What would be the answer to the ultimate question of life, the Universe, and everything? In Douglas Adams’ novel The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, a city-sized supercomputer called Deep Thought gives an answer after calculating for seven million and five hundred thousand years. (The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy was first aired as a radio drama on BBC in 1978. It was then published as a novel in 1979 and translated into Korean in 1996 and 2004, which was then followed by a Hollywood adaptation in 2005.) The answer is: 42.

There are many theories as to why the answer to the profound question is number 42. There is an argument that the symbol *, which represents files with the same extension in (now-defunct) Microsoft’s DOS operating system, is coded as the number 42 in ASCII (American Standard Code for Information Interchange) system. Some people insist that 42 is the sum of the numbers of characters of the author’s name and the title (30+12). There is also an interesting opinion based on Goroawase (語呂合わせ), a Japanese wordplay to change words with other words or numbers with similar pronunciation, through which one can interpret the number 42 as sini (死に, death). This leads to a possible conclusion that the ultimate answer of the universe is ‘death.’ Above all, we have to listen to what Douglas Adams has said about the number 42. “Binary representations, base 13, Tibetan monks are all complete nonsense. I sat on my desk, stared into the garden and thought 42 will do. I typed it out. End of story.”

Numerology is a kind of divination that employs numbers to comprehend the essence of materials. According to the numerological belief, numbers represent the fundamentals of everything. Through numbers, every material in the universe can be quantified and given an order of things. Taking a further step, it might be possible to represent certain things through numbers. Following the same logic, certain numbers can be substituted with particular objects and figures. For example, in Judaism, the name of God – which was written as יהוה but could never be pronounced in speech. Thus, the Jewish people substituted the Hebrew alphabet characters with the Roman alphabet characters YHWH, which was then changed once again into the numbers 10, 5, 6, and 5. The sum of the numbers, 26, became the representation of God’s name. In other words, for the ancient Hebrews, the number 26 was the very name of God.

At a glance, numerology seems to be another superstitious belief that overemphasizes the meaning of numbers, which are just numerical symbols. Numerology might be a desperate human attempt to fit the incomprehensible operation of the world, of which the result is present yet the process is unintelligible, into the however understandable frame through which humans can grasp the meaning of this world. However, even in the field of artificial intelligence, which is deemed the most advanced technological field of the twenty-first century, numerological affairs are prevalent on the fundamental level. In 2016, artificial intelligence researchers at Google ‘discovered’ that the algorithm of Google Translate has developed its own language, which humans cannot comprehend, while learning data of more than a hundred different languages. To explain this ‘middle language’ that is fully functioning within Google’s translation service yet incomprehensible in terms of the existing human language, the scientists had to coin a new term: ‘interlingua.’

Certainly, today’s world is full of uncertainty. In fact, the world has always been uncertain and unstable. However, the good old days when people could conveniently rely upon the so-called ‘grand narrative’ are gone (although it might have been fairly convenient for some people). Yet, it is never an easy task to accept or embrace uncertainty. Those who are situated in uncertainty yearn for more certainty: complicated events or knowledge are often reproduced as simplified ‘narratives’ and circulated (as in the proliferation of the so-called ‘wide and shallow knowledge’ in Korea); worldviews based on coarse beliefs mobilize people through information distribution platforms such as YouTube, which transcend space and time; and needless to articulate is how the so-called ‘fake news’ is affecting the national politics around the globe, not to mention Korea and other countries.

In the exhibition To Find the Glory Scars (November 13-December 18, 2019) at SongEun ArtCube, Jihye Park presents a series of objects, images in frames, and a video on a monitor, all of which do not seem to help solving the shared uncertainty that we are going through. What are presented as ‘works’ within the frame of the exhibition might not resolve uncertainty. Rather, they might foster confusion about the world. A dog-like figure guarding the entrance of the exhibition is created by layering string mops. Or it might be a shaggy dog, which is known to fight misfortunes, standing still as if it is a string mop that is somehow taken away from a mop stick. Huge lumps of mass that look like rocks are indeed ‘somethings that look like rocks,’ and there are twenty-some raven figures that welcome the visitors to the exhibition. In the meantime, there is a ‘house on fire’ standing at a corner of the exhibition space. Of course, it is not the kind of house that is literally on fire with smoke.

All the objects in the exhibition space are referencing some other things that are given certain meanings or standing in a state that is a step further from such situations. In other words, they exist at least two steps away from what they originally intended to signify. And the artist does not provide detailed explanations about the points of reference nor their meanings. If someone has an eye for keen observation, he or she might sense at least vaguely that it might be possible to go further by giving meanings to the works in the exhibition as if one interprets the world through a numerological perspective. (Hint: There is a work in the exhibition that references a movie where the actor Jim Carrey appears as a man obsessed with numerology. Can you guess what the film is?)

There is no need to feel any frustration for situations that provide neither clear narrative nor well-fitting explanation. Let us bring our thoughts together at this point: would it be helpful to understand the exhibition if the creator of the works – the artist – explains everything with overcuriosity? Already in the last few years, the artist has had such experienced in a repeated manner. When she explained with clarity, she was accused of being “too decisive”; when she presented herself with care and caution, she was criticized as being “too indecisive.” Thus, To Find the Glory Scars is not too decisive or indecisive. In our time of no more good old days certainty, works in To Find the Glory Scars present us manuals for dealing with uncertainty. Of course, what the viewers can comprehend from the manuals in the exhibition always remains as their independent task.

November 2019

Jihye Park presents works that point out the inconveniences experienced by individuals, which tend to be implicitly neglected by a social consensus, awakening us to the social perceptions about what is normal and abnormal, success and failure. Based on her thoughts of personal experience, Park raises questions about the “rational” choices that shape our social norms. The artist’s skepticism over theories or principles defined to defend the values held by the majority lead us to question what “belief” truly is.

In this exhibition To Find the Glory Scars, Park talks about the small scars that remain in individuals according to rational beliefs. The focus on these scars that appeared while following a “belief” already defined within the society, to become part of it, is not an act of shedding the universal rules to create or contextualize a new meaning. However, from some point inside the exhibition hall, symbolic icons representing specific meanings begin to float around, raising questions about the choices we make.

In the artwork blind (2019), an object in the shape of a Sapsal dog, a shaggy Korean breed of dog, welcomes visitors at the entrance. This dog with slightly messy hair made from cotton mop was inspired by a superstition that “white dogs can see ghosts.” The shape of the day, slighting derailing the form of a typical white-haired dog, from the window gallery, casts bad luck on the overall exhibition. Dear My Friend(2019) is an installation creating a passage from the gallery’s main entrance, exposing visitors to 23 crows in a wetland where something ominous will (or might) happen. Traditionally, Koreans believed that ‘If we see a crow or raven in the morning, we will have bad luck, but if we see a magpie in the morning, you'll have good luck.” In modern day Korea, a crow will be an ominous bird whereas a crow in the Scandinavian mythology, symbolizing wisdom, was believed to bring good luck. Totemism is changing the perception of crows. home sweet home (2019) is an installation inspired by an image of a hut that ends of being burnt down although it was originally built solid and safe. Salt was believed to prevent misfortune and cast out bad luck, but unfortunately, it is very ironic to see how a pile of salt is still there, yet the hut is on raging fire.

The works displayed with no distinct narrative, all co-habit the space with symbolic icons, which vary according to the meanings that are socially assigned to them. Obviously, to make any making symbolism crystal clear is in the eye of the beholder. The artist pretends to listen to the meaning used according to the context, but ultimately aims to show whether the entity assigning a meaning to what we see is an individual or a consensus reached by a group of individuals.

In 2017 I met Jihye Park for the first time.

She asked me for help with her novel An Ordinary Failure – which was to be part of her exhibition – and I accepted, although I was not very helpful in the end. The following year her exhibition opened and we had a few more chances to have conversations in preparation of an MMCA Residency Seminar this year.

I have had the impression that Park is very sensitive to language. She is not interested in verbose, pedantic or abstract language. Rather she always focuses on using the language accurately and effectively and puts more effort into managing it more easily and simply. Perhaps it is the result of considering the very small meanings attached to the words and the areas in which they are accessible, beyond the single meaning of the word or sentence.

Then where has she got this language sensitivity from? Perhaps it is just her own personality and taste. In fact, there are a few of her installations that have titles that suggest a word or sentence itself. But words and sentences included in some of her work such as You Got the Wrong One, Useless, I am Sorry I was Born, some-thing, One Day, and Nothing Has Happened never just mean their dictionary definitions. In the artworks, those words overlap with social context and connotations and bring different meanings and effects. And when you realize that they are the artist’s questions about institutions, regulations, or standards, it becomes rather difficult to say that her sensitivity to language is just her own taste. 

Once Park mentioned the inconvenience of the language used in the art world. The language here refers to wall text, reviews, artist's notes, proposals or artwork descriptions. She seemed to be sensitive to the abstraction, ambiguity, and unfriendliness which were either consciously or unconsciously shared by these texts. Any work of art inevitably involves language to understand, appreciate, and interpret it. Of course, language cannot explain artworks perfectly. Language never corresponds exactly, and most writers are either so distant or so close to the work that they cannot help but cause some misunderstanding. Therefore, it might be unnecessary and also impossible.

Nevertheless, artists have to consider it carefully; what they should say about their work and how they can say it; how to design the slender bridge that might connect the artist or artwork with the audience (or reader for writers). That is always a difficult and delicate matter for creators. Anyway, it seems obvious that Park is looking for another language that is different from what we already have.

And that is connected closely to the question which she poses. Perhaps she feels some frustration and discomfort about the need to express her work, which questions the institution, the rules, the universality and the system in the existing language.

But on the other hand, Park's work is not expressed in a way that antagonizes or attempts to overthrow the existing system. Rather, it is done in careful ways, such as posing questions and offering suggestions, and instead of minimizing her individual position or opinion, it is always left for the audience to ponder.

Therefore – if it’s okay to put it this way – Jihye Park is questioning standards that we take for granted. She is someone who carefully observes and presents elements that consist of and sustain them, and who finds her own language to express them. 

Having written this, I'm slightly concerned that I may have over-simplified her work. In particular, finding a language that can properly describe the world of one's work may seem natural and simple, but in reality, it might be more difficult. What is called convention or practice is usually long-term security and has its own power, so great courage is inevitable in not following the existing order. In some cases, it may be necessary to be prepared for fear that one's work may not be well interpreted or mentioned in the existing system and therefore not be well known. 

Park has repeatedly said that her raison d'être(reason for existence) as an artist is to provide a platform for dialogue. I think the words are the core, essence, and power of her artistic world that she has been working on. That's why Park's work should be talked about and discussed in a richer way than it is now.