Where memory becomes structure, the image stops being a surface.
I was born into a country that had just emerged from the devastation of war. My parents' generation fought for survival and reconstruction; my generation inherited a different war, one of identity, adaptation, and attention in an accelerated technological era.
Because of my red-green color deficiency, I do not build images around chromatic certainty. I read the world through structure, density, texture, fracture, rhythm, and spatial pressure. This perceptual condition became the conceptual engine of my media installations.
My work brings Korean symbolic systems such as Ilwolobongdo, moon jars, folk talismans, and ritual architectures into contact with AI vision models, EEG, breath, environmental signals, and generative code. I do not use technology to decorate tradition. I use it to test how tradition survives under pressure.
In my installations, time is not a neutral background. It is a material. Memory is not an archive. It is a living organism. The audience is not a visitor outside the work. They become a force inside its field.