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[Isolation]
Dear Jinshil Lee:

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Frustrated by the huge pile of papers that finally collapsed and the pressure of deadlines after long procrastination (including this one), I picked up a novel in which the first phrase was: “I’m in the middle of reading! I refuse any interruption!” This reader is supposedly a regular worker who supports the world’s stability and distracts himself by reading in his spare time. In this case, his occupation itself is not something he is fond of, so the free time during which one is not committed to labor and voluntary activity that one chooses during that time must be delightful. I work in a creative field, but, somehow, I felt a delightful, vicarious satisfaction from his proclamation of ‘refusing any interruption.’ Most of the time I love being immersed in writing like him, but the subject I plan to discuss in this letter is quite frustrating, which makes me procrastinate for too long.

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The impressive part from our first meeting was the conversation about isolation. When I morosely said “I have been isolated these days,” you replied “That’s what I envy the most” with a sparkle in your eyes. Later on we talked about the recent failures of well-known collectives as well, but did not go further on that topic too much. On the way back I wanted to look more into our own ideas of ‘isolation.’ To tell the truth, the word isolation does not fit my circumstances very well. The negative nuances of isolation do not quite relate to my voluntary choice of being alone. My occupation as a freelancer living freely without belonging to a college or museum, the unavoidable solitude of reading and writing, and a life that is naturally boring without special events already involves much solitude. But you replied to my mannered complaint with a positive context, which made me reflect on my unconsciousness.

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In 2014, I wrote an article reviewing the emerging of artist-run ‘new spaces’ in South Korea and emphasized political solidarity that is differentiated from the struggle for recognition and hegemonism. (Our community, on the border between independence and isolation - Cultural politics of new space and project group, Contemporary Art Journal, vol.20, 2015) At the time I was encouraged by the project group activities that facilitated an exchange with serious young artists whom I could not meet through my exclusive organization and continued exploring various other collective experiences that were different in its scale and degrees of engagement. Despite some satisfactory accomplishments and significance at that time I was eventually overwhelmed by the ruin of solidarity over its vision as I witnessed the struggles around them along with disappointment in myself. Perhaps, the word ‘isolation’ involves the failure and frustration of my direct and indirect experiences.

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Why did the word ‘isolation’ sound pleasant to you? Like how I roughly wrote down my own complicated ideas, I humbly ask your thoughts based on your experience as a critic and curator, freely, regardless of its direction.

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[A response about isolation]
Dear Junghyun Kim:

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After receiving your letter I had to take a look at the unstable heap of books on my desk. Actually it is a shame to confess that there was no random novel to read but only bunch of theoretical books to refer to when writing, although I hardly finished half of them.

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I was flattered by how you examined my bizarre “envy of isolation” in many aspects, which may sound misleading. Above all, it is somewhat surprising and delightful that this can be our topic of discussion. In some way, ‘not belonging anywhere’ and the ‘unavoidable solitude of writing’ must be the most splendid part that I seek from the working as a critic. So I was worried that I misinterpreted your distressed ‘isolation’ as ‘voluntary isolation,’ considering it as the typical peace and independence of an experienced critic. It is a different story, but time to time I do witness a paranoid phenomenon in which some critics around me constantly send out messages, pre-announce, and publish their critical topics and articles as if they were extremely frightened of being ‘invisible’, even for a moment in the art scene—an odd industry that is hardly estimated of its boundary and depth. It makes me think that the ‘isolation’ is a necessary threshold for making one’s own direction rather than preoccupying an issue or claiming one’s share of criticism, in this not so broad racetrack of desire.

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Although we did not have a chance to talk in depth face to face, I believe that we share a similar state of being ‘unsettled.’ A desire to find out meaningful works and practices in the field rather than to achieve outstanding academic accomplishment, occasional curatorial attempts that promote such practices, and some degree of expectation for the ‘union’ that was once failed and exhausted in anticipating a collective or solidarity in the art scene…Perhaps these are what compose our unsettlement. I carefully read your article from 2015 Our community, on the border between independence and isolation - Cultural politics of new space and project group. I remember the time when new spaces like Gyoyokso, Vanziha, Common Center, and Audio Visual Pavilion and the artists and curators working in these spaces emerged with great expectation as ‘the generation shifters of Korean contemporary art.’ I was impressed and also felt a déjà vu of the time from your inference of the working dynamics behind the issue of ‘generation theory’ or the ‘new awareness of time’ initiated in this momentum. As you have pointed out, the generation theory of that time was not the problem of a generation but the distribution of capital and survival. Also, I have to agree with your interrogation that such a way of problem-posing has been manifested through micro-collective ‘desires’ with neoliberal attitudes, unlike the art from the past that fought against institutions, like in avant-garde strategy or fundamental revolutionary stances. Meanwhile, you noticed and expressed little expectation about the creators who are hanging on the ‘ambiguous and vague border’ seeking solidarity over hegemony and communication over competition. Quoting your article, they are “not likely documented or remembered and would rather be isolated.” Perhaps that fear has turned into a reality.

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After all, the truth of fear we are discussing on ‘isolation’ is a form of oblivion, rather than loneliness. Instead, if a writer had one privilege to be comforted, it is that today’s isolation becomes the leverage against being forgotten in the future. In the art scene of Seoul in 2021, everything proceeds breathtakingly fast, spectacular and enormous. Social media is dominated by not only the postings of exhibitions or artistic practices, but also the struggle to be seen and recognized around art humanly and discursively. Lately, feminism has been an important outlet that has fueled that struggle. Yet, instead of experiencing a fundamental shift, I am still afraid of running into another dead end again.

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After reading your letter, I carefully contemplated the nature of this isolation I admire once again. Is it because I am losing hope in solidarity due to wounds and disappointment, or abandoning the hassle and suffering of ethical questions and demands? It is hard to deny this. Yet, I still have a hope to stop the pain or the exhaustion of energy in the name of exchange or solidarity. However, it also requires courage to defy the fear of being forgotten and vanishing as well.

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When the second wave of feminism arose in the 70’s in America, there was an artist named Lee Lozano. Earning her reputation with painting from the late 60’s, Lozano turned to conceptual art, which took the form of her retraction from the art scene. From the early ‘70s until 1999 when she passed away from cervical cancer, her life project Dropout Piece began as a strike that rejected the commercialized gallery system and named unremarkable, ordinary activities a ‘piece’ in order to deconstruct her own ‘authorship.’ Then she withdrew herself and totally disappeared from the art scene in the end. Duchamp also refused the ambitious course of the art scene and wandered around playing chess. Lozano’s ‘art strike,’ incomparable with that ‘gesture,’ went up to the extreme severance of relations and self-obliteration in Women Boycott. In August 1971, Lozano claimed to stop talking to all women, beginning with throwing away a letter from a representative feminist artist of the time, Lucy Lippard. While the feminist wave was promising communal utopia under the ranks of females, what kind of ‘isolation’ did her ‘foolish’ project seek, rejecting to belong to that community? Stubbornly isolating herself from being insider to outsider, how can we define her art, if not a labor, product, ambition, or utopia?

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＊ More information of Lee Lozano can be found in the online article by DuIbuqi in OFF magazine (https://off-magazine.net/TEXT/feminismArtContradiction.html) as well as a brief introduction in this article:https://timeline.com/lee-lozano-boycott-women-20d7e892e6b

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※ This content was first published in 『2021 SeMA Nanji Residency Program Catalogue』, and re-published here with the consent of SeMA Nanji Residency.