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2016
The astonishing changes that South Korea has undergone in recent decades have made it one of the most advanced countries in the world. In a very short period of time, it went from being a subsistence economy to one of the industrial and technological powerhouses of the 21st century. The admirably high standards of its business community are exemplified today by companies like Samsung, Hyundai, Kia and LG. Paradoxically, in the mid-1950s it was a nation devastated by civil war. The average standard of living was on a par with Afghanistan and worse than in many Latin American countries. At the time, its population largely consisted of illiterate or semi-illiterate peasant farmers. Two generations later, South Korea's young people are among the best prepared and most competitive in the world. The primary reason for this transformation is undoubtedly the strong emphasis on education as the basis of economic growth. Both the government and families view education as the surest way to achieve one's goals and ambitions in life. Consequently, the individual efforts of each student can be seen in a patriotic light: the more qualified citizens are, the more successful their society as a whole will be. Investment in education has been the means of eradicating poverty and generating enough human capital to make up for a lack of resources. And not only that: South Koreans have managed to devise a progressive development model, based primarily on exports, which yields better results every year and can compete with economic giants like the United States and the European Union. If professional reputation is the golden standard, if hard work and business acumen are the yardsticks to measure by, and if the ends justify the means, then South Korea is incontestably a successful nation. But what about the people, their feelings and emotions? What about their personal and private lives beyond their usefulness in the workplace?
The artwork of Kimsooja (b. Daegu, South Korea, 1957) directly addresses profound questions of human existence that have not been factored into her country's meteoric transition: essential and fragile aspects of life, forged over centuries in an ancient region nestled between China and Japan, which have suddenly been interrupted and sacrificed. Collectivity hinges on rituals and traditions that connect people to the past, symbolic actions or ceremonies that provide a kind of collective catharsis which allows us to respond to things we cannot understand. These seemingly irrational acts reinforce the sense of belonging to a community and drive home the importance of values such as solidarity and empathy. Fundamental things like death, life and the cycles of nature are celebrated in every culture by a series of established rituals. If this atavistic flow is suddenly replaced by a new structure founded on the principles that drive market competition, individualism and corporate interests, those who fail to achieve their goals are doomed to frustration. Of course, the weakest are the most vulnerable. Rootless and disorientated, for them the hardest thing then is finding something to hold on to. Swept along at a frenzied, impossibly demanding pace and immersed in a world that is hyperconnected yet sadly devoid of human contact, many find themselves lost, not knowing where to turn. Isolated, exhausted and disappointed, they are unable to understand their own feelings or think for themselves; they lack the capacity for reflection and self-awareness, the two fundamental attitudes towards which Kimsooja's work guides us.
Inspiring respect for others and magnifying the sense of humanity we all possess are central arguments in the oeuvre of Kimsooja. Her proposals achieve a universal language that establishes points of encounter between people, bridges that manage to convey positive and even healing sensations. Art is undoubtedly a transcendental tool capable of improving us as social creatures. In the face of unscrupulousness and indifference, of violence and insensitivity to dramatic situations like that in which thousands of refugees pouring into Europe now find themselves, there are alternatives that appeal to our emotions and dispel the general lethargy into which the media and the internet have plunged us. This break with apathy, in which the first step must be self-discovery, prods us to ask ourselves what we are and where we are headed, to understand that we must live in harmony with our neighbours, respecting our differences and learning from them. Regardless of our age, ethnicity, language, wealth, culture or creed, human beings share a common essence with identical needs and concerns. We love, cry, laugh, suffer and experience joy in the same way, a connatural component of existence that we must also learn to see and recognise in communities unlike those around us. Ensnared by the passivity of our political leaders and accustomed as we are to avoiding that which makes us uncomfortable or does not affect us personally, we must realise that change always starts with us. However small or insignificant our action may be, if it is a move in the right direction then it will be relevant.
Over time, the artist has gradually divested herself of material burdens and unnecessary commitments to the point of becoming a universal nomad. She has learned to listen and see without attracting notice or drawing attention to herself, letting time pass and taking the pulse of each place to establish an intimate rapport with her surroundings. In fact, in her work, as in Mahatma Gandhi's political strategy, inaction has become a profound gesture used to highlight certain situations, as exemplified by one of her best-known series, A Needle Woman (1999-2001). In each of the videos shot in the busiest squares of some of the world's most populous cities – Tokyo (Japan), Shanghai (China), New Delhi (India), New York (USA), Mexico City (Mexico), Cairo (Egypt), Lagos (Nigeria) and London (UK) – Kimsooja stands motionless, back to the camera, observing the energy of the people around her. She is concentrated, alone in the midst of the crowd. In 2005 she created a new version, presented at the Venice Biennale that year, shot in six other cities marked by poverty and civil or religious conflicts: Patan (Nepal), Havana (Cuba), Rio de Janeiro (Brazil), N'Djamena (Chad), Sana'a (Yemen) and Jerusalem (Israel). Her intention was to denounce the living conditions in these confrontation zones, dangerous places whose inhabitants run risks every day. Without heroics, refusing to take sides or become involved in any way, she brings us closer to a plurality of discomfiting realities with which we find it hard to empathise. Although her works may seem simple on the surface, they conceal layers of complexity and depth with profound anthropological implications.
In a globalised world of incredibly diverse identities, Kimsooja offers us a platform for developing critical thought. Her work, beyond having a singular purpose defined by an aesthetic object, generates convergences that stress human emotions without taking borders or places of origin into account. Most of her pieces can be shared but not owned; they operate as statements that intermingle with our own lives and world experience. If we had to draw just one moral lesson from her teachings, it would be about concord, understood as an umbrella term that includes values such as humanism, dialogue, reflection and respect.
We can gain a better, broader understanding of the exhibition by examining the unusually generic and open-ended spirit of its title, To Breathe: Zone of Zero. "To Breathe" reminds us of a basic act innate to human beings: inhaling and exhaling to supply the body with oxygen. It is the first thing we do after birth and the last thing we will do before death. This automatic action, which we never even think about until some anomaly brings it to our attention, means that we exist and have the great good fortune to participate in the miracle of life. However basic and ordinary it may be, breathing remains a transcendental accident that enables us to grow, flourish and enjoy life. Moreover, it is undoubtedly an obvious link between the intangible and the corporeal. Many schools of thought, especially eastern philosophies, associate breathing with meditation. Proper breathing is good for our health, but it also influences our thoughts and will. It is a means of controlling emotions and bodily functions. Slow, regular, deep breathing helps us to calm down and make decisions; it enables us to think better. The Korean artist's works invite us to pause, be still and feel our bodies in a similar way, looking above all within ourselves. In that moment of quietude, when we become aware of the contracting movements of our chest and back as we take in air, when we can feel the light pressure of clothing on our arms and notice our weight as it presses down on our feet, we are prepared to perceive the nuances in which their atmospheres envelop us, installations in which the sensitive takes precedence over the objectual.
For the artist, there is a global attitude in each new presentation of her work that transcends particularities. That metaphysical state that encompasses profound preoccupations about ourselves links the concept of each work to a specific place with aspects of Kimsooja's own inner self; at the same time, it establishes ties to earlier projects, as if it were the course of a single river creating meanders as it goes. That larger category – in this case, To Breathe – s harder to explain, but it has cropped up repeatedly in her art for more than a decade. Therefore, the nature of her work must be understood as a continuum, as a watercourse that rises and overflows into lands never flooded before. Her exhibitions are never isolated appearances, for they always have a back history; they are like links in a long chain of connected episodes.
In this case we find the point of origin in Lodz, a Polish town renowned for its textile tradition. When Kimsooja was invited in 2004 to participate in the city's contemporary art biennial, the place she was assigned to display her piece was actually a former weaving factory – and, as we know, weaving has a very strong connection to her work. This piece was about re-imagining the sound of the factory as it were once fully operating. This important experience inspired Kimsooja to record her own breathing and make it a prominent part of her installations. The first recording was for The Weaving Factory (2004), where she breathed loudly at different speeds and hummed different notes through her nose, exploring how the air we inhale can alter our sense of self and convey our moods. This was followed by specific projects at two iconic theatres (To Breathe / Respirare at the Teatro La Fenice in Venice, 2006; To Breathe: Invisible Mirror / Invisible Needle at the Théâtre du Châtelet in Paris, 2006) and a third at the Crystal Palace in Madrid's El Retiro Park, a venue managed by the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía (To Breathe - A Mirror Woman, 2006). Since then she has occasionally incorporated this sound aspect in her works, which at times plays a starring role – as in the recent To Breathe (2015) at the Centre Pompidou-Metz – and at others becomes an implicit element, as is the case here in Málaga.
The large installation that Kimsooja has prepared for the central space at the CAC Málaga fills the hall with approximately seven hundred cloth lanterns. Each lantern is round and pink, with a green base below. Oddly, there is no light source inside. It is easy to deduce that the lanterns are meant to resemble open lotus flowers, with their distinctive central cup and petals. These artificial blooms hang 4.5 metres above the floor, suspended from steel cables running lengthwise across the room. In addition to this uniform, ceiling-like blanket, the installation includes loudspeakers that simultaneously play Gregorian, Islamic and Tibetan chants. This is not the first time that the artist has presented Lotus: Zone of Zero. It made its debut at the Palais de Rameau in Lille, France, in 2004, and has since appeared at other venues, including the Rotunda at Galerie Ravenstein in Brussels, Belgium, in 2008, and Plateau, Samsung Museum in Seoul, South Korea, in 2011.
There is one major difference between the Málaga show and earlier installations: here the lanterns form a rectangle, whereas in the past the pattern has always been circular, arranged concentrically from the outside in and always ending at a central point where the different rows of lanterns converged. This empty core at the heart of the space was ground zero, the vortex into which all the energy of the place flowed. The configuration was deliberately designed to resemble a mandala. In Hinduism and Buddhism, the mandala is a complex structure that represents the forces which govern the cosmos, and it is also used as an aid for a specific type of meditation. Kimsooja originally conceived this piece in response to the Iraq War that began in March 2003. She wanted to create a characteristic space where people from different cultures and religions could come together harmoniously, a neutral territory conducive to contemplation. It was as though she had devised a peculiar anechoic chamber capable of absorbing all the differences that divide us and reinforcing the things that unite us, successfully drawing us into an impartial zone that fosters respect and peaceful meditation.
The precedent to this work can be found in Mandala: Zone of Zero (2003), the first piece to incorporate these mystical chants. When Kimsooja first arrived in New York in 1998 and discovered the colourful jukeboxes that lit up when music was played, she sensed a connection between her place of origin and this new context, which she avidly explored. For her, the rounded shapes of jukebox speakers bear formal similarities to the traditional Buddhist mandala (an allegory of the universe), and in this work she effectively imbued an object from Western pop culture with Eastern religious connotations. Even the way in which the surfaces light up is reminiscent of the stained-glass windows in Gothic cathedrals, where light, a symbol of the divine, is combined with the recurring sound of ceremonial hymns.
In Málaga, that epicentre has now become an abstraction, a general atmosphere that pervades an extensive area rather than a clearly delimited zone. Unlike her earlier versions, energy does not flow towards the centre but spreads, scattering and reverberating throughout the room. Knowing that the Iraq War ended in December 2011, the same year this installation was last presented in circular form, it seems reasonable to assume that its cycle as a mandala ended with the armed conflict. It is important to recall that Iraq is a country situated, like this nerve centre, in an eminently central location between Europe and Asia, Africa and Russia. Nor should we forget that it is a territory with profound historical significance: Iraq is the site of ancient Mesopotamia, the land between two rivers (the Tigris and the Euphrates) and the cradle of Western civilisation.
As we see in this site-specific installation, one of the defining traits of Kimsooja's work is the ability to keep evolving, subtly changing according to the requirements of each new location and the different circumstances surrounding each piece. Just as human beings and other living organisms adapt to each new ecosystem in which they find themselves, so her creations adjust to the chosen site without making any demands. Her work seeks silent dialogue, urging spectators to pause and adopt a thoughtful attitude. The encounter with the space is neither forced nor imperative. Quite the contrary, in fact: it is about giving meaning to the things around us, finding the right questions to reinforce our way of being in the world. This ductile facet of her artistic language turns every creation into an open-ended production that is eternally in progress. The cities and conditions in which they are exhibited change, and so do the types and environs of visitors. As a result, each presentation is a brand-new chapter that enriches the project's meaning, making it broader and more universal. We might say that each new installation is a different phase in one lengthy, interminable process, a road that grows longer as it unfolds and spreads its message across the globe.
The decision to call this installation Zone of Zero is relevant and symbolic, inevitably bringing to mind the concept of "ground zero". This phrase was first employed in 1945, during World War II, when the US military used it to refer to the place where the atomic bombs fell on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, a devastated area where absolutely nothing remained. After falling into disuse, the term was resurrected decades later by the American government and the media to identify the empty hole left at the World Trade Center in New York when the Twin Towers were brought down by terrorists on 11 September 2001. Since then, it has become a common way of referring to the maximum extent or area of catastrophic destruction. We naturally associate "ground zero" with a place of concentrated grief and pain, a circumscription of great magnitude that radiates both emotion and respect. Perhaps the most important aspect of this void is the fact that it demands thoughtful reflection on the events which led to its formation. Invariably, this omission reasserts an occurrence through its absence. At the same time, it should be viewed as a place of regeneration, a new starting point – indeed, an opportunity to be reborn and avoid the mistakes of the past.
This zero zone or no man's land suggested by the Korean artist is also a meeting place that helps to establish ties of concord between civilisations, especially those which have historically been at loggerheads with each other due to conflicting geopolitical interests. The layering of different religious litanies into an absorbing melody that plays incessantly in the background helps to create a captivating atmosphere which catches our attention and speaks to our emotions. The hypnotic quality of the aggregated chants we hear combines Christian, Muslim and Buddhist prayers. It is not difficult to make out where the different voices and music come from, despite the complementary overlap that produces a beautiful, subtle, global cadence. Gregorian chant, Muslim prayers and Buddhist sutras or mantras all serve a similar purpose in their respective liturgies. Their aim is to reinforce psalms or passages from the sacred scriptures so that they can be understood and embraced by believers. In their conception and meaning, there are more similarities than differences.
This invitation to intercultural understanding, which Kimsooja now extends in Andalusia, exhorts us to remember and reinstate the exemplary tolerance and peaceful coexistence of Al-Andalus, a crucial period in the history of Spain that shaped the contemporary identity of this land and its people. For centuries, Mozarabs, Muslims, Jews and Christians lived side by side in a large area of the Iberian Peninsula, forming a prosperous community predicated on respect for one's neighbours and their religious beliefs. One of the most iconic architectural legacies of this era is the Great Mosque/Cathedral of Córdoba, a building of great significance for Islam whose original Arab design is today fused with Catholic worship services. In the province of Málaga, another example of consensus is the Three Cultures Festival of Frigiliana, a village in the Axarquía district that has managed to preserve the spirit of Al-Andalus better than most. In contrast, religious and political persecution is widespread in North Korea and especially in China, two countries with close historical and geographical ties to South Korea. The oppression suffered by the inhabitants of Tibet, where human rights violations have been systematic for over half a century, is a shameful assault on their independence and, above all, their identity as a people. It is no coincidence that the Buddhist music featured in this piece consists of Tibetan chants. Their inclusion is an implicit reference to that Asian conflict, which has dragged on for decades with no solution in sight.
Upon entering the central hall at the CAC Málaga, visitors find themselves in an diaphanous space with an installation of floating lotus-flower lanterns. Meanwhile, they hear an enveloping sound which, though unrecognisable, sounds strangely familiar. The artist's creative language is subtractive; little by little, she removes the dispensable until only the essential is left – in this case an evocative sequence that spreads across the ceiling in a regular pattern of green and pink spheres. By leaving the room completely empty, she forces spectators to pay more attention to sensations and feelings than to objects. They are therefore obliged to confront themselves in an unstable situation, which at first is rather disconcerting. The installation's aim is to make visitors disconnect, soak up the atmosphere and heighten their self-awareness, attuning them to the sensations generated by their own bodies and minds. Lotus: Zone of Zero is an intimate, personal work, yet paradoxically it is designed to be contemplated surrounded by other people. The sensation is that of entering a special place where we can become lost in thought and set aside our cares and concerns for a moment, a feeling comparable to wading into the ocean and turning away from the shore to contemplate the distant horizon, feel the wind's caresses and listen to the rocking motion of the waves.
In a high-tech society like ours, where we can hardly tear ourselves away from our Smartphone screens for one minute, we find it increasingly difficult to focus on the here and now. We live in a state of constant dispersion that prevents us from enjoying tangible, everyday situations. It has reached the point where many people are more concerned with capturing an event on their camera than actually experiencing it. Against the barrage of information and superficial messages that constantly demand our attention (Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, WhatsApp, Snapchat, email, etc.), Kimsooja's sensitive installations act as small oases of reflection that facilitate introspection and heighten perception. In a way, they are havens of peace that stimulate our senses and give us a break from the hustle and bustle that surrounds us each day.
According to Italian philosopher Alessandro Baricco, the way young people have experiences has changed significantly since the dawn of the 21st century. For them, it is merely a way of establishing superficial relationships to reach as many places or sites as possible, a trajectory of interconnected links like those facilitated by Google's search engine, results hailed as the epitome of knowledge and resolution. They value convenience, middlingness, simplification and speed. "It wasn't always this way, and hadn't been for centuries. Experience, in its highest most redeeming sense, stemmed from the ability to get close to things, one at a time, and to develop an intimacy with them that might open up their most hidden recesses. It was often a labour of patience, even erudition and study. But it could also occur in the magic of an instant, a sudden intuition that delved deep and came back up with an icon of meaning, a lived experience that had actually taken place, a living intensity. In any event, it was an almost intimate affair between man and a shard of reality—a circumscribed duel, a journey into the depths". With these words Baricco attempts to describe the meaning of this personal encounter and defend the value of experience as an epiphany, an argument that echoes the underpinnings of Kimsooja's work.
The lotus lanterns can be interpreted as a metaphor for collectivity, for the sense of belonging to a community that shares similar traits. Together, they form a group capable of occupying and transforming a space. Individually, they can hardly be made out at a distance. The lanterns are ordinary objects taken from the authenticity of life itself. Different types of coloured lanterns are frequently used in South Korea, particularly to adorn the temples and streets when commemorating the birth of Buddha (Siddhartha Gautama). In fact, Buddha's Birthday is one of the most important and popular festivals in that Asian nation. It is celebrated on the eight day of the fourth lunar month, so the date changes every year; sometimes it falls in early May, and at other times near the end of the month. The annual Lotus Lantern Festival, which involves a variety of activities, dances and performances, is held in Seoul every year at this time. The highlight of the celebrations is undoubtedly the massive parade that ends at the Jogyesa Temple, one of the largest in the city. Throughout the day, monks intone different chants and mantras that can be heard by visitors, tourists and locals alike, who happen to be in the vicinity. If we listen to the litany while strolling beneath a sea of lanterns in one of the temple courtyards, we will discover a natural connection to the Málaga installation. Knowing that Seoul is one of the cities where the artist has spent long periods of her life, it is logical to imagine that this festival supplied part of the inspiration for the piece.
The variant of Buddhism practised in Korea is quite close to Japanese Zen Buddhism, with a strong emphasis on meditation, spiritual balance and emotional wellbeing. More than a religion, it is a philosophy and way of life. In the East, the lotus is a sacred flower associated with the figure and teachings of Buddha, a symbol of spiritual purity, elegance and beauty. The pink lotus is the most special of all and is related to divine characters. Asian religions often depict deities seated on a lotus blossom in an attitude of circumspection. Indeed, in yoga the lotus or Padmasana position is commonly used during meditation. The careful reading of such aspects and details, intrinsic to the culture of her home country, undoubtedly plays a vital role in Kimsooja's work.
Kimsooja's second work on display at the CAC Málaga is a video piece from 2012 entitled To Breathe - The Flags. In it we see 246 national flags of different countries march across the screen in slow succession, one after another. The sequence lasts a total of 40 minutes and 41 seconds. In reality, it is not a conventional video but a montage of superimposed still images. This work has no narrative thread, voice-over or background audio. It is a sober, timeless piece. We seem to be seeing a single shot whose content is constantly, gradually being altered; the effect is similar to face morphing, a digital animation technique that transforms one face into another using common features.
This work has previously been shown at other venues: in 2012 it appeared on the streets of Aix-en-Provence in France during the Contemporary Art Trail Festival, and two years later, in 2014, it was presented at the Taipei Museum of Contemporary Art on the island of Taiwan, in a setting similar to the CAC Málaga.
Flags were originally cloth objects that represented individuals or groups. In Europe they did not become popular until the arrival of the Arabs and the first Crusades, as the use of light fabrics such as silk to manufacture the standards of kings and feudal lords originated in the East. After that time, the practice of using flags to distinguish the members of powerful families became widespread. The national flag as a collective symbol of a geographical region or territory is a fairly recent development that emerged in the Early Modern Era and was consolidated over the last two centuries. The oldest national flag still in use is that of Denmark, whose design was adopted in the 14th century. As a symbol, today the flag is one of the most recognisable emblems of a nation, a metonymy to which we owe respect and even admiration. It is directly related to basic human rights like liberty and independence, essential in advanced societies. Flags frequently condense patriotic sentiment and, in some situations, inspire nationalistic fervour. Originally the flag was a concrete physical object; today it is largely a virtual, intangible icon that serves to identify a place of origin or provenance, appearing everywhere from statistical infographs on the evening news to international sporting events like the Olympic Games. Although flags are still flown from government buildings to underscore their official status and raised to commemorate important dates, this use is little more than a vestige of the past.
Defining a nation is a delicate matter. There are slippery patches where one must tread very carefully. In every situation, a number of specific factors have to be considered and analysed separately: postcolonial, cultural, political and economic aspects intersect with a wide range of interests, from strategic to military. Even the exact number of nations in existence today is up for debate. The United Nations (UN) recognises 193 sovereign states and two permanent observer states, the Holy See and the State of Palestine. This status is not granted to what the UN considers "disputed territories" such as Taiwan, Hong Kong, Western Sahara and Kosovo. Some countries were established centuries ago, while others are barely a few years old. The largest boast populations running into the hundreds of millions and territories as vast as an entire continent, while the tiniest have less than fifty thousand inhabitants and could fit inside a small city. Some are extremely wealthy and others are scandalously poor. The entities we attempt to lump together are obviously very dissimilar; indeed, heterogeneity and disparity of status seems be to the defining feature of this motley group.
In contrast to this glaring inequality, in To Breath: The Flags Kimsooja manages to put all nations on the same basic level by reducing them to icons, devising a minimal expression which, without explaining anything, still conveys a message that can be understood anywhere in the world. Her goal is make us see that borders are manmade constructs, pacts of convenience. There is really only one reality: a world full of possibilities that should be the same for everyone, regardless of our origin, ethnicity, language or religion. Overlapping the flags is a gesture of understanding, of fraternity among equals, of respect for differences. This visual synthesis is a silent protest against governments in a privileged position that decide not to help those pleading for humanitarian asylum because war has forced them to flee their homelands. Solidarity is one of the underlying themes of this piece, which chooses complementarity over negation. This is why all of the images are shown in the same way, with no priorities or predetermined order. We must understand that there is no such thing as the First or Third World, terms that underscore differences. The relationship between contemporary states must be horizontal and not vertical; hierarchy is an overbearing imposition that entails dependence and submission. In fusing together the national emblems, one after another, Kimsooja is uniting all the nations of the earth in a shared existence: in unison, in harmony, devoid of exclusive patriotisms, speaking with one voice.
Regions with similar historical and cultural backgrounds produce flags with similar features. In northern Europe many flags feature a cross with its centre shifted to the left in a rectangular colour field. This symbol, known as the Nordic cross, was adopted by Scandinavian countries after their conversion to Christianity. In eastern Asia a central circle is commonly used, although it means something different in each place, from the rising sun of Japan to the justice wheel of India. Middle Eastern flags share the pan-Arab colours: red, green, white and black. Similarly, the pan-Slavic nations of Eastern Europe tend to use red, white and blue. In Oceania, the Union Jack is incorporated in several national ensigns to commemorate their history as part of the British Commonwealth. In Central America the dominant colours are blue and white, a combination that reminds us of the shared history of these states created after their emancipation from the Spanish empire. Further south, the identical colours used on the flags of Venezuela, Colombia and Ecuador also denote their common origin. We are more familiar with the symbols of communist regimes, which usually feature the colour red and the hammer-and-sickle symbol. In West Africa, the combination of red, yellow and green is found on the flags of as many as seven countries on the Gulf of Guinea. A reasonable interpretation is that red stands for the blood spilled by colonialism, yellow for the gold and minerals of this region, and green for its abundant forests and farmlands. Logically, no element in a flag's composition ends up there by chance; each design is the result of a sum of factors, a compendium that tells us a great deal about the identity of a nation's inhabitants and the past experiences of each territory.
If we set aside the symbolic connotations of the basic structure of any flag, its image becomes a simple code of colours and forms. Examined separately, the aesthetic potential of some flags is close to that of a colour field painting. They are like abstract compositions that eschew superfluous rhetoric, avoid gratuitous gestures and evince a calculated neutrality. Some are reminiscent of Barnett Newman's "zip" paintings. However, in this video the flags are shown in such a way that we are never able to clearly distinguish an individual ensign; they are all piled on top of each other, blended to the point that we cannot even make out the original colours which define them. There is an abundance of coats-of-arms and emblems, stars, suns, half moons and schematic animals. In the work, as many as four or five flags appear in a single frame with varying degrees of transparency, a superimposition achieved by making the top layers, the flags in the foreground, less opaque. The meshing of the flags is not dynamic as the individual frames are too static and have no internal motion, although we can perceive a striking rhythm as the sequence progresses. This chaotic polyphony drowns out the significance of the national ensigns, which is diluted in the larger picture. As they cannot be read separately, they cease to have meaning.
If we extract the flag of South Korea (the Taegeukgi) from this hotchpotch and analyse it carefully, we can find reasonable correlations between Kimsooja's work and the values represented on the ensign of her homeland, a connection which indicates that the meaning of her oeuvre is directly linked to the principles promoted by the society in which she was raised. It is also interesting to find a national flag whose design is based on spiritual concepts, denoting a community that attaches great importance to emotions and philosophical ideas. On a white background signifying peace, we see a circle divided into two balanced parts that symbolise yin and yang. In Taoism, the duality of the universe is summed up by these two opposing yet complementary forces found in all things. Yin (blue) is the feminine, earth, darkness, passivity, absorption, the negative and cold. Yang (red) is the masculine, heaven, light, activity, penetration, the positive and heat. As Kimsooja herself explained in an interview with Oliva María Rubio in 2006, "From the beginning of my career, back in the late 70s when I was at college, I was already intrigued by the dualities existing in the structure of the world, that are the combination of 'Yin' and 'Yang' elements. I've been looking at all existing things and the structure of the world from this perspective. An example from my earliest sewn pieces, Portrait of Yourself (1991), and also The Heaven and the Earth (1984), have vertical and horizontal elements or a cross shape. I've been establishing my structure of perception and creation through this perspective. There was a series of assemblage based on random shapes in my work from 1990, such as The Mother Earth, (1990-91), and Mind and the World (1991), where 'duality' as 'yin' and 'yang' functioned as a hidden structure. [...] But this doesn't mean that I was doing art mathematically or logically; most of my works were created by the most irrational decisions and a sudden intuition rather than building up theories or logic itself, and I have always believed in the logic of sensibility within the process of creation. Duality can be one way to start understanding existences of the world, although there are so many different factors that surround and define the structure of the world. When the creation process starts, this duality theory doesn't work anymore, and it goes beyond the logic and leads its own life and process." The circle in the centre of the flag is surrounded by four trigrams that symbolise the four classical elements: earth, water, air and fire. Interestingly, for the 5th Lanzarote Biennial in 2009, Kimsooja created a huge video installation dedicated to these same four cornerstones of life. The piece was produced specifically for the event, and all of the footage was shot on Lanzarote in the Canary Islands.