One and J. Gallery, Seoul 29 August – 30 September
At first glance there is not a lot going on in Jong Oh’s debut exhibition with One and J. Other, that is, than the architecture and whitewashed walls of the white-cube-ish gallery space. Then you notice a tall wooden right angle extending from the floor, its arm balanced on a blue marble on the stairs leading up to the first floor. It’s additionally held in place by a wire-thin metal rod stretching up to the wall in parallel to the stairs, at which point a pencil line drawn on the wall descends back down towards the floor. It’s titled Line Sculpture #22 (all works 2022) and you’re not entirely sure if it’s a statement about some form of equilibrium or force dynamics, a subtle adjustment to the architecture of the space or the choreography for some kind of ballet. Is the building structurally unsound? Was the staircase about to collapse? Is someone mapping out future improvements to the space, or is it the residue of some ritual that happened before you walked in? In a way it’s all, and none, of those things.
Enhancing the liminal feel is the fact that Jong Oh works somewhere between drawing and sculpture. Indeed, you could describe Line Sculpture #23 by its shapes: as a line (a wooden rod) stretching out from the wall, attached to which is a semicircle (which looks like it’s made from metal wire), dangling from the tip of which is another line, held in tension by a metal weight. You might also describe it in terms of engineering alone. Works like Line Sculpture #24, wooden frames describing two planes set at right angles, with two string diagonals stretched between them (as if to give you an idea of where a third plane might sit), equally invite you to construct a space, as if they were some form of architectural plan. And for all the certainty that the artist conveys about the simple forms that he is constructing, a sense of uncertainty hovers over the visitor. Not least because you’re looking out for the telltale presence of blue marbles, stretched string or fishing wire, or dangling weights to let you know where a sculpture might be before you run into it. For all these existential trip hazards, there’s something wonderfully uncanny at work here.