Exhibition Text (written by Kim Jinjoo)

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A heavy silence settles, and darkness falls on the ground where the two stand. Here they are, caught between demands to speak when there is nothing to say, pushed along by those who insist they declare something—even as they find themselves unable to claim innocence. Soon, electric cars may rule the world’s roads quietly, and AI advances so smoothly that a chatbot could ghostwrite without anyone noticing. Perhaps this bleak outlook—the sense of lost expectations—is really a sign that everything has been met with unsettling completeness.

And yet, here are these painters, gazing endlessly at the canvas, their brushes moving slowly. Painters! It’s a title that almost seems ill-fitted in an age so swift in finding “the right thing.” Nevertheless, here they are—two painters. The world around them moves on, unaffected by those who remain distant from its pace and direction. Rather than cheering on, leading, or adapting to the world, they observe, contemplate, and at times, lament. Shadows as murky as the darkness stretch across the ground they stand on, pushing them deeper into silence.

There’s no call for them to disappear, but nor are they still. Instead, a subdued clash of suppressed sounds and stifled movements forms a quiet around them. If one were to ask what they are doing, there would be nothing more to say than a faint response: they are “painting.”

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The exhibition 《Dark Change》 brings together the works of Park Noh-wan and Jung Hyundoo, who have shared their reflective dialogues and writings since last winter, exploring and internalizing experiences akin to an extended darkness. Park Noh-wan continues his practice of blending watercolor with gum arabic, creating images on canvas that subtly capture his perception of fleeting, virtual images of the contemporary. Jung Hyundoo, meanwhile, paints with abstract colors and lines, encapsulating sensory experiences as his body moves, painting time itself onto the canvas.

This past summer, the curator introduced the phrase “My world has collapsed” to both artists, prompting them to write about imagined scenarios inspired by this idea. Park responded with a narrative of an inevitable, gloomy future, hinting at unavoidable events for humanity, while Jung depicted a surreal narrative led by a character different from Park’s, unfolding unique scenes. These imaginative reflections, whether intentional or not, seeped into their works, disrupting previous stylistic approaches with novel structures. Consequently, Park’s canvases now feature shapes that are visibly more abstract, favoring geometric forms over concrete depictions, while Jung’s paintings introduce figure-like motifs engaged in repetitive, bizarre actions, such as inversion and fragmentation.

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Park reflects on his “collapsed world” by asserting, “If my world has collapsed, I would flee again.” In his narrative, the fleeing character represents “a world that once held identifiable shapes, long preserved in my art.” Through this, he decides to “momentarily dismantle existing meanings and create new, internal rules.” Reflecting on his past led him to question, “Am I truly listening to my own story?” He realized that he himself had dismantled his world, revealing an autobiographical introspection in which he becomes the very character who flees. This acknowledgment freed him from depicting concrete forms in his work, granting him “autonomy and satisfaction,” though accompanied by “frustration.” His imagination conveyed the notion that his self-demolished world had become a platform for escape, a theme reflecting his persistent pessimism about reality. He lamented the discomfort stemming from his ongoing desire to escape, leading him to repeatedly imply that he, as an artist, remains unable to claim innocence.

Jung Hyundoo, upon hearing the phrase “My world has collapsed,” imagined three characters. The first was himself, observing the world with a sense of irony, eating endless plates of pork cutlets under a surreal downpour of solid rain. Despite the bizarre situation, he finds unexpected delight, exclaiming, “It’s like a crystal world!” and calls out to those around him, saying, “Look up, the sky is turning yellow!” The second character is a version of his past self, a frequent visitor in his imaginative world, who wonders whether going back in time might lead to a better life, yet is mainly curious to “experience life in different forms.” In the third vision, he is alone in an empty world, where he imagines, with a sense of resilience, looting convenience stores without worrying about expiration dates. Despite lacking a job or friends, he holds onto the hope that “someone must still be out there,” enduring the solitude. At the end of these imaginings, he pictures himself as “an artist, alone, creating paintings that no one may ever see, or spinning absurd fantasies as he stares at globs of paint,” suggesting the existence of invented figures that would eventually find their way onto his painted surfaces.

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In theater, the term “dark change” refers to the brief blackout used to adjust set pieces or change scenes. The two artists’ process of imagining a world beyond collapse feels similar to this theatrical pause, akin to the silence and darkness painters frequently encounter in their creative journey. Their ongoing work as painters, and the expressive evolution within their art, involves continuously overturning and reconstructing the established world. Observing the endless social and cultural shifts around them, they imagine where their work might find relevance within this environment—a relentless, daily task for artists in the present moment. Even when there is nothing specific to convey, artists often feel an unspoken expectation to declare something, perhaps finding themselves in a cycle of persistence, darkness, transformation, and yet more persistence. In Dark Change, Park Noh-wan and Jung Hyundoo unfold their visions of a world beyond collapse, as part of their journey as contemporary painters, continually striving to create within this place they inhabit.​​