Time is not a line.
It is a living structure.

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.

My red-green color vision difference is not a biographical anecdote, a deficit, or a claim that I simply “see structure better.” It makes the idea of a standard observer unstable: who defines normal perception, and what becomes illegible when color is treated as universal? Structure, density, texture, interval, fracture, luminance, and spatial pressure therefore operate as parallel perceptual languages in my work.

My work brings Korean symbolic systems such as Ilwolobongdo, moon jars, folk talismans, and ritual architectures into contact with computational vision, EEG, breath, environmental signals, and generative systems. I do not use technology to decorate tradition. I use it to test how inherited forms persist, mutate, and acquire new agency under contemporary conditions.

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.