The contemporary Korean art exhibition held at GALLERY-BS in 2003, featuring artists Kim Bong Tae, Lee Kyu Sun and, Kim Tchan Sup was an exciting undertaking. The three artists, all Korean, differ completely in technique and concept; juxtaposition of such different works in the exhibition compelled viewers to ponder the value of contemporary art. Aside from the fact that they all graduated from Seoul National University, it seemed that these artists really didn’t have much in common. However, when we began organizing the exhibition, we found that their combination produced a remarkably pleasant harmony. At the time of our exhibition, these three artists were already well known in the West because of their participation in international exhibitions, but that was basically all they had in common. Nevertheless, their joint exhibition provided an opportunity for to present their works alongside each other, and standing in the presence of these works I was overcome with a pleasant sense of numbness. I finally understood, integrally, why their work was considered so fresh and exciting by critics and collectors in Europe and the U.S. It makes a tremendous connection with the universe that seems to rise out of some subconscious memory. These works cannot possibly be measured against the standards of Western-style contemporary art, which established itself through the conquest of nature. They cannot be understood if one abandons the Eastern presupposition of coexistence with the spirit of the universe.

Of the three artists featured in the joint exhibition, it is Lee Kyu Sun whose work made the strongest impression on me. Although the majority of his work is monochrome, done with ink and Korean paper, the beauty of the ink’s luster and the harmony of the strokes is unsurpassed; the impression of contrast provided by the ink against the white, slightly textured paper is burned into one’s brain. The planes and their mysterious configuration; unlike the geometrical compositions of [Dutch painter] Mondrian, they are slightly off, subtly contorted. And then, the living room. The space beyond the sliding doors, another space seen through the shoji, the equinox’s inexhaustible other side, for which I held such high hopes... I was transported back to my earliest moments, when I was ensconced in my mother’s womb.

Although I desperately wanted to immerse myself in the work, I was faced with the reality that these works would probably not sell on the current Japanese market, and that as an art dealer, it was my job to make sure they sold. Regretting my inability to do this, I gently closed the catalogue.

Some years later, finally the time has come to realize my desire. The expected important solo show has been postponed. We always put careful effort in preparation for this New Year Show because it meat to be a new dawn of the year. Yet this sudden postponement did not give us any turbulence. Everyone this might concern accepted to take Lee Kyu Sun first candidate for the show. We should have had his show much earlier; this was my honest feeling. Mr. Lee Kyu-Sun accepted our request with bright smile in spite of sudden request.

Last November, I visited Lee Kyu Sun’s atelier to discuss the details of the solo exhibition, and upon seeing the works that would be suitable for the exhibition I became immersed in reverie, remembering the joint exhibition held here in 2003. I remembered how blissful it had been when those works filled the gallery. As an art dealer, I couldn’t help myself... my blood began to course with excitement, and my thoughts of breaking even receded into the distance. At that moment, his works spoke to my subconscious, and something spilled out like water overflowing from a cup. The Korean paper on the surface (that made up the surface?) stirred my heart and made my skin tingle. Through a hole in the shoji that looked like someone had poked a wet finger through it, I saw the figure of a merry infant. Straining my eyes, I realized that the smiling child was simply the expression of purity.

Lee Kyu Sun has consistently pursued the aesthetic sense of the East without misrepresenting his own true feelings. However, Lee Kyu Sun’s art, which does not display the brush strokes on the surface, is not stopped exclusively by beauty of the lines in bunjin-ga (a style of southern Chinese painting). The works’ surface volume and texture manifest the feelings of a mother, which are premised on forgiveness. Although we fixate on the sophistication of the artist’s surface divisions or the refined composition of his palette, this proves that Lee is a rare artist whose existence approaches a state of doing nothing and just taking things as they come. What was ‘beauty’, originally? Perhaps it is this kind of work that can connect the East and West and serve as a sort of mother to modern people who wander lost in a world where modern art has lost its direction.