This is Song Young-Bang's second solo exhibition in Japan. Four years ago, word of mouth among artists brought many visitors to his first solo exhibition in the country, which generated particular excitement among nanga and haiga painters*. The exhibit also made waves among journalists who cover the arts; I remember that Song did a lot of interviews while he was here. Song is the only supremely spiritual painter to emerge from the Japanese nanga world since the passing of Tomioka Tessai, said to be the last literary painter, some eighty years previous. Thus the exhibit, featuring nanga's sole remaining light, was a beacon of hope for thinking artists who did not want to see the style die out. What exactly was that beacon? It wasn't technological strength, nor was it a vast collection of books. It was a single line of goodness, of warm feelings. In that line we witness the perfect melding of ink particles, which are no longer visible individually. The space delimited by that line wraps observers up, drawing them into the bosom of the universe. Before long, observers are in complete harmony with the universe, and in a state of all things being equal and all thing being one, they are reduced to small children. You could say they exist in a selfless space. Eastern artists have always sought this unaffected, natural state of being. It is what makes art sublime; it is manifested here.

Although we have eagerly awaited this second exhibition, most of the works on display were featured in the previous exhibition. There is no need to puzzle over the greater meaning of this second exhibition. The artist is not doing it to show anything off. It's conceivable that a silly tiger is relaxing at the entrance to his den, while in the center a folding screen of eight pieces decorated with lotuses adds purity to the surrounding area. In another space a pair of deer play in an enchanted land, while a dancing monk, in a world of his own, seems as if he would come to greet us. And then there are the wild birds, the puppies, the daffodils and the ancient plum blossoms that exist in harmony with one another, each comfortable in its own space. For a moment the exhibition space becomes a utopia, and we become a part of everything we see. As I write this, not even a third of the works to be displayed are complete. Yong-Bang Song's blush moves slowly. He takes his time painting each piece. That follows naturally from his pen name, Uhyun, a combination of the characters for 'cow' (u) and 'mysterious' (hyun). Here the cow character represents truth, while the other character meaning 'mysterious' indicates a road or path. Together the characters mean that the path of truth is extremely long. When it occurs to him, Song sometimes uses another pen name, also pronounced Uhyun, but in this case the u means not 'cow' but 'to take the long way around'. In his search for the truth, Yong-Bang Song remains calm and collected, unaffected by the length of the path before him. He is like the wooden fighting cock** in Zhuangzi's story. It is also like viewing the his paintings of the journey of ten cows. We become one with the cows, forgetting the cows and then ourselves, and then absolute sky comes down to us. Only the person it reaches understands its significance; at the very least, though, the subtle grace inherent to Song's paintings enlightens us as to the location of mystery.

When Young-Bang Park was a student at Seoul National University he won many prestigious awards, including a special award at a national exhibit, and by so doing immediately attracted the eyes and ears of the Korean art world. At one point he got caught up in contemporary art's informe movement and joined the avant-garde group MokRim Hue (literally 'ink forest association'), but at the end of his experiment he came to the conclusion that he was in fact interested in abstraction in Eastern painting. In the East, the figurative characters that are used to transmit thoughts and ideas are ultimately abstractions of images. Grace and elegance are at the center of both the Six Laws of Chinese painting*** and the 16 contemporary laws of painting, while emphasis is placed on the abstraction of an essence that is invisible to the naked eye. In Eastern philosophy, the distinction between abstract and concrete is meaningless. In this way Song Young-Bang, while taking a roundabout path, has planted his feet firmly on the ground, and as with 'Return to the Root', number nine of the ten cow paintings, in the work we notice beauty that has been there all along.

Zhuangzi, the Chinese philosopher, held as ideal the unaffected, natural state of being I mentioned earlier. A passage from one of his works describes butchering a cow as follows: "When partitioning a cow, the butcher's knife is never damaged. I asked him how he does it, and he answered, "My knife remains sound because that the blade plays between the meat and the bone.'" Song Young-Bang's brush plays in the space of the paper.
Similarly, at the end of Zhuangzi's Autumn Floods, there is a passage related to the happiness of fish. Huizi, another Chinese philosopher, sees fish swimming in the water and asks Zhuangzi how he knows that the fish are happy. Zhuangzi responds, "Because you asked me how I know the fish are happy, you already know I knew it when you asked the question."

In spite of our general insensitivity to such things, Song Young-Bang somehow conveys to us the fact that the fish are happy. If we too could experience their happiness, how enjoyable our lives might be! Art manifests the God-given character that each of us possess. Even in this brutal modern age, Song Young-Bang's wonderful paintings have taught us the joy of looking deep within ourselves.

*Nanga refers to the Southern School of Chinese painting, while haiga are small-scale paintings that often include a verse of poetry.

** The Chinese philosopher Zhuangzi related the following story:
Ji Shengzi was training a fighting cock for King Xuan of Zhou. After ten days of training passed, King Xuan asked, "Is the cock ready for a fight?" Ji Shengzi said, "Not yet. He is still haughty and conceited." Another ten days went by. King Xuan asked again, and Ji said "Not yet. He is still glaring and domineering." After another ten days went by, King Xuan asked once more. Ji Shengzi replied, "He is about ready for the fight. When other cocks crow, he is not affected. He looks like a cock made of wood. Other cocks dare not challenge him, they will simply run away."

*** Set down in the mid-sixth century by an obscure portrait painter named Xie He in his Classified Record of Ancient Painters, the six laws are: spirit consonance and life movement; structural strength in use of brush; fidelity to object; correct color; proper placing and disposition; and transmission of ancient masters by copying.