still image of Come and Go, 2020
At the end of the hospital’s corridor, there is a room veiled in twilight dusk. Inside, piles of ash sit quietly, harboring untold stories. These fine particles can disappear with a blow of wind or softly land at nearby. As if they can exist anywhere and everywhere, they come and go in front of our eyes. In this work, the movements of jae, or ashes (which could also mean ‘repeat’ or ‘to be here’ in Korean), are activated as a form of projection installation. Transforming the room into a site of mourning, the recalled existence of the ashes and their disappearance exposes the fracture and the connectivity between the ‘pastness’ and the ‘presentness’ of our memories.