Eun Jung Park (Hongjung Park) at C.W. Post, 2010
Eun Jung Park (Hongjung Park) is a gifted painter whose show gave its visitors room for serious thought. An artist of genuine technical skill, Park offered her audience paintings with a twist: glass vials filled with colored liquids and plastic tubes are placed in front of the images. The vials present a kind of barrier, or filter, to the image, as do the tubes. One might think from the description that it is particularly hard to view the images behind the ampules or tubes, but in fact the work relatively easy to see. Park’s materials are personal, and refer to her youth, when she was ill and spent an extended period of time in the hospital, where she received medications in glass ampules, and plastic tubes were part of their intravenous delivery. As a result, despite the lyric nature of much of Park’s subject matter, which includes the innocent portrayal of grapes, peaches, oranges, and a large flowering tree, the experience of being hospitalized is also referred to, undermining the lightness of her theme. The tension between the commonplace depiction of nature and our knowledge of Park’s early life remains central to her vision, which remains true to the suffering of her youth as well as to her joyous approach to nature.
Some of Park’s audience might feel that just as the vials quite literally get in the way of their seeing the actual imagery, so our vision of her art is obliquely influenced by our knowledge of the artist’s extended illness. Some might find the references to her earlier life make her vulnerable to a personal critique. Yet this notion presupposes the idea that experience itself is not to be referred to in art, even though it should be granted that experience is surely as central to the artist as her decision to use certain materials or formal devices. Experience per se cannot be justified by the artist’s palette; however, it is certainly capable of skewing the results of the work that we see. Park’s choice to use tangible references to her earlier life demonstrates a hard-won awareness that her experience as a young person has consequences, psychological and physical, that extend into her life as it now stands. It seems to me that this awareness becomes the basis for strength rather than weakness in her art. The injection of the personal has been a central tenet of much art in the last twenty years, and the practice has been as valid for Asians as Westerners. The importance of the larger issue—the efficacy and accomplishment of art that rests on the personal—is still being discussed; who knows whether knowledge of Park’s private life of the artist generates more involvement and respect on the part of the viewer? Park’s art conforms to the ongoing interest in identity—those particular factors that make us who we are.
Yet, as we can see, the quality of Park’s work is such that she transforms her illness into something larger than suffering. The glass vials represent a curtain between her audience and her theme, yet they do so transparently, in ways that enhance her pictures of such commonplace objects as oranges or grapes. Illness, the artist seems to be saying, has as much a place in my esthetic as the careful, painterly renderings of nature I have chosen as my motif. Certainly the works contain the ampules and tubes as a way of distancing us from the formal poise of the works of art. Yet Park’s materials remind us that she has had a life—a difficult one—that needs to be expounded. If we think of certain mid-20th century poets in America, the personal is the matter talked about most: the affairs, alcoholism, and mental breakdowns of such accomplished writers as Robert Lowell and John Berryman show us that their private experience could support their art, even though their poetry is born of desperation and even despair. Additionally, when private experience becomes public, a certain liberation occurs.
In the particular case of Park, we see that the materials of her hospitalization lend a gravitas to otherwise innocent motifs. What could be more guileless than the simple representation of oranges and grapes? Or a flowering tree? Indeed, without the personal references, Park’s topics would be more or less conventional, even academic. But she has found a way of escaping the well-known tradition of her subject matter, that is, by inserting in their actual physical form the ampules and tubing that played so large a role in her past. These are the property of the artist in both a physical and metaphysical sense, providing us with the awareness that Park cannot escape her past, no matter how troubling it may be. Some of the paintings’ seriousness is meant to connect with the viewer, who looks at the work at first with some bewilderment, but who then accepts the images as they are after being informed of their meaning. Often in today’s art we need background information to make sense of the art we see, and this is true in Park’s case as well. So she belongs to her generation, which has incorporated the personal even should its inclusion become distressing to her audience.
As for the paintings themselves, we can see that the graphic clarity of her subjects delineates a precisionist esthetic. The fruit is rendered with exquisite skill, so that we taken with the tour de force of Park’s artifice. The nature of the fruit should not be overly interpreted; one has the sense that the artist is primarily interested in their description rather than their symbolic implications. Park’s thematic innocence is there for all to see. At the same time, however, Park remains connected to her autobiographical processes: the title of the painting Life Story (Orange) (2009) shows us that the vials placed in front of the large orange segment sitting in the center of the composition are not only there for formal reasons. Instead, they describe the difficulties of Park’s earlier life. Interestingly, the composition is graphically impeccable, as if to give emotional control to a work that, like the others, refers to a difficult childhood. Life Story (Peach) (2009) has plastic tubes running horizontally in front of two pink peaches; in some cases the tubes have been painted in a similar color on the inside, actuating and perpetuating the color in the fruit. Beautifully painted, Life Story (Peach) is completely convincing on an artistic level, and the inclusion of tubes adds a bit an interesting diffraction of light.
The large painting entitled Life Story (Tree) (2008) consists of individual squares that make up parts of the overall image of the flowering tree. It is an exquisite image, and feels Korean rather than Western in its treatment of nature. The rows of squares can be read either horizontally or vertically, although the tubes wrapped around the front of the squares are horizontal in their alignment. The tree itself is a glorious image that spreads upward and outward; its dimensions reach the size of two meters square. One can look at the overall gestalt very easily, but it is also true that the individual passages in the squares are beautiful and benefit from being studied individually. The tree itself is a dark brown, with white flowering blossoms and a green background. Here the Asian treatment of nature is rendered typically as delicate and transcendent in the same moment. Park is an artist of unusual sensitivity, but she is also a creator with great skills. Her artistry, a mixture of personal memory and the visionary treatment of nature, shows us how even the reticence of the Asian artist can be broached by work that looks to a specific past. Park nicely merges two very different materials—medical paraphernalia and paint—and two equally distanced approaches—conceptual and figurative. Her art brings together personal concerns that are transformed for the benefit of her viewers.
by Jonathan Goodman
Eun Jung Park (Hongjung Park) is a gifted painter whose show gave its visitors room for serious thought. An artist of genuine technical skill, Park offered her audience paintings with a twist: glass vials filled with colored liquids and plastic tubes are placed in front of the images. The vials present a kind of barrier, or filter, to the image, as do the tubes. One might think from the description that it is particularly hard to view the images behind the ampules or tubes, but in fact the work relatively easy to see. Park’s materials are personal, and refer to her youth, when she was ill and spent an extended period of time in the hospital, where she received medications in glass ampules, and plastic tubes were part of their intravenous delivery. As a result, despite the lyric nature of much of Park’s subject matter, which includes the innocent portrayal of grapes, peaches, oranges, and a large flowering tree, the experience of being hospitalized is also referred to, undermining the lightness of her theme. The tension between the commonplace depiction of nature and our knowledge of Park’s early life remains central to her vision, which remains true to the suffering of her youth as well as to her joyous approach to nature.
Some of Park’s audience might feel that just as the vials quite literally get in the way of their seeing the actual imagery, so our vision of her art is obliquely influenced by our knowledge of the artist’s extended illness. Some might find the references to her earlier life make her vulnerable to a personal critique. Yet this notion presupposes the idea that experience itself is not to be referred to in art, even though it should be granted that experience is surely as central to the artist as her decision to use certain materials or formal devices. Experience per se cannot be justified by the artist’s palette; however, it is certainly capable of skewing the results of the work that we see. Park’s choice to use tangible references to her earlier life demonstrates a hard-won awareness that her experience as a young person has consequences, psychological and physical, that extend into her life as it now stands. It seems to me that this awareness becomes the basis for strength rather than weakness in her art. The injection of the personal has been a central tenet of much art in the last twenty years, and the practice has been as valid for Asians as Westerners. The importance of the larger issue—the efficacy and accomplishment of art that rests on the personal—is still being discussed; who knows whether knowledge of Park’s private life of the artist generates more involvement and respect on the part of the viewer? Park’s art conforms to the ongoing interest in identity—those particular factors that make us who we are.
Yet, as we can see, the quality of Park’s work is such that she transforms her illness into something larger than suffering. The glass vials represent a curtain between her audience and her theme, yet they do so transparently, in ways that enhance her pictures of such commonplace objects as oranges or grapes. Illness, the artist seems to be saying, has as much a place in my esthetic as the careful, painterly renderings of nature I have chosen as my motif. Certainly the works contain the ampules and tubes as a way of distancing us from the formal poise of the works of art. Yet Park’s materials remind us that she has had a life—a difficult one—that needs to be expounded. If we think of certain mid-20th century poets in America, the personal is the matter talked about most: the affairs, alcoholism, and mental breakdowns of such accomplished writers as Robert Lowell and John Berryman show us that their private experience could support their art, even though their poetry is born of desperation and even despair. Additionally, when private experience becomes public, a certain liberation occurs.
In the particular case of Park, we see that the materials of her hospitalization lend a gravitas to otherwise innocent motifs. What could be more guileless than the simple representation of oranges and grapes? Or a flowering tree? Indeed, without the personal references, Park’s topics would be more or less conventional, even academic. But she has found a way of escaping the well-known tradition of her subject matter, that is, by inserting in their actual physical form the ampules and tubing that played so large a role in her past. These are the property of the artist in both a physical and metaphysical sense, providing us with the awareness that Park cannot escape her past, no matter how troubling it may be. Some of the paintings’ seriousness is meant to connect with the viewer, who looks at the work at first with some bewilderment, but who then accepts the images as they are after being informed of their meaning. Often in today’s art we need background information to make sense of the art we see, and this is true in Park’s case as well. So she belongs to her generation, which has incorporated the personal even should its inclusion become distressing to her audience.
As for the paintings themselves, we can see that the graphic clarity of her subjects delineates a precisionist esthetic. The fruit is rendered with exquisite skill, so that we taken with the tour de force of Park’s artifice. The nature of the fruit should not be overly interpreted; one has the sense that the artist is primarily interested in their description rather than their symbolic implications. Park’s thematic innocence is there for all to see. At the same time, however, Park remains connected to her autobiographical processes: the title of the painting Life Story (Orange) (2009) shows us that the vials placed in front of the large orange segment sitting in the center of the composition are not only there for formal reasons. Instead, they describe the difficulties of Park’s earlier life. Interestingly, the composition is graphically impeccable, as if to give emotional control to a work that, like the others, refers to a difficult childhood. Life Story (Peach) (2009) has plastic tubes running horizontally in front of two pink peaches; in some cases the tubes have been painted in a similar color on the inside, actuating and perpetuating the color in the fruit. Beautifully painted, Life Story (Peach) is completely convincing on an artistic level, and the inclusion of tubes adds a bit an interesting diffraction of light.
The large painting entitled Life Story (Tree) (2008) consists of individual squares that make up parts of the overall image of the flowering tree. It is an exquisite image, and feels Korean rather than Western in its treatment of nature. The rows of squares can be read either horizontally or vertically, although the tubes wrapped around the front of the squares are horizontal in their alignment. The tree itself is a glorious image that spreads upward and outward; its dimensions reach the size of two meters square. One can look at the overall gestalt very easily, but it is also true that the individual passages in the squares are beautiful and benefit from being studied individually. The tree itself is a dark brown, with white flowering blossoms and a green background. Here the Asian treatment of nature is rendered typically as delicate and transcendent in the same moment. Park is an artist of unusual sensitivity, but she is also a creator with great skills. Her artistry, a mixture of personal memory and the visionary treatment of nature, shows us how even the reticence of the Asian artist can be broached by work that looks to a specific past. Park nicely merges two very different materials—medical paraphernalia and paint—and two equally distanced approaches—conceptual and figurative. Her art brings together personal concerns that are transformed for the benefit of her viewers.
by Jonathan Goodman