Yujin Kim
Curator, National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Korea
Curator, National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Korea
Numerous incidents make headlines in the news, capturing public attention briefly before fading into obscurity. These events are consumed in short bursts of concern, quickly buried by newer ones and soon forgotten. We live in what is often described as an era of disasters. Is there ever an appropriate time to mourn and commemorate recurring societal tragedies? And even if such time exists, can our memories truly align with it? In the midst of disaster, where should our imperfect gaze turn?
We are situated through memory. Memory places a person within the continuum of time; through being remembered, we exist. Both remembering and being remembered are essential processes in the formation of one’s identity. Though we are caught in cycles of remembering and forgetting, at times, certain traces within these cycles can evoke forgotten memories. If we can discover even the smallest remnants hidden beneath erased and overshadowed events, perhaps we can continue the act of remembering. The gaze that uncovers such traces—a gaze that brings the forgotten into view—is the artist’s gaze, capable of reminding us of what was lost.
The 7th residency program exhibition of the Palbok Art Factory, titled Metaphysics of Memory, presents works by seven artists who reinterpret memories of the past and imbue them with new meaning through art. Artist GR1 (Gee-Ahr-One) commemorates traces of people unknown to him but not unlike ourselves. His installation Let’s Dance Again (2024) features 196 identically sized circular canvases arranged in a grid—seven vertically and 28 horizontally—on an angled wall. These canvases, painted in bright, vivid colors, collectively create a spectacular scene. From a distance, the piece resembles a sleek, modern artwork or a grand installation. Yet upon closer inspection, each canvas reveals fragmented traces—illegible English phrases spray-painted in a style reminiscent of graffiti art. Rather than being drawn, these words are etched, suggesting permanence. According to the artist, the sentences are excerpts from a poem about youth. Though part of a whole, each canvas exists individually, much like each poem fragment represents only a portion of a greater narrative. The hazy phrases prompt us to contemplate what the 196 canvases might signify.
Though not explicitly stated in the exhibition, the number 196 refers to the number of survivors injured in a tragic accident. Behind the figure reported repeatedly in the media, there are 196 individuals, each with their own story and pain. GR1’s work draws attention to these individuals—those who lived through trauma but were reduced to a statistic—and conveys hope and the promise to dance again.
On another wall hangs Life Planning (2024), a reproduction of handwritten notes expressing someone’s ordinary plans, dreams, and hopes. This piece is based on a notebook left behind by a 19-year-old youth who died in an industrial accident at a manufacturing plant in Jeonju. For a brief time, the story entered the public consciousness through media coverage. The contents of the memo reveal a glimpse into an unfamiliar yet relatable life, transforming a seemingly mundane note into a poignant symbol of unfulfilled dreams. By enlarging and re-presenting the memo, GR1 brings forth the traces of a life unknown but fundamentally no different from ours, stirring profound empathy.
Through such works, the artist interweaves others’ stories and traces, bringing back into visibility what we had not seen or had forgotten. He turns his gaze toward the individual lives and remnants embedded in massive social disasters and tragedies. Yet his approach is not direct; it is metaphorical and symbolic. GR1 refers to these as “by-products of collision”—if the event is a collision, then the by-products are the traces and remnants left behind. Though the central event has concluded, these scattered and forgotten fragments still carry unique stories.
This notion of traces also manifests in the formal aspects of GR1’s work. In Aftermath (2024), made of fragmented pieces resembling puzzle parts, or Red Hong Kong (2023), where sections of canvas have been removed, shattered, and reassembled, the artist’s approach reflects his connection with fragments, pieces, and traces. He also incorporates discarded materials, such as plywood scraps or paper tubes, emphasizing physical remnants and by-products.
His interest in traces is closely tied to his background in graffiti art. GR1 began his artistic journey with graffiti, which is often highlighted for its distinctive style and form. Unlike neatly arranged works inside exhibition halls, graffiti emerges in everyday, lived spaces—this is where GR1’s practice began. His pseudonym “GR1” itself, combining the initials of graffiti and the numeral one, reflects his roots in the artform. Graffiti, with its transient nature and emphasis on leaving quick marks, shaped GR1 into an artist well-versed in the act of “leaving a trace.” Especially in the graffiti scene, the act of “tagging”—leaving one’s nickname or signature—serves as a declaration of presence: “I was here.” This tagging element is also found in Let’s Dance Again.
GR1 intentionally leaves traces in the places he visits. His black-and-white “GR1 Was Here” stickers, which he often uses like business cards, are scattered across cities and streets, functioning as his personal tags. By broadening his perspective from personal tagging to discovering and exposing others’ traces, he continues to navigate between leaving marks and recognizing them, between remembering and being remembered.
In fact, traces and graffiti have much in common. GR1 operates between boundaries—modern art and graffiti, the exhibition space and the street, legality and illegality—refusing to limit himself in materials or expression. Drawing from the ephemeral and anonymous nature of graffiti, he creates a distinct language of his own.
Today, many events in our society leave only faint traces before being forgotten—just like graffiti that’s quickly painted over. One incident replaces another. Yet as the artist notes, “Traces are always erased. But erased traces are the ones that never truly disappear.” The remnants that survive can become even more deeply etched in our collective memory. Perhaps the role of contemporary art is to reveal these overlooked traces—to make them visible again.
As disasters and tragedies repeat, Italian philosopher Giorgio Agamben(b. 1942) suggested that to be truly contemporary is to perceive not light, but darkness—to fix one’s gaze on what is unseen. To see not what is easily visible but what hides in the shadows. Discovering the small remnants within that darkness may be what defines contemporary art. Art may not directly overcome crises or solve problems, but it can offer solace and foster empathy. If we can follow these traces to a new perspective, to shared understanding and remembrance—then perhaps, together, we can dance once more.
2025