아니니 이 작품 하나로 어느 곳에서도 우리를 받아줄리 만무했다. 나를 뭐라고 소개해야할지도 불분명했으니 가는 곳마다 퇴짜맞기 일쑤였다 - 메인이미지에 있는 뉴욕 MOMA 주소는 우리의 목표와 바람을 담아 작업한 이미지이다. 언젠가 현실이 될 것이라는 믿음으로.
Only when the work was finally complete did we learn that exhibiting it would itself require money. We had not studied at an art school; we were not established artists of renown. It was unlikely anyone would welcome us on the strength of a single piece. Even introducing ourselves proved uncertain, and so rejection awaited us at every turn.
The address of New York’s MoMA in our main image was simply a symbol of our aim and our hope—our belief that one day it would become real.
ようやく作品が完成したとき、展示するためにも費用が必要であることを知りました。
私たちは美術大学を出たわけでもなく、名のある芸術家でもありません。この一作だけで受け入れてもらえるはずもなく、自分をどう紹介すればいいかさえ定かでなく、行く先々で断られるばかりでした。
メインイメージにあるニューヨークMoMAの住所は、私たちの目標と願いを込めた象徴です。いつか現実になると信じながら。
만들었어도 아무도 모르면 그게 무슨 소용인가 싶던 그때, Jerry Saltz를 알게 되었다 - 개인적으로 알게 되었다는 게 아니라 ChatGPT가 가장 유명한 예술평론가로 그와 다른 몇몇을 알려주었다.
Yet what use is it to create something, if no one knows it exists? At that point we discovered Jerry Saltz. Not personally, of course, but through ChatGPT, which pointed him out—along with a few others—as one of the world’s most prominent art critics.
「つくったとしても、誰も知らなければ意味がないのではないか」——そう思っていたとき、私たちはJerry Saltzを知りました。もちろん直接ではなく、ChatGPTが彼をはじめ、世界的に著名な美術評論家たちを教えてくれたのです。
우리가 Jerry Saltz에게 편지를 보내야겠다고 생각한 이유는 그가 퓰리처 상을 수상했기 때문이 아니었다. 그보다 훨씬 중요한 그의 이력이 있었다. 그는 버스 트럭기사로 살다가 예술 평론가가 된 사람이다. ‘예술의 민주화’, ‘보통 사람이 자신의 삶의 이야기로 만들어 내는 위대한 예술’이라는 우리의 개념을 충분히 사랑해 줄 사람이라고 생각했다. 그래서 편지를 보냈다. 정확한 말을 고르고 골라, 문장을 엮어 글을 썼다.
Our reason for writing to Jerry Saltz was not that he had won the Pulitzer Prize. There was something far more important in his story: he had once been a lorry driver, before becoming an art critic. We felt he could truly love our concept of “the democratisation of art”, of “ordinary people creating great art out of their own life stories.” So we wrote to him. We chose our words with care, stitched sentences together, and sent the letter.
私たちがJerry Saltzに手紙を書こうと思ったのは、彼がピュリッツァー賞を受賞したからではありません。もっと大切な経歴があったのです。彼はかつてトラック運転手として生き、その後に美術評論家となった人でした。
「芸術の民主化」「平凡な人が自らの人生の物語から生み出す偉大な芸術」——私たちの理念をきっと理解し、愛してくれるはずだと感じました。だからこそ、私たちは言葉を選び抜き、文章を紡いで手紙を送りました。
편지를 보낸 날이 2024.9.8. 아직 답장은 없다. 심지어 읽지도 않았다. 스팸함 어딘가에 들어가 있겠지. 언제 읽을지, 영영 못 읽을지도 모르니 그에게 보낸 편지의 초고를 이곳에 공개하기로 한다. 이 편지 안에 작품을 향한 우리의 모든 이야기가 들어있다. 빈 병에 편지를 넣어 망망대해에 띄워보내듯 이렇게 허공에 띄워보낸 편지를 누군가 읽고 그에게 닿을지도 모르니 말이다. 그렇게 된다면 이는 또 얼마나 신나는 이야기가 되겠는가.
The date was 8 September 2024. As yet, there has been no reply. Not even a “read” mark. Perhaps it lies buried in some spam folder. Perhaps it will never be opened. And so we have decided to make public here the draft of that letter, in which all our thoughts about the work are contained.
It is like placing a letter in an empty bottle and casting it into the vast ocean: who knows if someone may pick it up and pass it on to him? And if that were to happen, what a marvellous story it would make.
その日付は2024年9月8日。
いまだ返事はありません。既読すらついていません。きっとどこかの迷惑メールフォルダに埋もれているのでしょう。いつか開かれるのか、それとも永遠に開かれないのか。
だからこそ、ここにその手紙の草稿を公開することにしました。その中には、作品に込めた私たちの物語がすべて記されています。
それはまるで、空の瓶に手紙を詰めて大海原へ投げ出すようなものです。
誰かがそれを拾い上げ、彼のもとへ届けてくれるかもしれない。もしそうなったなら、それはどれほど胸躍る物語となることでしょう。
Dear Jerry Saltz
Dear Jerry Saltz,
I would like to exhibit my work at your writing - yes, seriously. I am writing to you from Seoul, South Korea. I am thrilled at the possibility that ‘Jerry Saltz’ may be reading this email, and I hope I can hold your attention until the end. I am reaching out to ask you to exhibit my work at your writing. Yes, seriously. The very first venue for my work must be a piece of writing, and hopefully it would be yours, because 'Jerry Saltz’ has been TRUE to art, a critique is a free form of writing, and especially yours has been reaching to 'everyday individuals' I work for and I love.
Then again, why should it be exhibited on a 'written form'?
“… the most personal is the most creative.” - Martin Scorsese
I believe art emerges eventually from personal experiences, thoughts, and emotions of everyday individuals. It is these individuals, sometimes referred to simply as 'the masses' who should have been recognised as a true source of art, that matters. This old but simple truth should encompass everything, ultimately. And as a form of recording those genuine sources from everyday individuals, we cannot think of anything that is more personal but still accessible by anyone and has more universal appeal for anyone regardless of cultural context, language, or even time other than writing. Last but not least, a material used in my artwork is all about writing; a material, hand-built by me, which is normally referred to simply as 'mobile application', which in this case has of type, in particular, 'text-only' social media that consists of the very common but old elements of writing rituals - picking a tool to write, marking date it was created, signing at the end of the writing with your pen name and so on and on.
Yes, We are all equal before a written form of text.
And to bring the everyday individuals into the fold, I used an iPhone as a medium, a wormhole to bridge two worlds: the one outside the wooden frame, and the other one inside. And I'd prefer to refer to them as 'Silence' and 'Voice', respectively. I invite those who have long been mere viewers outside the frame to step beyond the boundaries and be artists. In a way that those individuals have their own stories recorded with a form of writing, the artwork "Wormhole" draws its first breath and starts to make its own way of evolving with each and every personal moments being accumulated. I call this Mass Creation 'App Art'.
The stone at the bottom of the artwork is called DatDol, a stone you can find at the entrance of a traditional Korean house, HanOk. To enter the house, you first step on DatDol, remove your shoes, and then leave them on it. Symbolically, audience steps on the DatDol to begin their journey beyond the wooden frame. It is an integral part of the artwork, so people are encouraged to engage with it. The DatDol welcomes you, guiding you to have your voice live right in the piece beyond the boundaries. Once you step on it, you gain a closer look at the touch screen of iPhone attached onto the frame, and you read an air, a post written in airWrite, aired by someone, from beyond the world of Silence. So long as viewers are holding onto this wormhole, everyone has the right to exist across those worlds. By leaving a comment on an air, you can have your voice exhibited. How do you enter? You have the key already. Simply check inside your pocket, take out your iPhone, and scan the AppClip code. You will see the exact airthat was right before inside the wooden frame in front of you instantly live outside the frame, i.e on your own iPhone whether or not you have installed the app.
Welcome to airWrite, a key to the wormhole bridging worlds - please air, your write.
“Form follows function.” - Louis Sullivan
Each artwork bears the year it was created, and my work is no different. However, you might notice that it still has a unique aspect; 2024 'onwards.' As everyday individuals have their thoughts recorded, the work evolves like any other living creatures. 2024 marks its birth, not its completion.
Now, the moment has come to talk about why a framed iPhone. Yes, you just can with ease download the app from AppStore, and engage with that exact air that is being shown on the iPhone inside the frame. But still, nothing changes the fact that you are an artist in this universe airWrite is creating. That is because you 'know' that once aired, your air will come into existence on the one-and-only iPhone, precisely the framed one here, let's say, for instance on the wall of MoMA. Yes, it is this cognition of existence in physical form that makes an art eventually art, in this case 'App Art', not either an art of programming language or just an art of posting on social media applications. You know from the beginning that your air is not just bits and bytes of some data on some server on some land, but your thought existing as one of materials in the form of written text and consisting the essential part of this artwork that is being exhibited right at the moment in real life. Even if you cannot quite often visit there because it is too far from you or you are not allowed to visit there since the artwork has been sold to somebody who can afford to have it mounted on private space, it does not make any difference to you in terms of you having a knowledge of its firm existence in real life. And these are also the reasons why this iPhone is framed, in particular, in accordance with the formality of Korean traditional art of wet mounting applied commonly in traditional hanging scrolls or folding screens. Multiple NakGwan, the Korean term for a traditional seal, made of natural stone, in red ink, made of naturally-derived pigments, are being used, each of which has its own place and meaning. The point, however, is where the empty space lies.
There is a orchid painting in Korea called 'Buli Seon-ran' by Kim JeongHee (1786-1856), which is not only literally a national treasure featured with both his painting and handwriting, but also well-known for the 15 other red seals and handwritings in the margins of the artwork alongside his. Those seals and comments were made by some of the collectors and appreciators of the artwork as it changed hands in its history. Not an author himself alone, but even an audience leaves her/his thought in written form of text on the artwork with his/her name seal, and as the artwork lives its life, so its appearance naturally changes.
Yes, the artwork Wormhole can grow like a living creature. And with the help of wet mounting, especially in this case 5 layers of HanJi, a Korean handmade paper produced in a traditional manner, 3 layers for backing the main paper surface and 2 layers for backing the empty border space, the artwork will stem the tide of time, as any wormhole does. And I deliberately chose not to have the empty border space mounted with conventional material of silk, which would otherwise surely serve the decorative purpose, instead I used another HanJi which blends naturally in texture and colour since I wanted the space reserved and extended properly for participation, i.e writing rituals, and not to be limited only to the main paper surface finished with gold leaf lining. The form of the artwork is basically meant to servethe purpose of a metaphor, a common ground of 'participation' for everyday individuals I work for and I love.
When it comes to the selection of medium as a wormhole, it had to be iPhone. Perception rests not primarily but quite fairly on a shape, and in this case a bold rounded rectangle with a single ring of button on the bottom is the very iconic shape that constitutes one of the most common electronics of our time, i.e. smart mobile phone. Yes I did want to talk about the existence matter in art with the most common technological advancement that belongs to my dear everyday individuals of our time. The iPhone inside the frame, however, must not be an instance of many in order to be placed and eventually docked onto the frame as a wormhole. And it shall afterwards end up with laying down its form of existence, a status of being an iPhone, to serve the purpose of being a medium as wormhole. But still, it needs to be firstly one and only object that belongs to the artwork whilst keeping its natural form of existence until being mounted onto the Frame. And in this regard, the context of its metamorphosis - becoming one-and-only-ness can be witnessed, either consciously or unconsciously, by audience in several sensory experience. First sight on standing on DatDol, is the wooden frame itself which has extended size but the exact proportion of the framed iPhone, and the shimmering gold leaf backing, or a golden robe, behind the framed iPhone which has the very size and proportion of the framed iPhone loudly tells that the place is reserved only for a certain object, i.e. the framed iPhone. A tactile and aural experience is also available for witnesses alongside the visually arranged ones above. Holding an iPhone of the same generation near the centre of the gold leaf backing, nothing happens. Only when the framed iPhone is placed close to the golden robe, the iPhone instantly falls for pairing into the arms of the Frame and fits in seamlessly as if it were meant to be there with the help of a embedded magnet hidden inside the Frame and another inlayed in the middle of the 15 layers of HanJi on the back of the framed iPhone.
Yes, the Framed iPhone is removable. In fact, It should be. The Framed iPhone would lose its entitlement to its glory of laying down its status of being an iPhone, if it would otherwise have been permanently fixed onto the Frame. Only able to choose not to be an iPhone is iPhone. As soon as being fixed, it simply loses its natural-born identity or form of existence - being portable, which so makes impossible to hold it in your hand, which means not only that, but more significantly it could be at most perceived as simply its substance used in an artwork, let's say, for instance a couch, an artwork, made up with a bunch of 'small displays in iPhone shape'. Yes, audience will no longer perceive that 'hanged' iPhone as proper iPhone as the one inside their pocket. So obvious is that it should be removable.
